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Fiction

Walk-Ins are not welcome

I had my first appointment with my new therapist yesterday. I had been thinking about it for a longtime, reading online reviews, comparing specialties, etc. Oddly enough, I didn’t even use the internet to find my Headshrinker. I was on one of my long drives. I sat in the car while gravity and physics carried me along the side streets and back roads of my town.
There was no conscious thought as to where I was going, I just had to make sure to keep an eye out for sudden brake lights or the occasional stray cat, darting into traffic in some wild pursuit.

Its pretty shocking that just a few years ago, I was absolutely terrified to drive and now I can cruise the vistas almost completely on autopilot. That’s the trick you know, just letting your body do what it needs to do and natural survival instincts will kick in leaving the rest of your mind to mill and seethe with various daydreams and memories.

Back to the point, it was on one of these rides that, through the blue of the world passing by my windows, I happened to lock onto her face as something I recognize. I couldn’t figure it out but I knew her from somewhere. She looked so familiar and then it hit me. She was one of the dozens of faces I had seen on the internet as I searched for therapists. I think she was even wearing the same smart dark blue blazer as her home page photo. She was getting into her car after a long day of helping people like me gain control over their lives.

It is tough to explain but sometimes you can just get a gut feeling about someone. These feelings are usually bad but this time it was wasn’t. My stomach was willed with hope instead of fear and dread. She had such an uplifting quality about her that before I knew it I was putting the car in park in a neighborhood that I had never seen before. I didn’t even know how long I had been driving for until I looked at the clock on dashboard and realized that 40 minutes had passed. How did that happen?

I searched my mind for some hints as to what I was doing for the last hour when my concentration was broken by the slamming of a door. If there is anything I hate more than getting lost in my thoughts when I don’t mean to, it has to be losing my track of mind when I am finally focused on something. I was sure that this woman would be familiar with my condition. My last therapist called it TOTTS; Tip of the Tongue Syndrome. I’m sure that’s not the scientific term, but it helped me understand what I was being treated for.

You know how sometimes you will be thinking of a song, or a movie, or even a person’s name and you swear you know it? The thought is just below the surface, ready to break through but you just can’t think of it. Where most people either give up or figure it out, I get lost in it and I can’t do anything else until I figure out what it was that I was going to say. And if my concentration gets broken then…your guess is as good as mine.

Most of the time, I end up in my car and stumble upon the answer but can barely remember the question. I will shout out the answer with a big sign of relief. Kind of like the way I felt when I first saw that lady whose house I ended up at.

Never mind that, so there I was outside this woman’s house and I didn’t know why I was there. I’m sure I would have figured it out if she didn’t slam her door so damn hard. I got out of my car and went up to her door and rang the bell. It played some tune like the NBC jingle but no one came to the door. i knew she was in there, I just heard her go in and she must have seen me because she was peeking through the window as I crossed the street. She was looking right at me but was hiding. I tried to think of why she would be scared of me. honestly, I just needed to find out who she was and where we were but the look she gave me was so full of hatred. Why would she look at me like that? Did she know me from somewhere?

I looked through the backlogs of memories in my brain, looking for some scenario where I offended her in some way. Maybe I cut her off and gave her the finger in traffic or maybe she used to live next door to me and hated how I always kept the TV really loud. It wasn’t until I was gathering all of her things into a garbage bag that I saw her wallet fall on the floor and flop open. The blood on ,my hands made it more difficult to pull out her license but once I saw her face and name it all came together. It was on the top of my tongue. Truth be told i would have never figured it out, especially with how she looked on the floor of her kitchen. I couldn’t even tell where her eyes used to be. But I finally remembered that I had seen her in town once.

Anyway, I hope I can get in touch with a therapist soon, I have to get some control over myself. Maybe I’ll cruise around town after I pick up a new hammer.

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