The Therapist

She was prescribed.

Whenever I tell people that little detail, they look at me like I’m crazy. Hell, I would probably think the same thing if I were them. But it’s the truth. She was prescribed for my own health and well being.

I never even knew doctors prescribed women, but I guess when guys like me come along--coming from the kind of situation I was in, being in that state--it makes sense. I didn’t know how to function in society anymore. Couldn’t hold a job. Hell, I could hardly tie my own shoelaces. But my doctor was very progressive, big proponent of this new way of healing. Even wrote her name and number out for me on a little prescription pad.

The first time we met was in a coffee shop on High Street. She was very polite, very sweet. Demure. I barely held up my end of the conversation, but she didn’t seem to mind. She knew exactly what to do. Didn’t ask about the war--never even brought it up. I was anxious she would, but she never did. We had a nice time.

On the second date, we went to the movies, and afterwards, eating ice cream, she asked if I wanted to come to see her flat. Said she had some records to listen to. I agreed.

Her flat was small but comfortable. Lots of soft surfaces and weathered fabric. I found it hard to stop thinking about her in that special way. That familiar feeling came back, rising up from my loins. It was a feeling I wasn’t sure was still there. But it was.

We were listening to “Angie” by the Rolling Stones, and all of a sudden her hand was resting lightly on my leg. I felt the warmth of her touch, the heat surrounding her hand. I looked at her, and she had this pensive look on her face, the kind you get when you look at the sky and can tell it’s going to rain. And then it did. My god, did it ever. For hours and hours, and when it stopped, the streets were wet and glistening and finally clean.

I continued to see her every week. We’d go to the movies, or have dinner, or just meet at her flat. I thought about her all the time. I guess I started thinking of her as a girlfriend, even though I knew she wasn’t. Introduced her to my friends, even my dad. Jesus, what was I thinking?

Then the day came when she said my therapy was complete. No more sessions. I thought she was joking, of course, but she wasn’t. I tried to reason with her, saying I’d fallen for her, that I couldn’t live without her, but she wouldn’t hear it. There wasn’t a thing I could do. She stopped answering my calls, didn’t respond to emails, even told me to get lost when I showed up on her doorstep.

I guess I’ve grown to become more of a functional human being from the experience, but I don’t know. I keep going back to that thought--how could a person be that cold? How could you just turn it off like that?

I guess you could say I’m having a hard time coming to terms with the feelings I have toward this particular brand of medicine—and I guess that’s why I’m back here again, doctor. But like I said, she was prescribed.