Flawed

Ellie was trying to remember her first days as a therapist. The way she had felt both excited and terrified during the whole week before her first appointment, the sense of pride she felt when she first opened the door of the practice, the doubt she had about the paint on the walls being soothing enough, the million times she had swapped her brand new couch from one corner to another for her patients to feel the most comfortable possible, how she had thrown herself on the said couch and smashed its cushions to make it feel more « used » for her first patients not to realize they were the firsts to sit there. She remembered how many hours she had spent checking if her phones, both landline and mobile, were working properly to make sure she could be reached by potential patients. She remembered the taste of the glass of Champaign she drank with Sarah when she wrote down her first appointment... She also had a vivid memory of how she had thrown up twice on her first day because she was so scared and convinced she would screw it up and prove her mother right at last, or the fact that she had been the main and almost sole user of that box of tissues on the pine coffee table during her first year practicing, like when one of her first patients told her about having been sexually abused. Her name was etched in her memory: Joy. Life was so delightfully ironic sometimes.

And there she was, 6 years later, same practice, new couch, trying very hard to focus on Mrs Blum as she was being particularly vehement about the tantrums her dog would invariably throw when she came back home after a trip, and how she felt it led her to develop a toxic relationship with it. There were more “Mrs Blum”s than “Joy”s in her practice nowadays, both literally and figuratively, now that she was thinking about it. She would have loved to believe it was because people had fewer problems now; unfortunately, she was living in the real world too.

“Do you think Pookie could be a narcissistic pervert?”, said Mrs Blum, stopping Ellie’s train of thoughts. “I read a fascinating article about that in Cosmo the other day, and he definitely checked all the boxes. That would explain a lot, don’t you think?” An uninformed listener could think at first Mrs Blum was uttering a question. Fair enough but wrong. She was just one of these people who liked to make both questions and answers. This way, she was always right.

She was her first patient of the day and Ellie was already feeling the urge to smoke a cigarette. She couldn’t remember exactly when patients suddenly became experts in human psychology because of articles they read in women’s magazines or on social media. She hated both. Always had, and always will. Those “Sigmund Freud in the making” thought they had it all figured out. They used some big words they didn’t even begin to understand and reduced therapy to three concepts that really applied as often as a total solar eclipse, but were now apparently national plagues. Narcissistic pervert was one of those. She wanted to tell her that no, Pookie was not a narcissistic pervert, but that if she stopped being so shallow for one tiny moment, Ellie would gladly trigger off by shaking her like a freaking coconut tree, they could put the sessions to better use dealing, for instance, with how she would overeat when she was on a trip away from her home to compensate for her anxiety of being forgotten when she was gone. Instead, Ellie braced herself, looked her right in the eyes and said:

“I’m not sure the concept would apply here. It might be more interesting to dig a little deeper on how YOU feel when you are away from your home and…Pookie”, she said, while thinking that, in her whole life, never in a million years she thought she would pronounce the word Pookie so much. Mrs Blum was now debating alone about what kind of breed she should have bought instead of a poodle, which was obviously a breed too demanding considering her lifestyle. Ellie would have rather heard a 5-minute symphony of nails on a chalk board than this logorrhea. This was not what she had studied for; it made her feel completely useless. She hated that going to therapy seemed to have been reduced to something you had to comply to be considered as “functioning” in this society. Few were the people who actually gave a shit about it anymore. Sarah, who was her insider on all social media related topic, had told her that she had seen someone checking in “at the shrink” – feeling happy, yes, with a fucking smiley face, on Facebook. That was when Sarah was still talking to her. “Nope, not going down this road right now”, she thought to herself. Surviving in this job implied learning that some of your patients might be lost causes who you were just monitoring; Mrs Blum was the textbook definition of one. If only she was at least nice. She let the ranting go for another five minutes, wandering about what a “Drop lost causes” tattoo would look like and being genuinely concerned about Mrs Blum actually putting Pookie down. That woman could have apparently held a 2-hour conference about dog breeds and toxic relationships, but Ellie interrupted her: “Good. That will be it for today”. She took the check from the chubby hands of Mrs Blum, and let her leave not being able to contain a sigh of relief.

She always made sure she had at least 10 minutes alone between two patients, to jot down a few notes on her patient’s file and reset for the next session. Her notes for this session read: “How much can one talk about a freaking dog? Whose days seem to be counted by the way. Lost cause.” She then grabbed the file of Mr. Connors, who, as far as she knew, had no pets. You should always count your blessings, no matter how small. These days, she also used her little breaks to compulsively check her phone, which, as a matter of fact, showed no sign of activity at all. She called her voicemail anyway. You have no messages in your mailbox, to listen to your saved messages, press 5. She knew for a fact there was no point in listening to it again, and yet, she saw herself press the damn button: “It’s me, you forgot to buy milk again, please grab some on your way home. My parents will be there at 8; don’t be late”. She knew the 500th listening was not going to reveal some hidden secret code or the winning numbers of the next lottery drawing, but she just couldn’t help herself. A knock on the door prevented her from the 501st one, thank God. After a few minutes in the session though, she didn’t want to thank the Lord anymore...

 Her morning was just a succession of patients with either nothing interesting to talk about, or absolutely no desire to dig on what was. In the sake of honesty, she didn’t have the energy to push them much today, which made her take a well-known guilt trip when lunch break came. Yet, she decided to treat herself with a cigarette and her favorite BLT from the bakery downstairs. It was one of these unexpected gorgeous days. And even though she would have appreciated to bathe in her own sadness under a good old fashioned pouring rain, she decided she would try to enjoy it a little and went under her favorite oak tree in the park. In addition to this glorious morning, her phone was still showing the activity of a sleeping sloth, which lead to a “baby sloth” Google search. It made her think of Sarah. She truly believed that whatever the topic was, she could relate it to Sarah within two ideas: baby sloth made her think about the zoo; they were driving by a zoo when Sarah asked her if she wanted to move in three years ago. Bam! This one was easy though; quantum physics might be a trickier one but she was certain she could pull it off if needed. A text from her next patient informed her he was going to be late. Looking at the time, she realized she was too. He was a new patient, which was kind of exciting. She thought it would be a nice way to start the afternoon, with a clean slate.

            He didn’t look at all the way he sounded like; his timid and broken voice and the 5 times he apologized during their 2 minute phone call had led her to believe she would be dealing with someone with matching looks. Rookie mistake. Instead of that, he was a solid 6.4 feet tall, with a muscular stature, in a well-adjusted 3-piece blue suit, handsome man.

“ I’m terribly sorry. James Salinger, pleased to meet you.” He shook her hand while looking at the ground. Ellie was intrigued.

“ Hi, Ellie Colt, no worries, please come in. Make yourself comfortable.”

She actually enjoyed being in her practice at that hour of the day; when it was sunny like today, a ray of light would usually shine right on the couch and the coffee table, making it look like a House Beautiful ad.

“So, Mr Fitzgibbon, what brought you here today?”

            What really brought them here was rarely what they thought brought them here but it was still one of her go-to icebreakers. He was apparently trying to figure out a comfortable position on the couch while staring at his knees as if they had the answer.

“Well, I lost my wife six months ago. To leukemia. We had known for a long time. Which I thought, would make it easier. I’m sorry, it must sound dumb.”

He paused. If only he would look at her instead of his knees, she might be able to figure out the right way to approach him.

“- I’m very sorry for your loss. That doesn’t sound dumb at all, that sounds logical, it’s a belief you needed to hold it together when it was needed. Please go on.

-        Well I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry, what do you want me to say?

-        Stop apologizing James.

-        I’m sorry.

-        See what you did there? “

He smiled. To his knees, but it was still a smile.

“-  There are no rules here. This is your time. You make the rules. Is it the first time you’re seeing a therapist?

-        Yes, does it show?”

He looked both confused and somewhat ashamed. Ellie had to wake the fuck up and bring her A-game now.

“I can see you’re stressed and very uncomfortable, and I’m trying to find the best way to put you more at ease here. And I’m not doing a very good job right now…”

Ellie smiled, he didn’t.

“-   Don’t worry, being at ease was never known to be my strongest feature anyway.

-        Would it be easier for you to talk about that?

-        No. I’m afraid not. Is it me or is it hot in here?”, he said, while loosening his tie a bit.

-        “Would you like a glass of water?

-        This was not a good idea. I should go.”

Think Ellie, think fast.

“-   What was her name?

-        Sarah.”

Fuck, of course it was. Life’s irony, striking again, ladies and gentlemen.

“-  It’s a beautiful name. How did you guys meet?

-        She ran me over with her car. When she got out to see if I was okay, I got right back on my bike. I told her I was sorry. She laughed…and then cried. I apologized again. And…that was it. I knew she was the one I wanted to apologize to the most.”

His voice broke, and Ellie saw a tear falling on his suit. Soon enough, both of his knees were soaking wet. They sat there in silence for a long time. Sometimes, not saying anything was actually the best she could possibly do; she had learned that the hard way when, a few years back, a patient told her how funny it was that she talked more than him. She could feel her cheeks blushing just by internally alluding to this memory now. After a while, Ellie just pushed the box of tissues toward him. He took one, then two, an after some time, started talking again.

“I just…I just miss her so much. It is that simple. I miss her. And what’s next now? I am a 40 year-old widower, with no children and a company he doesn’t want to run, who spends his days apologizing to a picture on his desk.”

It was the longest sentence he had uttered during the whole session, and his eyes, all red and swollen, were now looking right at her.

“ What are you apologizing for? ”

His eyes went right back down to his knees. But Ellie was now on a path she knew; she knew she was going to be able to help him.

“ For not telling her I loved her enough. For not making her the mother she always wanted to be. For not having been able to save her. I failed her. I failed Sarah.”, he said, very calmly.

And so did I, she thought to herself. She pulled herself together.

“We are going to leave it at that for today James. “

It was now the second time he was looking at her, and what she was seeing was not confusion or shame anymore, but just sincere pain and some form of relief.

“Could we do that again? Soon?”

It was the first time today she felt useful and good at what she did. And, it felt nice.

“- Absolutely, I will see you next week at the same time. Would that suit you?

-        Yes. See you next week then.”

He got up, paid her, shook her hand and left. Next week, he should tell her it was the first cry he had had. And it felt nice.