YumYumSoysauce
03-26-2011, 11:50 AM
This is my first post, and as a matter of fact my first real try at short story. I hope its short enough. Any criticism whatsoever is greatly appreciated:
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The Patient
My friends often think my job is depressing. And from time to time I get discouraged. But occasionally I come across a few cases that remind me that my life is worth living.
It was a Monday, the start of my week. I can still remember flipping on the news and skipping breakfast because of an accident on the bay bridge. I was having marital issues myself back then, so the accident was welcomed news – I had an excuse to leave early and forego the usual 30 minutes of awkward silence with my wife and kid. So I wrote a note, left early, and got to the office late.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said to my receptionist.
“Looks like your appointments will be backed up a few hours…,” she said.
Damn. What a way to start the day.
“And you’ll be seeing your new patient today,” she said.
“New patient?” I said in passing. She handed me his file: James -----, 38. Littleton, CA …
I was surprised that I didn’t remember taking on a new patient. My private practice is small, but was even smaller back then. So in walked James.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, reaching for his hand.
“I’ve been waiting a while, doc,” he said.
“Sorry about that, James. Can I call you Jim?” I said.
“Sure, that’s fine,” he said as he sat down on the couch directly opposite me.
I can remember sizing him up. From his body language I already sensed his insecurity and introversion. He was a big man, tall and portly with bright red hair. Yet you’d get the feeling that he felt a foot tall. I started him off like I did other patients, letting him vent and project on me his problems – depression, estrangement from his parents, addiction to pornography, and multiple sexual partners, mostly prostitutes. I didn’t say a word, but I sensed that he was particularly angry with me.
“I feel like I’m bothering you, Jim,” I said.
“Well no, doc, I paid you to help me,” he said.
“Remember Jim, you can be honest with me,” I said nonchalantly.
“Well, doc, you know, I didn’t appreciate you making me wait for so long,” he said.
“Jim, I said I was sorry,” I quickly retorted.
“And you know I don’t appreciate you calling me Jim,” he snapped back.
“Sorry, um, James,” I said, stammering. I felt like I struck a nerve. I proceeded cautiously.
“Why is this so upsetting for you? You know, I feel like there is something deeper behind all this, I mean, I told you there was an accident on the bridge.”
I could see him starting to tear up and shrink even smaller in front of me. I continued.
“Is there something in your past that reminds you of this feeling you have now?”
He really let it go then. Can you imagine, this huge man, who looked more like a Viking, sobbing bitterly in front of me? After a few minutes of letting him cry, he began to speak, swallowing his tears.
“In the school where I went to kindergarten, there was this huge parking lot in front of a tall, round church. Well, our school that year had a big carnival – family day.”
I immediately felt dumbfounded. I hadn’t noticed that he was from Littleton, the same place I had grown up. As soon as he mentioned the church parking lot and the kindergarten carnival, I immediately started to remember. He continued.
“Everyone brought their moms and dads. My mom was … you know, bossy. She drove my dad crazy. She was a nurse, and was always busy. I guess she convinced my dad to take me to the carnival.”
I didn’t say a word, though the memories came back to me so suddenly, so poignantly. He went on.
“Well, to play the games at the different booths, we’d pay dimes. So every kid in my class got their parents to buy them a bag of dimes. My dad brought me around to different booths, but I was afraid to play many of the games,” he said, reaching for a tissue.
I, too, could remember some of those booths. I even remember buying one of those goldfish, you know, that end up dying really quickly cause you put them in tap water. He trudged on.
“Well, the carnival was coming to an end, and I still had a bag nearly full of dimes. The parents were starting to pick up their kids – the carnival was in the parking lot, so the parents had to park a far ways away. I can’t remember exactly, but I think I bumped into one of the people and I dropped the bag of dimes.”
James started to cry again, but kept going.
“My dad … my dad said he wanted me to pick up all the dimes, since he didn’t feel like wasting the money. He said, ‘Jim, pick up the damn dimes. You can stay here with the other kids. I’ll be back with the car.’“
And I remember that, too. I remember a pudgy red-headed kid, foolishly scouring the floor for dimes. I remember thinking how funny it was, how absurd. And how a bunch of the kids started to laugh at him. I remember the thought crossing my mind of helping that weird red-headed kid. But I remember shrugging it off. I shook my goldfish in its plastic bag instead.
“Go on,” I said.
“He didn’t pick me up until all the families were gone,” he said, breaking down in tears. “I mean, what kind of a father leaves his kid ALONE picking up dimes in an empty parking lot? What kind of a man makes his kid wait by himself until everyone leaves?”
I felt guilty, like I probably could have done something back then. I mean, at the very least help him pick up the dimes and let him know he wasn't alone. It’s funny how much lives are contingent in that weird sort of way. And how we sometimes overlook how much of an impact we can have on other people. I finally spoke.
“I know this hurts you James. Yes, you can feel the pain. It hurts, right? This is normal. You feel abandoned, that’s okay. Let it out. Just remember that you can’t go on feeling like this. You have to feel it, but move on. You have to start establishing substantial relationships with people. You can’t go on feeling detached from everyone else.”
Well, he was my first patient on the first day of a busy week. I left my office promising myself that I would do something for James, partially out of guilt and partially as a penance. I immediately scheduled him for future appointments and started speaking to my wife and kid in the mornings.
===========================================
The Patient
My friends often think my job is depressing. And from time to time I get discouraged. But occasionally I come across a few cases that remind me that my life is worth living.
It was a Monday, the start of my week. I can still remember flipping on the news and skipping breakfast because of an accident on the bay bridge. I was having marital issues myself back then, so the accident was welcomed news – I had an excuse to leave early and forego the usual 30 minutes of awkward silence with my wife and kid. So I wrote a note, left early, and got to the office late.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said to my receptionist.
“Looks like your appointments will be backed up a few hours…,” she said.
Damn. What a way to start the day.
“And you’ll be seeing your new patient today,” she said.
“New patient?” I said in passing. She handed me his file: James -----, 38. Littleton, CA …
I was surprised that I didn’t remember taking on a new patient. My private practice is small, but was even smaller back then. So in walked James.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, reaching for his hand.
“I’ve been waiting a while, doc,” he said.
“Sorry about that, James. Can I call you Jim?” I said.
“Sure, that’s fine,” he said as he sat down on the couch directly opposite me.
I can remember sizing him up. From his body language I already sensed his insecurity and introversion. He was a big man, tall and portly with bright red hair. Yet you’d get the feeling that he felt a foot tall. I started him off like I did other patients, letting him vent and project on me his problems – depression, estrangement from his parents, addiction to pornography, and multiple sexual partners, mostly prostitutes. I didn’t say a word, but I sensed that he was particularly angry with me.
“I feel like I’m bothering you, Jim,” I said.
“Well no, doc, I paid you to help me,” he said.
“Remember Jim, you can be honest with me,” I said nonchalantly.
“Well, doc, you know, I didn’t appreciate you making me wait for so long,” he said.
“Jim, I said I was sorry,” I quickly retorted.
“And you know I don’t appreciate you calling me Jim,” he snapped back.
“Sorry, um, James,” I said, stammering. I felt like I struck a nerve. I proceeded cautiously.
“Why is this so upsetting for you? You know, I feel like there is something deeper behind all this, I mean, I told you there was an accident on the bridge.”
I could see him starting to tear up and shrink even smaller in front of me. I continued.
“Is there something in your past that reminds you of this feeling you have now?”
He really let it go then. Can you imagine, this huge man, who looked more like a Viking, sobbing bitterly in front of me? After a few minutes of letting him cry, he began to speak, swallowing his tears.
“In the school where I went to kindergarten, there was this huge parking lot in front of a tall, round church. Well, our school that year had a big carnival – family day.”
I immediately felt dumbfounded. I hadn’t noticed that he was from Littleton, the same place I had grown up. As soon as he mentioned the church parking lot and the kindergarten carnival, I immediately started to remember. He continued.
“Everyone brought their moms and dads. My mom was … you know, bossy. She drove my dad crazy. She was a nurse, and was always busy. I guess she convinced my dad to take me to the carnival.”
I didn’t say a word, though the memories came back to me so suddenly, so poignantly. He went on.
“Well, to play the games at the different booths, we’d pay dimes. So every kid in my class got their parents to buy them a bag of dimes. My dad brought me around to different booths, but I was afraid to play many of the games,” he said, reaching for a tissue.
I, too, could remember some of those booths. I even remember buying one of those goldfish, you know, that end up dying really quickly cause you put them in tap water. He trudged on.
“Well, the carnival was coming to an end, and I still had a bag nearly full of dimes. The parents were starting to pick up their kids – the carnival was in the parking lot, so the parents had to park a far ways away. I can’t remember exactly, but I think I bumped into one of the people and I dropped the bag of dimes.”
James started to cry again, but kept going.
“My dad … my dad said he wanted me to pick up all the dimes, since he didn’t feel like wasting the money. He said, ‘Jim, pick up the damn dimes. You can stay here with the other kids. I’ll be back with the car.’“
And I remember that, too. I remember a pudgy red-headed kid, foolishly scouring the floor for dimes. I remember thinking how funny it was, how absurd. And how a bunch of the kids started to laugh at him. I remember the thought crossing my mind of helping that weird red-headed kid. But I remember shrugging it off. I shook my goldfish in its plastic bag instead.
“Go on,” I said.
“He didn’t pick me up until all the families were gone,” he said, breaking down in tears. “I mean, what kind of a father leaves his kid ALONE picking up dimes in an empty parking lot? What kind of a man makes his kid wait by himself until everyone leaves?”
I felt guilty, like I probably could have done something back then. I mean, at the very least help him pick up the dimes and let him know he wasn't alone. It’s funny how much lives are contingent in that weird sort of way. And how we sometimes overlook how much of an impact we can have on other people. I finally spoke.
“I know this hurts you James. Yes, you can feel the pain. It hurts, right? This is normal. You feel abandoned, that’s okay. Let it out. Just remember that you can’t go on feeling like this. You have to feel it, but move on. You have to start establishing substantial relationships with people. You can’t go on feeling detached from everyone else.”
Well, he was my first patient on the first day of a busy week. I left my office promising myself that I would do something for James, partially out of guilt and partially as a penance. I immediately scheduled him for future appointments and started speaking to my wife and kid in the mornings.