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Description
“It’s empty.”
“Empty?” She looks up at me curiously.
“Yeah. Empty.” I nod.
“Why do you say EMPTY?”
“Why?” I chuckle, “Because that’s all there is. The glass is empty, the house is empty, the fridge is empty, my BED is empty...”
For some reason, she chooses to focus in on my fridge, and not my house, or bed. “Why do you feel that your fridge is empty?”
Oh, duh. “There’s nothing IN IT, maybe?” And this is supposed to be a shrink? Aren’t shrink ladies supposed to ask about your mother and delve into your childhood?
“I’m sensing some animosity in your tone. Do you not want to be here?” She looks concerned, but it’s an act. I’m a folder of papers in her lap and nothing more.
“ ‘Course I don’t want to be here. I’m no loon. I’m not crazy. I know exactly where I am and why I’m here.” I don’t need some crackpot shrink bothering me about my private life.
“I never said that you were crazy.”
“I’m in a shrink’s office, doc. That screams crazy.” This chair is uncomfortable, dammit. And why is everything so dusty and old? That bookcase is falling apart, and those books look like JESUS himself read from them at one time!
“Maybe we should end the session for today” Hurrah! Freedom! She stands and offers her hand, which I take grudgingly. “It was nice to meet you.”
“Yea, sure.” Without any further words, I turn and walk out of the stuffy room with its dingy old couches and dark walls.
The fresh air feels ok today...Not as murky from the bus exhaust as usual. I breathe some in, to try and relish the feeling of being outside, and not in some foreign room, with some stranger with a PhD poking and prodding my brain.
My nice deep breath gets cut off when a bus drives by and splashes mud onto my jacket, and smoke into my face.
Coughing, I wheeze out, “You damn crazy bus driving idiot! Watch where you’re going!” Of course, he couldn’t hear me, as he was already 4 blocks down.
I sigh, and drop my fist to go home...the empty home, without even a bird to keep me company. Maybe I should drop by a bar and pick someone up, so that for one night, I’m not sleeping alone...
...Nah.
I pass by several people on my walk home from school. Several bums too. I need some more money so that I can get a car, dammit. The squat apartment building finally shows up in front of me and I enter it gratefully.
My door handle’s stuck again. I throw my shoulder at the wooden obstacle and gnash my teeth when it fails to give way. GREAT, and now my shoulder hurts too.
“Have you tried kicking it?” It’s the landlord, the man who’s too damn cheap to go out and buy a new damn door for my damn empty apartment.
“No. I don’t intend on breaking my foot.” I roll my eyes.
“Let me try.”
“Suit yourself.” I move out of the way and watch him kick and kick and kick until he holds his foot in pain, hopping on the other one. “Is it open?” I ask with more than a touch of sarcasm.
“N-no...”
“So now what do I do?”
“I’ll be right back.”
Right back, what the hell does that mean? What the hell could he do to get this stupid door open that- Oh my God. He’s got a CROWBAR.
“Don’t you think it would be easier to just buy a new door? Preferably one that isn’t the weight of a cement block?”
“Sarcastic as always,” he grunts, trying to wedge the door open. He starts to sweat and it becomes pretty obvious that I’m not getting back in my apartment anytime soon. Instead of offering help, help that really wouldn’t help, I shrug.
“You know what, forget it. I’ll go to a motel. Call me when you’ve got the door fixed.” I walk out of the small building, shaking my head in disgust.
This is fantastic, one bad turn to the next. What next? I get mugged?

The next week, the doc looks at me funny. “You’re staying in a motel?”
“Yeah, doc.”
“Does that bother you?”
As if it’s something SO common. “Of COURSE it bothers me, doc. I’ve been forced out of my house by one crappy door. Who wouldn’t be bothered by having to stay in a motel for a week at least?”
Sigh. Dumb ‘ol doc. She comments on how I came back for another session willingly and I keep silent, hoping she’ll get the hint.

It’s been two months. Two damn months. And the doc hasn’t improved the look of the room at ALL. Maybe she dusted once in these two months, but that’s probably it. I’m still not even home yet. Two goddamn months.
“I see.” I’m sure you do doc. Don’t ask anymore stupid questions.
This CAN’T be an actual shrink...she’s too stupid!
“Tell me about your mother” Oh HERE we go. Took long enough to get to the mother.
“There’s nothing to tell. She’s dead.”
“Oh? When did she die?”, my shrink uncrosses and recrosses her legs, looking at me intensely.
“A long time ago.” I try to keep my face neutral.
“How old were you?”
My god...as if my mother’s death will actually affect anything NOW. “I was 17. She died from lung cancer.”
“I’m sorry, a smoker?”
“No, second-hand smoke.”
She frowns, “From who?”
“My Dad. He would smoke a pack a day.”
She’s writing something down, what the hell is she writing down? “Did you enjoy being with your mother when she died?”
“Uh, no. I was 17, I was thinking about college.”
“Did you go and visit her in the hospital?”
“...once or twice.”
“I see.”
Oh come on...’I see’. No she doesn’t. God, I hate that!

Another stuffy day in this damn office. Wish I could at least lie down like you see on TV. That would be comfortable, instead of sitting in this chair with sharp, coiled springs threatening to sodomize me if I shift wrongly.
“So, what’s up, Doc?”
She smiles, “Would you like a carrot?”
“What? Ugh, no, I was just saying. I wasn’t mimicking Bugs Bunny, Doc, geez.”
“Did you ever watch cartoons as a child?”
“Dad didn’t let me.” I cross my arms. “He said that he had to watch every game on ESPN. Did it again when he came to visit. Tch.”
“Your father visited you?”
Oops. “Yea...two days ago...”
“Would you like to tell me what happened?”
“Nothing happened. He came in. Said hi. Watched TV with me. Left.”
“I see.” Oh my god, I’m really starting to hate those two words. “You’re still living in a motel, correct?”
“Correct. Unfortunately, it’s the DayStream Motel, even though I don’t like the look of the damn building.”
“Why do you stay there, then?”
I sigh, “It’s the only hotel close enough to my job.”
“I see,” Oh not again, woman, say something else for once. “And what do you do?” She leans on an elbow and scratches down some more psychiatrist chicken scratch on her clipboard.
“Factory.” I grunt out.
“A factory job? That must be stressful and tiring.” She’s trying at empathy. I hate it when people try at empathy.
“Not so much since the machines started taking over.”
She scribbles something down on that rotten old clipboard she’s always carrying. “Do you feel stressed by your work?”
“No.”
“Are you planning on going back to school in order to get a better career?”
“No, doc. I’ve got a job that gives me enough money for myself. That’s all I need.”
She puts the clipboard down for a second, surprising me enough to make me sit up straight, wondering what she’ll say next. “How do you feel about having been in therapy for three months?”
How do I feel? Whatever. I shrug.
“Do you still think you’re crazy?”
“Yep.”
“Do you think that I think you’re crazy?”
“Hmmm, no.”
She smiles. “We’ll end today with this. I’d like you to start keeping a journal. Write your ambitions and fears inside.”
Oh great, she’s force-feeding me baloney.

Another day, another damn session. I slump in the sodomy-chair and cross my arms. I do not need to be here today, especially not after good ol’ dad forced me back home. Maybe I should’ve gone to check on the apartment...but I just don’t WANT to go back.
“So, how do you feel?” she asks me happily, making me roll my eyes.
“Doc, I feel like I always feel. Half-empty.”
She scribbles something down again and I glare. “Well, this is an improvement. Do you remember your first session?”
“What, with the empty?” I can’t believe I’ve been seeing a shrink for six whole months...I really am crazy.
“Yes, the empty. Empty bed, empty fridge, empty house-”
“Doc, I hardly HAVE a home anymore. I’m still living in a motel.”
“How is that affecting you?”
I smirk. “It’s burning a real hole in my pocket, for sure.”
“I should think that your landlord would have finished replacing your door by now.”
I sit up a little bit, only to slouch down again, just more comfortably this time. “He’s not even trying. Hasn’t done anything since I left.”
She picks up a coffee cup and sips at it, keeping her eyes locked on mine over the rim. That’s more than a little unnerving.
The cup goes back to the coffee table between us and I turn my head to look out the window. I intend to prolong this silence as much as possible.
“Have you written in a journal?”
“Nope.” I refuse to look at her either.
“How’s work?”
I jump. Great, how did she know to say just the wrong thing? “Fired.”
“FIRED? Why?”
I shrug, “They didn’t need me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you?”
“You don’t believe me?”
I eye her slightly, “Should I?” Question battle, begin.
“Do you believe people when they compliment you?”
“No, I have to think what they want from me and why.” I think I just lost the battle.
“I see.” Oh, STOP saying that!

She decides to greet me at the door this session, it’s been half a year since I started seeing her. “How are you?”
Cue rolling of the eyes. “Doc, can I go sit down first?” I ask exasperated.
“Yes, of course, come in.” She smooths down her tan skirt before taking a seat. Wait. Skirt? She never wears a skirt.
“Some special occasion?” I ask.
“Pardon?”
“You headed to some special occasion after?” I repeat testily.
She leans back in her chair, folders and papers left on the coffee table between us. “I have a date.”
“Oh...you have a boyfriend?”
“No, not exactly. This is more of a try-it-out-and-see-how-you-feel sort of date.”
“Aha...” Well this is a shocker. Who thought a shrink could ever get a date, and a healthy 26 year old can’t? “Have you met him before?”
Her smile grows. “Yes, a few times. He seemed nice, so I agreed to a date.” She changes the subject abruptly. “How has your job search been going?”
“Uh.....not great.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
“Nobody wants to hire me ‘cause I only finished high school.”
She grabs a pen. “Have you considered going back to school?”
“...Nah. I’m not smart.”
“Really?”
“...Should I go? I don’t think I could.”
She nods. “I believe you are more than smart enough to go back to school.”
I can’t think of a response. Is ‘thank you’ appropriate? Or did she call me stupid in a hidden way?

The day after the session, I go to the public library and go online to try and find some nearby colleges and their applications. What the hell, I might as well fill them out. What’s the worst that could happen?
I could get rejected. And that...isn’t too bad. Really.
If I get rejected, I’ll try again and again. I mean, I HAVE to get accepted at one point or another...
The applications are long, and I’ve forgotten my Social Security number, so I can’t fill them all out.
Instead, I copy down the essay topic, and start trying out different essays.
It feels good to actually do something productive, and I stay at the library for so long, that they have to remind me that they’re closing.
I stand to gather my loose sheets, and stop. Only now noticing just HOW MUCH I’ve written in the last 4 hours.
I walk out with almost 30 pages of pure writing thrown into a manila envelope.
Wow, I never expected to ever be able to write so much and ENJOY it.
Wonder if the doc will enjoy looking at them.

Next session, my shrink reads through the papers. Well...ok, that’s innacurate. The doc SCANS the papers might be better. She doesn’t really stop and read them throuroghly, which irks me a little bit.
“You’re not interested?” I ask, with an eyebrow raised.
“Hmm?” She looks up at me, as if only just then noticing that I was seated in the sodomy-chair before her. “Oh, no. I am interested, but I feel that we are short on time, and I’d like to focus on one or two things, as opposed to the whole piece.”
“Uh...okay?” Sounds silly. “I haven’t finished the application yet, I’m still looking for my Social Security card before I do.”
“Well, you really should find it soon.” Duh, doc. “I mean,” She goes on, “Even if you took a copy, it still wouldn’t be acceptable.”
“Geez, doc, I know. I’m looking.”
A moment passes before she puts the papers down. “Let’s focus on what you said on the second page, ok?”

Back at my apartment, finally. I glance at my landlord and give him a half smile. Just barely a hint of any emotion. The Mona Lisa would be proud.
“I’ve gotten you a nice oak door,” he rambles, “I hope you’ll like it. I also fixed the lock, and got it replaced. I would have let you do it, if you wanted to, but I couldn’t find you before it was done.”
“Ok, do I have to give in my key?”
He nods. “Yes please, and I’ll give you this new one.” He holds up a shiny new key and places it in my hand. “Welcome back, my friend.”
...I don’t know what to say. Numbly, I turn to my new door and open it. Everything’s been cleaned and dusted. There’s no clutter, or laundry. I smell some baked goods in the kitchen and walk over to see. He left me a plate of fresh croissants...after bugging me about my eating habits for so long, and how I sit in front of the TV and ‘pig out’.
I walk back out and call to him before he goes into his apartment, “THANKS!”
He raises a hand in agknowledgement and closes the door behind him.
A few weeks after I’ve moved all of my stuff back in, my landlord slides a letter under the door. When I pick it up, I see the word “ACCEPTANCE” stamped on in big green letters”
...
“OH YEAH!!! AWESOME!!!”

I don’t want to shake her hand. I don’t want to say goodbye.
“Our last session is finished.” She smiles at me. “You’ve really grown.”
“Yea. I’m not sarcastic as much, I don’t swear as much, I’m happier. Did I tell you that I was accepted at Penn?”
“Really? Congratulations! What are you going to study?”
“Psychology” I grin at her, “I’m going to dissect YOU now. And I’ll figure out how you dissected me.”
She laughs and squeezes my hand. “You have my number if you ever want to come back.”
“That’ll take money, doc. This was paid for by Medicare, remember? Only one year of sessions for free.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“I will save up though.” I look around at the room one last time. “I definitely expect changes for when I come back. Maybe a new chair? New bookcase?” I’m only teasing her and she knows it, I can tell because she’s laughing with me. “Bye, doc. Thanks for everything.”
As I walk out, she calls out from behind me, “Is it still empty?”
I look over my shoulder at her with a grin. “Um...more like half full.”

FIN

Description
“It’s empty.”
“Empty?” She looks up at me curiously.
“Yeah. Empty.” I nod.
“Why do you say EMPTY?”
“Why?” I chuckle, “Because that’s all there is. The glass is empty, the house is empty, the fridge is empty, my BED is empty...”
For some reason, she chooses to focus in on my fridge, and not my house, or bed. “Why do you feel that your fridge is empty?”
Oh, duh. “There’s nothing IN IT, maybe?” And this is supposed to be a shrink? Aren’t shrink ladies supposed to ask about your mother and delve into your childhood?
“I’m sensing some animosity in your tone. Do you not want to be here?” She looks concerned, but it’s an act. I’m a folder of papers in her lap and nothing more.
“ ‘Course I don’t want to be here. I’m no loon. I’m not crazy. I know exactly where I am and why I’m here.” I don’t need some crackpot shrink bothering me about my private life.
“I never said that you were crazy.”
“I’m in a shrink’s office, doc. That screams crazy.” This chair is uncomfortable, dammit. And why is everything so dusty and old? That bookcase is falling apart, and those books look like JESUS himself read from them at one time!
“Maybe we should end the session for today” Hurrah! Freedom! She stands and offers her hand, which I take grudgingly. “It was nice to meet you.”
“Yea, sure.” Without any further words, I turn and walk out of the stuffy room with its dingy old couches and dark walls.
The fresh air feels ok today...Not as murky from the bus exhaust as usual. I breathe some in, to try and relish the feeling of being outside, and not in some foreign room, with some stranger with a PhD poking and prodding my brain.
My nice deep breath gets cut off when a bus drives by and splashes mud onto my jacket, and smoke into my face.
Coughing, I wheeze out, “You damn crazy bus driving idiot! Watch where you’re going!” Of course, he couldn’t hear me, as he was already 4 blocks down.
I sigh, and drop my fist to go home...the empty home, without even a bird to keep me company. Maybe I should drop by a bar and pick someone up, so that for one night, I’m not sleeping alone...
...Nah.
I pass by several people on my walk home from school. Several bums too. I need some more money so that I can get a car, dammit. The squat apartment building finally shows up in front of me and I enter it gratefully.
My door handle’s stuck again. I throw my shoulder at the wooden obstacle and gnash my teeth when it fails to give way. GREAT, and now my shoulder hurts too.
“Have you tried kicking it?” It’s the landlord, the man who’s too damn cheap to go out and buy a new damn door for my damn empty apartment.
“No. I don’t intend on breaking my foot.” I roll my eyes.
“Let me try.”
“Suit yourself.” I move out of the way and watch him kick and kick and kick until he holds his foot in pain, hopping on the other one. “Is it open?” I ask with more than a touch of sarcasm.
“N-no...”
“So now what do I do?”
“I’ll be right back.”
Right back, what the hell does that mean? What the hell could he do to get this stupid door open that- Oh my God. He’s got a CROWBAR.
“Don’t you think it would be easier to just buy a new door? Preferably one that isn’t the weight of a cement block?”
“Sarcastic as always,” he grunts, trying to wedge the door open. He starts to sweat and it becomes pretty obvious that I’m not getting back in my apartment anytime soon. Instead of offering help, help that really wouldn’t help, I shrug.
“You know what, forget it. I’ll go to a motel. Call me when you’ve got the door fixed.” I walk out of the small building, shaking my head in disgust.
This is fantastic, one bad turn to the next. What next? I get mugged?

The next week, the doc looks at me funny. “You’re staying in a motel?”
“Yeah, doc.”
“Does that bother you?”
As if it’s something SO common. “Of COURSE it bothers me, doc. I’ve been forced out of my house by one crappy door. Who wouldn’t be bothered by having to stay in a motel for a week at least?”
Sigh. Dumb ‘ol doc. She comments on how I came back for another session willingly and I keep silent, hoping she’ll get the hint.

It’s been two months. Two damn months. And the doc hasn’t improved the look of the room at ALL. Maybe she dusted once in these two months, but that’s probably it. I’m still not even home yet. Two goddamn months.
“I see.” I’m sure you do doc. Don’t ask anymore stupid questions.
This CAN’T be an actual shrink...she’s too stupid!
“Tell me about your mother” Oh HERE we go. Took long enough to get to the mother.
“There’s nothing to tell. She’s dead.”
“Oh? When did she die?”, my shrink uncrosses and recrosses her legs, looking at me intensely.
“A long time ago.” I try to keep my face neutral.
“How old were you?”
My god...as if my mother’s death will actually affect anything NOW. “I was 17. She died from lung cancer.”
“I’m sorry, a smoker?”
“No, second-hand smoke.”
She frowns, “From who?”
“My Dad. He would smoke a pack a day.”
She’s writing something down, what the hell is she writing down? “Did you enjoy being with your mother when she died?”
“Uh, no. I was 17, I was thinking about college.”
“Did you go and visit her in the hospital?”
“...once or twice.”
“I see.”
Oh come on...’I see’. No she doesn’t. God, I hate that!

Another stuffy day in this damn office. Wish I could at least lie down like you see on TV. That would be comfortable, instead of sitting in this chair with sharp, coiled springs threatening to sodomize me if I shift wrongly.
“So, what’s up, Doc?”
She smiles, “Would you like a carrot?”
“What? Ugh, no, I was just saying. I wasn’t mimicking Bugs Bunny, Doc, geez.”
“Did you ever watch cartoons as a child?”
“Dad didn’t let me.” I cross my arms. “He said that he had to watch every game on ESPN. Did it again when he came to visit. Tch.”
“Your father visited you?”
Oops. “Yea...two days ago...”
“Would you like to tell me what happened?”
“Nothing happened. He came in. Said hi. Watched TV with me. Left.”
“I see.” Oh my god, I’m really starting to hate those two words. “You’re still living in a motel, correct?”
“Correct. Unfortunately, it’s the DayStream Motel, even though I don’t like the look of the damn building.”
“Why do you stay there, then?”
I sigh, “It’s the only hotel close enough to my job.”
“I see,” Oh not again, woman, say something else for once. “And what do you do?” She leans on an elbow and scratches down some more psychiatrist chicken scratch on her clipboard.
“Factory.” I grunt out.
“A factory job? That must be stressful and tiring.” She’s trying at empathy. I hate it when people try at empathy.
“Not so much since the machines started taking over.”
She scribbles something down on that rotten old clipboard she’s always carrying. “Do you feel stressed by your work?”
“No.”
“Are you planning on going back to school in order to get a better career?”
“No, doc. I’ve got a job that gives me enough money for myself. That’s all I need.”
She puts the clipboard down for a second, surprising me enough to make me sit up straight, wondering what she’ll say next. “How do you feel about having been in therapy for three months?”
How do I feel? Whatever. I shrug.
“Do you still think you’re crazy?”
“Yep.”
“Do you think that I think you’re crazy?”
“Hmmm, no.”
She smiles. “We’ll end today with this. I’d like you to start keeping a journal. Write your ambitions and fears inside.”
Oh great, she’s force-feeding me baloney.

Another day, another damn session. I slump in the sodomy-chair and cross my arms. I do not need to be here today, especially not after good ol’ dad forced me back home. Maybe I should’ve gone to check on the apartment...but I just don’t WANT to go back.
“So, how do you feel?” she asks me happily, making me roll my eyes.
“Doc, I feel like I always feel. Half-empty.”
She scribbles something down again and I glare. “Well, this is an improvement. Do you remember your first session?”
“What, with the empty?” I can’t believe I’ve been seeing a shrink for six whole months...I really am crazy.
“Yes, the empty. Empty bed, empty fridge, empty house-”
“Doc, I hardly HAVE a home anymore. I’m still living in a motel.”
“How is that affecting you?”
I smirk. “It’s burning a real hole in my pocket, for sure.”
“I should think that your landlord would have finished replacing your door by now.”
I sit up a little bit, only to slouch down again, just more comfortably this time. “He’s not even trying. Hasn’t done anything since I left.”
She picks up a coffee cup and sips at it, keeping her eyes locked on mine over the rim. That’s more than a little unnerving.
The cup goes back to the coffee table between us and I turn my head to look out the window. I intend to prolong this silence as much as possible.
“Have you written in a journal?”
“Nope.” I refuse to look at her either.
“How’s work?”
I jump. Great, how did she know to say just the wrong thing? “Fired.”
“FIRED? Why?”
I shrug, “They didn’t need me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you?”
“You don’t believe me?”
I eye her slightly, “Should I?” Question battle, begin.
“Do you believe people when they compliment you?”
“No, I have to think what they want from me and why.” I think I just lost the battle.
“I see.” Oh, STOP saying that!

She decides to greet me at the door this session, it’s been half a year since I started seeing her. “How are you?”
Cue rolling of the eyes. “Doc, can I go sit down first?” I ask exasperated.
“Yes, of course, come in.” She smooths down her tan skirt before taking a seat. Wait. Skirt? She never wears a skirt.
“Some special occasion?” I ask.
“Pardon?”
“You headed to some special occasion after?” I repeat testily.
She leans back in her chair, folders and papers left on the coffee table between us. “I have a date.”
“Oh...you have a boyfriend?”
“No, not exactly. This is more of a try-it-out-and-see-how-you-feel sort of date.”
“Aha...” Well this is a shocker. Who thought a shrink could ever get a date, and a healthy 26 year old can’t? “Have you met him before?”
Her smile grows. “Yes, a few times. He seemed nice, so I agreed to a date.” She changes the subject abruptly. “How has your job search been going?”
“Uh.....not great.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
“Nobody wants to hire me ‘cause I only finished high school.”
She grabs a pen. “Have you considered going back to school?”
“...Nah. I’m not smart.”
“Really?”
“...Should I go? I don’t think I could.”
She nods. “I believe you are more than smart enough to go back to school.”
I can’t think of a response. Is ‘thank you’ appropriate? Or did she call me stupid in a hidden way?

The day after the session, I go to the public library and go online to try and find some nearby colleges and their applications. What the hell, I might as well fill them out. What’s the worst that could happen?
I could get rejected. And that...isn’t too bad. Really.
If I get rejected, I’ll try again and again. I mean, I HAVE to get accepted at one point or another...
The applications are long, and I’ve forgotten my Social Security number, so I can’t fill them all out.
Instead, I copy down the essay topic, and start trying out different essays.
It feels good to actually do something productive, and I stay at the library for so long, that they have to remind me that they’re closing.
I stand to gather my loose sheets, and stop. Only now noticing just HOW MUCH I’ve written in the last 4 hours.
I walk out with almost 30 pages of pure writing thrown into a manila envelope.
Wow, I never expected to ever be able to write so much and ENJOY it.
Wonder if the doc will enjoy looking at them.

Next session, my shrink reads through the papers. Well...ok, that’s innacurate. The doc SCANS the papers might be better. She doesn’t really stop and read them throuroghly, which irks me a little bit.
“You’re not interested?” I ask, with an eyebrow raised.
“Hmm?” She looks up at me, as if only just then noticing that I was seated in the sodomy-chair before her. “Oh, no. I am interested, but I feel that we are short on time, and I’d like to focus on one or two things, as opposed to the whole piece.”
“Uh...okay?” Sounds silly. “I haven’t finished the application yet, I’m still looking for my Social Security card before I do.”
“Well, you really should find it soon.” Duh, doc. “I mean,” She goes on, “Even if you took a copy, it still wouldn’t be acceptable.”
“Geez, doc, I know. I’m looking.”
A moment passes before she puts the papers down. “Let’s focus on what you said on the second page, ok?”

Back at my apartment, finally. I glance at my landlord and give him a half smile. Just barely a hint of any emotion. The Mona Lisa would be proud.
“I’ve gotten you a nice oak door,” he rambles, “I hope you’ll like it. I also fixed the lock, and got it replaced. I would have let you do it, if you wanted to, but I couldn’t find you before it was done.”
“Ok, do I have to give in my key?”
He nods. “Yes please, and I’ll give you this new one.” He holds up a shiny new key and places it in my hand. “Welcome back, my friend.”
...I don’t know what to say. Numbly, I turn to my new door and open it. Everything’s been cleaned and dusted. There’s no clutter, or laundry. I smell some baked goods in the kitchen and walk over to see. He left me a plate of fresh croissants...after bugging me about my eating habits for so long, and how I sit in front of the TV and ‘pig out’.
I walk back out and call to him before he goes into his apartment, “THANKS!”
He raises a hand in agknowledgement and closes the door behind him.
A few weeks after I’ve moved all of my stuff back in, my landlord slides a letter under the door. When I pick it up, I see the word “ACCEPTANCE” stamped on in big green letters”
...
“OH YEAH!!! AWESOME!!!”

I don’t want to shake her hand. I don’t want to say goodbye.
“Our last session is finished.” She smiles at me. “You’ve really grown.”
“Yea. I’m not sarcastic as much, I don’t swear as much, I’m happier. Did I tell you that I was accepted at Penn?”
“Really? Congratulations! What are you going to study?”
“Psychology” I grin at her, “I’m going to dissect YOU now. And I’ll figure out how you dissected me.”
She laughs and squeezes my hand. “You have my number if you ever want to come back.”
“That’ll take money, doc. This was paid for by Medicare, remember? Only one year of sessions for free.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“I will save up though.” I look around at the room one last time. “I definitely expect changes for when I come back. Maybe a new chair? New bookcase?” I’m only teasing her and she knows it, I can tell because she’s laughing with me. “Bye, doc. Thanks for everything.”
As I walk out, she calls out from behind me, “Is it still empty?”
I look over my shoulder at her with a grin. “Um...more like half full.”

FIN