Just North of Whoville Turiskylie, Joyce (smart books to read .TXT) 📖

the exchange. I believe you were talking on your cell phone at the time.”

“No. No. I gave you an appointment card.”

“I never had a card,” I tried to remain calm. “And I never made an appointment.”

“I always give people a card. You threw the card away,” she accused.

“I did not throw the card away because I never had a card,” I said slowly, like Bruce Banner starting to go green.

“Doctor!” she yelled at the top of her lungs, as if I were a psychopath about to attack.

The door immediately opened and Dr. Prince stood ready to knock someone out.

“Oh, Dorrie, it’s you,” she said, almost relieved.

“Doctor…” Melissa began to whine in a tattle-tale voice, and then started rambling off something in Spanish. I clearly heard the word “loca”.

But Dr. Prince cut her off and motioned me towards the door.

“Dorrie, I’m sorry. Come in. Come in.”

The moment I stepped inside, I knew I’d made a mistake.

7

If Liberace were hosting a Christmas party, I imagine it would look something like Dr. Prince’s office. What made the display even more disturbing was that it also included some flashy Hanukah and Kwanza decor, as well as several large statues of Buddha decorated with a Dominican flair. Christmas music was still playing as I stood there in total shock. Finally, she turned off the Rappin’ Christmas CD and sat down in her folding chair.

“Dorrie? Are you okay?”

“Um….yeah,” I replied with certainty and confusion.

“You don’t seem okay.”

“I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” I shot right back.

“You don’t seem sure.”

“I’m sure. Stop psychoanalyzing me,” I said in the most dominant tone I had in me.

“That’s what I do,” Alpha Dog snapped right back.

“Well then, let me just have a seat on your futon.”

Oh yeah. Who’s alpha dog now, bitch?

I sat in silence. But my body language was ready for a fight. I was sick of being pushed around. Sick of being taken advantage of and lied to and scammed and swindled---and scared. I was so tired of being scared. And alone.

“You seem upset about something,” she said with a level of sincerity that I had calmed down enough to judge to be at least moderately sincere. So I folded my sassy-pants and put them in a drawer.

“Look,” I said as I gave her the best smile I could. Human being to human being. “I don’t think this is going to work.”

“Why not?” she said, more a question than an attitude.

Okay---here we go.

“You want me to be honest, right?” I began. She nodded her head, so my mouth kept moving. “The only reason I’m here is because your receptionist called and said that I had an appointment today and that if I didn’t show up I would have to pay fifty dollars. But I didn’t make an appointment. And I don’t have fifty dollars. I do, however, have fifteen dollars for my co-pay, which is what I pay if I actually show up. So I figured that I could get the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to yell at someone for a savings of thirty-five dollars.”

We just sat there looking at each other. Two cars barreling down the Interstate fated for a crash.

“So why ain’t you yelling?” she veered off into ditch on the side of the road.

Crash averted. I got out of the car and pulled my insurance papers out of the glove compartment.

“I guess I’m just not the yelling type, I admitted. “Anyway, I’m here. I showed up. So let me just give you the fifteen dollars and…”

“Dorrie, if you didn’t make an appointment, why didn’t you just call and say, ‘Yo bitch!---I did not make no appointment with you’?”

“Because that’s not really me. That more…well….you. And that’s okay. Nothing wrong with that. But what that tells me… And not being judgmental but….we’re all different people and personalities…”

“Dorrie, spit it out.”

So I did.

“Could I see your diploma?”

Just then, her cell phone rang. She raced to turn it off.

“Ay diablo! Coño fucking cell phone!”

I figured it was my chance to leave.

“Dorrie! I’m sorry,” she pleaded as I headed for the door. “My mother, she broke her foot yesterday and she’s fine, but I promised I’d stop by and I forgot and left my phone on…”

“No. Really. And I’m sorry about your Mom. But it’s not the phone. And it’s not you. Not totally, but…”

No. I couldn’t blame this woman for my problems. Things had been going like this for years before I ever laid eyes on her. I can’t say I wanted her for a shrink. But I couldn’t blame her. I held a strong belief in personal responsibility.

“I’m sorry. It’s not you at all. It’s me. And I really don’t want to talk about it, because unless you can get me an apartment or a job or even some roofing materials---you can’t help me. I shouldn’t have to be here,” I started to feel my eyes welling up. “I’m the sanest person I know. But I spent my whole life thinking that if I worked hard and was a nice person that good things would happen to me. But they don’t! Ever! I have a shitty job and a shitty apartment and I’m single and alone and now it’s apparently Christmas and...I can’t even get a therapist without screwing it up. I’m just a big screw-up, screwball mess.”

By this time, the only thing soggier than me was my living room floor.

“It seems to me you’re focusing a lot on what you don’t have.”

“Well, there’s not a lot I DO have,” I said as I wiped the tears out of my eyes.

“Okay Dorrie. Sit down. Sit.”

I don’t know why, but I instantly collapsed into the Good Time Futon. She handed me a yellow