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Description
        Dr. Julia Marchi was probably in her early forties, well qualified if the framed certificates on the wall were any indication, and the third psychiatrist I'd seen in as many months. It was only our second meeting but I had to admit that I already liked her more than the last two doctors I'd seen. They'd gone the 'I'm your friend, let's hold hands and share' route which was a major mistake since no one in my life had ever accused me of being touchy-feely. Don't get me wrong, I'm not heartless but I tend to keep my feelings to myself and that's pretty much the opposite of what a psychiatrist does.

        "Gum?" Dr. Marchi asked holding up a packet as she extracted a piece for herself. I shook my head in response and that right there was the longest conversation we'd ever had. Our staring game resumed but there wasn't much to it. I was spacing out, focusing more on the window behind the good doctor than on her. It was a nice day out and I wanted to be lying beside the pool in my parents' backyard. With the other two psychiatrists I'd always scheduled my appointments for late afternoon when my parents would be coming home but Dr. Marchi had been insistent on a one o'clock meeting, completely cutting into my schedule.

        "Something on your mind?" Dr. Marchi asked following my gaze and looking over her shoulder at the window.

       "I'd rather be by the pool," I admitted, the first thing I'd said to her outside of my name at our first meeting.

        "You like swimming?" Dr. Marchi asked.

        "If I say yes is that a metaphor for my life?" I asked putting my focus on her face for the first time. She had smile lines around her face and eyes and if we'd been in any other situation I think I would have really liked her.

        "You tell me," she urged.

        "Isn't that your job?"

        "Why would a pool be a metaphor for your life?" Dr. Marchi asked me and I smiled wryly.

        "Psychology was an elective starting in eleventh grade, I wouldn't know," I replied with a laugh but my humor didn't carry over to Dr. Marchi.

        "Was that a class you were interested in taking?" she asked instead.

        "Not really," I shrugged.

        "Hmm," Marchi said and scribbled something on the pad in her lap. I wondered what she wrote but didn't ask. I could guess it had something to do with me stifling my issues and so on and so forth. The previous two doctors had tried to get me to discuss the past three years but I didn't think they were very good doctors if they didn't understand what a coma was and the fact that there was very little to actually discuss on the matter that couldn't be looked up in text books.

        "Have you been sleeping?" Dr. Marchi asked and I was surprised by the sudden change in topics.

        "I thought we were talking about high school classes," I answered.

        "Do you want to talk about high school classes?"

        "You ask an awful lot of questions," I told her.

        "That's part of my job," Marchi smiled but I didn't return the gesture.

        "My parents called you," I said and shifted in my seat on the couch. It wasn't one of those cliché Freudian couches but a big, cushy couch that was probably been bought at a yard sale.

        "Does that bother you?" Marchi asked and I nodded. "Good, it bothers me too," she agreed and that surprised me. "Don't look so surprised," Marchi went on, "you're an adult, a perfectly capable one by what I see and the fact that your parents feel the need to call in reports about you is bothersome. I told them not to do it anymore."

        "Bet they didn't like that," I guessed. My parents were good, hardworking people and I loved them. My mother worked as a professor in one of the local colleges and my father ran the hardware store that had been in out family for three generations. I wasn't interested in hardware and my brother had just started med school so I was guessing that was out of the question for him too. Luckily I had a couple of cousins who'd probably step up to the task. I'd worked part time in the store since I was thirteen and even though my father encouraged me to return I had no desire to resume my career stocking shelves.

        "No, they weren't too happy when I told them I didn't want them to spy on you for me and I wouldn't do the same for them."

       "Isn't that against your code? You do have some sort of a code right?"

       "Exactly," the doctor said with a tap of her pen to her notepad.

       A silence stretched out ahead of us and I glanced at the clock.

       "Twenty more minutes and then you're free," Marchi said not taking her eyes from the pad she was scribbling on again.

       "What are you writing?" I asked, hating my curiosity.

       "I'm doodling," she said holding up the pad for me to see and I saw she wasn't lying. The page really was full or random little doodles.

       "My turn," Dr. Marchi said putting the notepad back on her lap, "why are you so interested in the clock?"

       "I don't want to be here," I answered truthfully.

       "Then why do you come?"

       "Why do you think? My parents make me," I shrugged. "They're worried and if they want to waste the money on it who am I to complain?"

      "Seems like a waste of time for me, you, and your parents."

       I shrugged again. "They think I'll have a breakthrough or something, admit whatever it is they want me to admit."

      "And you don't know what that is?" Dr. Marchi asked.

        "Do you?" I asked back and the doctor shook her head. I shrugged again because I could think of nothing else to say. My parents wanted me to talk about the accident, the resulting coma, and my last few months. I thought it was a waste of time. Dr. Marchi knew my story by now, anyone in the tri-state area knew my story. Heck, I'd made national news for a while; I think it was a slow news day. I mean it's not like I'm a celebrity or something that gets recognized on the street but I do recall one time shortly after my release from the hospital when I'd overheard two girls around my age discussing me. It had been in a McDonalds of all places, fast food in my new favorite form of sustenance, and I'd gotten an absurd amount of amusement from it, so much that I had to flee the restaurant- sometimes I do worry that I'm crazy.

        I suppose I should relate these concerns to Dr. Marchi since they are supposed to be her expertise.

        "We'll call in quits early if you do one thing for me," Dr. Marchi offered and I sunk a little deeper in the couch.

        "I'm not a soul bearing kind of person," I grumbled.

         "I don't recall asking you to be," Dr. March replied.

         "Then what?"

        "I want to hear about the accident."

         I stiffened. "Google it," I snapped, "I don't remember it."

        "People have an odd way of sealing things away that they don't like," Marchi told her as she flipped the page on her notepad.

         "Repressing?" I guessed.

         "Good word," the doctor agreed.

         "You aren't going to make me draw a flower are you?" I asked suddenly.

         "Pardon?"

         "The last psychiatrist I went to made me draw a flower and then talk about what each part represented in my life." I smiled grimly. "Or at least they tried."

         "Not much of an artist?" the doctor guessed.

         "Not much into bullshit," I replied.

         "Why is that bullshit?"

         I smiled because I was surprised by her use of the word. "Because it is physically impossible for me to remember the accident." I tapped my forehead with my index and middle fingers. "Memory loss."

         "That's what your doctors say," Marchi pointed out.

         "I don't like doctors," I admitted, "no offense."

         "None taken."

         "Can I go now?" I asked and glanced at the clock again. It was prime tanning hours and in our stretch of the world tanning season wouldn't be lasting much longer. Before the accident I hadn't been much of a fan of lying around and tanning but even I had been disgusted with how pale and frail I'd looked after emerging from the hospital that had been my home for three years. I ran a good portion of the nights, sunned a good portion of the day and looked good for it. At least I looked nineteen now, even if I was still getting used to feeling like it.

         "I said if you told me about the accident we could call it quits early," Dr. Marchi reminded me. "Believe me I'm not a fan of wasting my time anymore than you are."

         "At least you get paid for it."

         "True, but I'd still like to get something productive from my time."

         "It's like I've told everyone else, the last thing I remember is walking home after the yearbook meeting, that's it," I glanced at the clock. If I left now and didn't stop anywhere on the way home I could be back in under a half an hour and still have a good chunk of uninterrupted afternoon before my mom came home around five.

         "Dinah," Dr. Marchi said in a voice that almost sounded annoyed and I was pleased I was getting to her. I wouldn't be surprised if she called my parents and refused to take me back as a client. My last psychiatrist had only lasted four sessions, the first only six, and I was on my fifth with Dr. Marchi and the rule of averages was on my side, ok so I didn't exactly knew what that rule was but I could guess enough from the name.

         "Hmm?"

         "That's it for now, I'll see you on Friday," she told me and I nodded as I pulled myself from the couch and didn't even roll my eyes at the mention of our second bi-weekly meeting. "Just one more thing," the doctor added as my hand closed around the doorknob.

        "Hmm?" I replied again visions of pools dancing in my head.

        "It is ok to be afraid you know," she told me and I nodded because it was customary, but only because it was that, before turning and leaving.

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        Afraid? Afraid my ass. Of course it was ok to be afraid damn it. I'd had a near death experience. All that crap that people spewed about standing on the edge between life and death being a life affirming experience was complete and utter bull. Now that I had my life back I was perfectly content to stay curled up in my own safe cocoon for a good long while, maybe even forever.
        And yet...

        I hated living in my parents' house.

        I hated their worried glances, whispered conversations they thought I couldn't hear, and that in their I eyes I still was and probably would always be sixteen.

        I stopped my bike on a busy corner and watched as cars whizzed by, trying not to flinch. Instinctively I edged away from the corner. Cars made me nervous now and I was in no rush to get my driver's license. I'd only had my learners permit when...

        The cars slowed in front of me and the crosswalk started blinking at me, urging me to cross. I started to walk my bike across the short crosswalk when I froze.

        A car horn honked but I was barely aware.

        The street in front of my eyes swam and morphed and I was no longer in the northeast town I'd grown up in. The streets were dirt, the buildings morphed from colonial to old world, and there was fire- lots and lots of fire.

        A car horn blared again, louder this time, and snapped me back to the present but froze me in an entirely new way. Cars in general made me nervous now and turning, seeing a wall of them about to bare down on me, I was certain my legs were about to give out. A hand closed gently around the back of my neck, shifting me to the side to separate me from the bike and moved between me and my trusty form of transportation. The owner of the hand still on my neck used his free arm to pick up my bike before steering me off the street and onto the safe sidewalk.

        Cars immediately started zooming past as soon as we cleared and I could swear I could feel the rumbling engines deep in my bones.

        "You ok?" my 'savior' asked me. I think savior was a little strong of a word because I would have started moving eventually but my mind couldn't grasp a better word at the moment. I was leaning against a cool brick building, trying to get my head straight and my embarrassment under control.

        "Fine," I snapped without looking. "I would have been fine without you too so ease up on the manhandling from now on."

        "I'll keep that in mind from now on Dinah," the man snorted and his voice was suddenly familiar to me.

        "Derrick?" I realized completely shocked. He gave me a mock salute.

        "Yo."

        I'd known Derrik for most of my life. He was the neighborhood terror and sometimes bully and sometimes friend to my brother. He'd matured somewhat in high school which is a miracle on multiple levels, and last I'd remembered he and my brother had been on good terms. Derrik was tall but not exceptionally so, just below six foot or so and had bulked up since I'd last seen him- I knew because the last time I could clearly recalling seeing him was the summer before my junior year when he had invaded the pool in my backyard and helped my brother throw me in, so maybe he hadn't matured that much. They'd gone swimming after I'd stomped moodily back into the house and my last glance back had been of Derrik taking off his shirt. He'd been strong, deceptively strong, back then and I couldn't help wonder about how easily he could toss me around now. He'd picked up my bike like it was a tooth pick but when he'd steered me across the street he'd been gentle, despite gripping my neck.

        "What in the hell are you doing here?" I asked by way of greeting.

        "You're welcome Dinah, it was no trouble helping you out of that tough spot, I was happy to do it," he answered and I scowled. Standing away from the wall I stood straight and grabbed my bike back without another word. I swung my leg over settled quickly on the seat and had just pushed off when Derrik asked loudly, "Do you always freeze up around cars?"

        The question startled me and I nearly crashed my bike. Coming to a stop and steadying myself I turned over my shoulder at him and glared at him.

        "I appreciate you coming along but mind your own damn business," I snapped.

        "Whatever," he shrugged and gave another mock salute before turning to go. "I'll see you around."

        I wanted to shout back that he shouldn't hold his breath but that seemed a little petty and I did owe the guy. As long as he didn't go blabbing to my parents about my little freeze up in the street I'd be perfectly alright never seeing him again and the truth was that I had gotten really good at controlling my fear of cars. It was never unreasonable but for a while there I couldn't help but flinch whenever a particularly loud one went by, even on TV. I was fine most of the time now, but today the cars on top of what I could best describe as an out of body experience had added up to equal my freeze up moment. I wasn't proud that someone had to all but drag me out of the street and to add insult to injury it was someone I knew who'd been making my life miserable for many years.

        While the incident with Derrik was disconcerting the more pressing issue was what had occurred just before he'd shown up. I'd grown up and lived my entire life in the same college town and never, as far as I could recall there had never been dirt streets- or a fire that had engulfed it. The city is comprised of not one, not two but three different schools and the town has grown up even more in the empty pockets around the schools until we had a little metropolis all our own even if you could still drive for twenty minutes and hit a dairy farm. The city was far from New York or Atlanta status but I'd like to think we could give Cincinnati or Providence a run for their money.

         My house was fairly centrally located, close to the first college the town had grown up around, and I knew my way through every nook and cranny of my own neighborhood. Other parts of the city I knew well enough but I could walk through my streets with eyes shut and not fear. Days like this I was tempted to try it, then I wouldn't see things that weren't real or impossible.

        There are a lot of things I'm afraid and I didn't need Dr. Marchi to tell me that.

        I'm petrified of hospitals

        I'm not a fan of enclosed spaces and being underground in unbearable.

        I have a weird thing against tofu…

        Since the accident I have an aversion to cars and I have an irrational fear against dreams and sleeping and fully admit it, to myself at least, so I'm well versed in my fears and fully accept them.

        But I have one fear I'm not willing to approach at the moment so I'll keep pushing it to the back of my mind along with my unnatural visions and my eerily familiar dreams of things that never happened.

        You see, my biggest fear is that I'm going crazy.

        Scratch that. I'm not afraid I'm going crazy since I'm pretty damn sure I already am crazy.

Description
        Dr. Julia Marchi was probably in her early forties, well qualified if the framed certificates on the wall were any indication, and the third psychiatrist I'd seen in as many months. It was only our second meeting but I had to admit that I already liked her more than the last two doctors I'd seen. They'd gone the 'I'm your friend, let's hold hands and share' route which was a major mistake since no one in my life had ever accused me of being touchy-feely. Don't get me wrong, I'm not heartless but I tend to keep my feelings to myself and that's pretty much the opposite of what a psychiatrist does.

        "Gum?" Dr. Marchi asked holding up a packet as she extracted a piece for herself. I shook my head in response and that right there was the longest conversation we'd ever had. Our staring game resumed but there wasn't much to it. I was spacing out, focusing more on the window behind the good doctor than on her. It was a nice day out and I wanted to be lying beside the pool in my parents' backyard. With the other two psychiatrists I'd always scheduled my appointments for late afternoon when my parents would be coming home but Dr. Marchi had been insistent on a one o'clock meeting, completely cutting into my schedule.

        "Something on your mind?" Dr. Marchi asked following my gaze and looking over her shoulder at the window.

       "I'd rather be by the pool," I admitted, the first thing I'd said to her outside of my name at our first meeting.

        "You like swimming?" Dr. Marchi asked.

        "If I say yes is that a metaphor for my life?" I asked putting my focus on her face for the first time. She had smile lines around her face and eyes and if we'd been in any other situation I think I would have really liked her.

        "You tell me," she urged.

        "Isn't that your job?"

        "Why would a pool be a metaphor for your life?" Dr. Marchi asked me and I smiled wryly.

        "Psychology was an elective starting in eleventh grade, I wouldn't know," I replied with a laugh but my humor didn't carry over to Dr. Marchi.

        "Was that a class you were interested in taking?" she asked instead.

        "Not really," I shrugged.

        "Hmm," Marchi said and scribbled something on the pad in her lap. I wondered what she wrote but didn't ask. I could guess it had something to do with me stifling my issues and so on and so forth. The previous two doctors had tried to get me to discuss the past three years but I didn't think they were very good doctors if they didn't understand what a coma was and the fact that there was very little to actually discuss on the matter that couldn't be looked up in text books.

        "Have you been sleeping?" Dr. Marchi asked and I was surprised by the sudden change in topics.

        "I thought we were talking about high school classes," I answered.

        "Do you want to talk about high school classes?"

        "You ask an awful lot of questions," I told her.

        "That's part of my job," Marchi smiled but I didn't return the gesture.

        "My parents called you," I said and shifted in my seat on the couch. It wasn't one of those cliché Freudian couches but a big, cushy couch that was probably been bought at a yard sale.

        "Does that bother you?" Marchi asked and I nodded. "Good, it bothers me too," she agreed and that surprised me. "Don't look so surprised," Marchi went on, "you're an adult, a perfectly capable one by what I see and the fact that your parents feel the need to call in reports about you is bothersome. I told them not to do it anymore."

        "Bet they didn't like that," I guessed. My parents were good, hardworking people and I loved them. My mother worked as a professor in one of the local colleges and my father ran the hardware store that had been in out family for three generations. I wasn't interested in hardware and my brother had just started med school so I was guessing that was out of the question for him too. Luckily I had a couple of cousins who'd probably step up to the task. I'd worked part time in the store since I was thirteen and even though my father encouraged me to return I had no desire to resume my career stocking shelves.

        "No, they weren't too happy when I told them I didn't want them to spy on you for me and I wouldn't do the same for them."

       "Isn't that against your code? You do have some sort of a code right?"

       "Exactly," the doctor said with a tap of her pen to her notepad.

       A silence stretched out ahead of us and I glanced at the clock.

       "Twenty more minutes and then you're free," Marchi said not taking her eyes from the pad she was scribbling on again.

       "What are you writing?" I asked, hating my curiosity.

       "I'm doodling," she said holding up the pad for me to see and I saw she wasn't lying. The page really was full or random little doodles.

       "My turn," Dr. Marchi said putting the notepad back on her lap, "why are you so interested in the clock?"

       "I don't want to be here," I answered truthfully.

       "Then why do you come?"

       "Why do you think? My parents make me," I shrugged. "They're worried and if they want to waste the money on it who am I to complain?"

      "Seems like a waste of time for me, you, and your parents."

       I shrugged again. "They think I'll have a breakthrough or something, admit whatever it is they want me to admit."

      "And you don't know what that is?" Dr. Marchi asked.

        "Do you?" I asked back and the doctor shook her head. I shrugged again because I could think of nothing else to say. My parents wanted me to talk about the accident, the resulting coma, and my last few months. I thought it was a waste of time. Dr. Marchi knew my story by now, anyone in the tri-state area knew my story. Heck, I'd made national news for a while; I think it was a slow news day. I mean it's not like I'm a celebrity or something that gets recognized on the street but I do recall one time shortly after my release from the hospital when I'd overheard two girls around my age discussing me. It had been in a McDonalds of all places, fast food in my new favorite form of sustenance, and I'd gotten an absurd amount of amusement from it, so much that I had to flee the restaurant- sometimes I do worry that I'm crazy.

        I suppose I should relate these concerns to Dr. Marchi since they are supposed to be her expertise.

        "We'll call in quits early if you do one thing for me," Dr. Marchi offered and I sunk a little deeper in the couch.

        "I'm not a soul bearing kind of person," I grumbled.

         "I don't recall asking you to be," Dr. March replied.

         "Then what?"

        "I want to hear about the accident."

         I stiffened. "Google it," I snapped, "I don't remember it."

        "People have an odd way of sealing things away that they don't like," Marchi told her as she flipped the page on her notepad.

         "Repressing?" I guessed.

         "Good word," the doctor agreed.

         "You aren't going to make me draw a flower are you?" I asked suddenly.

         "Pardon?"

         "The last psychiatrist I went to made me draw a flower and then talk about what each part represented in my life." I smiled grimly. "Or at least they tried."

         "Not much of an artist?" the doctor guessed.

         "Not much into bullshit," I replied.

         "Why is that bullshit?"

         I smiled because I was surprised by her use of the word. "Because it is physically impossible for me to remember the accident." I tapped my forehead with my index and middle fingers. "Memory loss."

         "That's what your doctors say," Marchi pointed out.

         "I don't like doctors," I admitted, "no offense."

         "None taken."

         "Can I go now?" I asked and glanced at the clock again. It was prime tanning hours and in our stretch of the world tanning season wouldn't be lasting much longer. Before the accident I hadn't been much of a fan of lying around and tanning but even I had been disgusted with how pale and frail I'd looked after emerging from the hospital that had been my home for three years. I ran a good portion of the nights, sunned a good portion of the day and looked good for it. At least I looked nineteen now, even if I was still getting used to feeling like it.

         "I said if you told me about the accident we could call it quits early," Dr. Marchi reminded me. "Believe me I'm not a fan of wasting my time anymore than you are."

         "At least you get paid for it."

         "True, but I'd still like to get something productive from my time."

         "It's like I've told everyone else, the last thing I remember is walking home after the yearbook meeting, that's it," I glanced at the clock. If I left now and didn't stop anywhere on the way home I could be back in under a half an hour and still have a good chunk of uninterrupted afternoon before my mom came home around five.

         "Dinah," Dr. Marchi said in a voice that almost sounded annoyed and I was pleased I was getting to her. I wouldn't be surprised if she called my parents and refused to take me back as a client. My last psychiatrist had only lasted four sessions, the first only six, and I was on my fifth with Dr. Marchi and the rule of averages was on my side, ok so I didn't exactly knew what that rule was but I could guess enough from the name.

         "Hmm?"

         "That's it for now, I'll see you on Friday," she told me and I nodded as I pulled myself from the couch and didn't even roll my eyes at the mention of our second bi-weekly meeting. "Just one more thing," the doctor added as my hand closed around the doorknob.

        "Hmm?" I replied again visions of pools dancing in my head.

        "It is ok to be afraid you know," she told me and I nodded because it was customary, but only because it was that, before turning and leaving.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

        Afraid? Afraid my ass. Of course it was ok to be afraid damn it. I'd had a near death experience. All that crap that people spewed about standing on the edge between life and death being a life affirming experience was complete and utter bull. Now that I had my life back I was perfectly content to stay curled up in my own safe cocoon for a good long while, maybe even forever.
        And yet...

        I hated living in my parents' house.

        I hated their worried glances, whispered conversations they thought I couldn't hear, and that in their I eyes I still was and probably would always be sixteen.

        I stopped my bike on a busy corner and watched as cars whizzed by, trying not to flinch. Instinctively I edged away from the corner. Cars made me nervous now and I was in no rush to get my driver's license. I'd only had my learners permit when...

        The cars slowed in front of me and the crosswalk started blinking at me, urging me to cross. I started to walk my bike across the short crosswalk when I froze.

        A car horn honked but I was barely aware.

        The street in front of my eyes swam and morphed and I was no longer in the northeast town I'd grown up in. The streets were dirt, the buildings morphed from colonial to old world, and there was fire- lots and lots of fire.

        A car horn blared again, louder this time, and snapped me back to the present but froze me in an entirely new way. Cars in general made me nervous now and turning, seeing a wall of them about to bare down on me, I was certain my legs were about to give out. A hand closed gently around the back of my neck, shifting me to the side to separate me from the bike and moved between me and my trusty form of transportation. The owner of the hand still on my neck used his free arm to pick up my bike before steering me off the street and onto the safe sidewalk.

        Cars immediately started zooming past as soon as we cleared and I could swear I could feel the rumbling engines deep in my bones.

        "You ok?" my 'savior' asked me. I think savior was a little strong of a word because I would have started moving eventually but my mind couldn't grasp a better word at the moment. I was leaning against a cool brick building, trying to get my head straight and my embarrassment under control.

        "Fine," I snapped without looking. "I would have been fine without you too so ease up on the manhandling from now on."

        "I'll keep that in mind from now on Dinah," the man snorted and his voice was suddenly familiar to me.

        "Derrick?" I realized completely shocked. He gave me a mock salute.

        "Yo."

        I'd known Derrik for most of my life. He was the neighborhood terror and sometimes bully and sometimes friend to my brother. He'd matured somewhat in high school which is a miracle on multiple levels, and last I'd remembered he and my brother had been on good terms. Derrik was tall but not exceptionally so, just below six foot or so and had bulked up since I'd last seen him- I knew because the last time I could clearly recalling seeing him was the summer before my junior year when he had invaded the pool in my backyard and helped my brother throw me in, so maybe he hadn't matured that much. They'd gone swimming after I'd stomped moodily back into the house and my last glance back had been of Derrik taking off his shirt. He'd been strong, deceptively strong, back then and I couldn't help wonder about how easily he could toss me around now. He'd picked up my bike like it was a tooth pick but when he'd steered me across the street he'd been gentle, despite gripping my neck.

        "What in the hell are you doing here?" I asked by way of greeting.

        "You're welcome Dinah, it was no trouble helping you out of that tough spot, I was happy to do it," he answered and I scowled. Standing away from the wall I stood straight and grabbed my bike back without another word. I swung my leg over settled quickly on the seat and had just pushed off when Derrik asked loudly, "Do you always freeze up around cars?"

        The question startled me and I nearly crashed my bike. Coming to a stop and steadying myself I turned over my shoulder at him and glared at him.

        "I appreciate you coming along but mind your own damn business," I snapped.

        "Whatever," he shrugged and gave another mock salute before turning to go. "I'll see you around."

        I wanted to shout back that he shouldn't hold his breath but that seemed a little petty and I did owe the guy. As long as he didn't go blabbing to my parents about my little freeze up in the street I'd be perfectly alright never seeing him again and the truth was that I had gotten really good at controlling my fear of cars. It was never unreasonable but for a while there I couldn't help but flinch whenever a particularly loud one went by, even on TV. I was fine most of the time now, but today the cars on top of what I could best describe as an out of body experience had added up to equal my freeze up moment. I wasn't proud that someone had to all but drag me out of the street and to add insult to injury it was someone I knew who'd been making my life miserable for many years.

        While the incident with Derrik was disconcerting the more pressing issue was what had occurred just before he'd shown up. I'd grown up and lived my entire life in the same college town and never, as far as I could recall there had never been dirt streets- or a fire that had engulfed it. The city is comprised of not one, not two but three different schools and the town has grown up even more in the empty pockets around the schools until we had a little metropolis all our own even if you could still drive for twenty minutes and hit a dairy farm. The city was far from New York or Atlanta status but I'd like to think we could give Cincinnati or Providence a run for their money.

         My house was fairly centrally located, close to the first college the town had grown up around, and I knew my way through every nook and cranny of my own neighborhood. Other parts of the city I knew well enough but I could walk through my streets with eyes shut and not fear. Days like this I was tempted to try it, then I wouldn't see things that weren't real or impossible.

        There are a lot of things I'm afraid and I didn't need Dr. Marchi to tell me that.

        I'm petrified of hospitals

        I'm not a fan of enclosed spaces and being underground in unbearable.

        I have a weird thing against tofu…

        Since the accident I have an aversion to cars and I have an irrational fear against dreams and sleeping and fully admit it, to myself at least, so I'm well versed in my fears and fully accept them.

        But I have one fear I'm not willing to approach at the moment so I'll keep pushing it to the back of my mind along with my unnatural visions and my eerily familiar dreams of things that never happened.

        You see, my biggest fear is that I'm going crazy.

        Scratch that. I'm not afraid I'm going crazy since I'm pretty damn sure I already am crazy.