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

I’m back,” he said as he joined us. “This is an interesting place. Interesting choice for a first date,” Timmy commented and shifted his skinny frame into the chair. “Thought I’d get myself a club soda, too---since I’m in a club,” he said as he took a sip. “Whew! I’m getting tipsy already!”

I felt bad. I don’t know why. I couldn’t kill someone else’s dream. Like all those people who’d been trying to kill mine for years. Like my family who worried I’d never make a living in theatre. Like Mrs. Tedescu who didn’t see me as Olympic material. Like my high school guidance counselor who suggested I “not risk” going to college in New York. Like my college professors who suggested I get a teaching certificate so I had “something to fall back on”. Like Jamie who called it my “hobby” and wanted me to sell out my friends to make money.

But maybe they were right. Maybe they were just trying to help. Giving me a warning about the future.

But I hadn’t been listening. Maybe my life was really one long intervention. Maybe I wasn’t talented. Maybe I’d never make it in this business. Maybe it was time to straighten out my life and become one of them. After all, I hadn’t done such a great job on my dreams. After all, how much more rock bottom could I get? Sure I wasn’t eating cat food---but people were starting to get suspicious.

Little Timmy was just a kid. Unfortunately, he’d placed his dreams smack dab in my lap. As Timmy looked around at the sweaty, dancing men, I went to the bar for a real drink. We left soon after. He walked me to the train and I gave him a hug and thanked him for a very nice evening.

I just couldn’t set up a Reality Booth at a place called Cock.

“I don’t want to be a Dream Killer,” I whined at Dr. Prince’s office the next day. “Like all those people who keep trying to get me to see reality. Trust me, I see it. I’ve got to move out of that apartment. I need a better job. I need to be a whole other person.”

“Look, maybe it’s time to tell Nate the truth,” she suggested.

“I can’t. He’d hate me. I’d get him in trouble and I’d lose the apartment. And then there’s Natasha and Bullwinkle downstairs. She threatened me! She got a washer and dryer out of her last victim! It’s never going to work out for me. Nothing ever does,” I trailed off.

“Dorrie, let’s go back to that whole George Bailey thing you were talking about. Why don’t you think you deserve to get good things in life?”

“It’s not that I don’t think I deserve them. I do. In fact, I think I deserve them more than most people. Especially people in this city. They’re mean. And nasty. And rude. They spit on the sidewalk and they hit me with their backpacks. Once it’s behind them, they don’t even know it’s there! And they’re even ruder on the train. They’ll sit right next to you and elbow you in the side and turn up their music and eat smelly food and throw chicken bones on your feet. And don’t get me started on the old man who never has any shoes. They all have a scam. They all want something. They want your money or your iPod or bicycle. I’ve had two bikes stolen already! They would eat your mother and take the leftovers home in a baggie!!!”

I just let it all out. It felt good, but I was exhausted. Like I’d just thrown-up four years worth of mal pescado. Thankfully, she was there to hold my hair and give me a piece of minty gum.

“Dorrie,” she said slowly and purposefully, “you deserve good things. You’re a very nice person. And I think it’s time at least one New Yorker told you that.”

“Thanks,” I said as I took a deep breath. “Well…you’re the one.”

“I have a feeling that you were getting pushed around way before you moved to New York. It’s just in your face a lot more here. You’re not The Grinch. You’re George Bailey. This has been going on for a long time.”

She was right. It had been going on all my life.

“Ever since I didn’t get that horse,” was what came out of my mouth.

“Oh not the horse again. Dorrie, how are you going to get a horse into a fifth floor walk-up?”

“I didn’t say I wanted a horse now. I can’t afford a horse. I can’t even afford my invisible cat.”

“Talk about therapy, that cat of yours…. Ooops,” she said as she looked at the clock. “That’s all the time we have today. Look, before you go, I just want to say that you’ve made some really wonderful progress. Do you feel it?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“Great. So…I’ll see you in three weeks.”

“What?”

“Oh, and Merry Christmas!”

“You’re closed? But you’re a psychiatrist. This your busy season”

“It’s my slow season. Everyone goes out of town. Next time I see you, it will be a whole new year, and we’ll jump right into some new beginnings.”

“But it’s the big holiday time. I’m going thru so much stuff right now.”

“Dorrie, you’ll be fine. Okay, look…” she said as she got up and went to her desk and handed me a business card. “I didn’t think you would need this---but here’s the number of a friend of mine. Dr. Rankin. He’s offered to be on call for my…more advanced patients over the holidays. But seriously, this is for emergencies only.”

I left her office in a daze. I felt abandoned. As I walked across town under the glow of the Christmas lights, I felt like I’d lost my one true friend.

I was all alone.