Broken Hearts and a Small Glass of Lemonade

13

1 Day After:

Sun.  Warmth.  Breeze.  Would I ever escape the memories that seemed to haunt me?

Grass.  Apple trees.  A stone pathway leading to the road.  A drive way.  A dark red car.  A groan as the therapist shuts the door behind her.  Me looking at the road and at the house across the street.

"Hello Mandy.  How are you today?" the therapist takes an unsure step closer.  I look at my crossed legs and then at her face.  A strong nose.  Blonde hair.  Green eyes.

"I'm good."

A look of surprise.  A smile.

"How's your throat doing?" she settles down next to me.  A brown purse on her legs.  Her shoes are also brown.

"It's doing better.  It's still a little sore."

A flip of hair.  Her hands rummaging in the purse.  A cell phone.  Gum.  The cell phone put away.  A pad of paper.  A pen.

"Can we skip that stuff today?" I ask.  Her green eyes connect with mine and I can tell she's nervous.

"Why?"

"I want to talk."

"Talk?" Big green eyes.  A twist of her head.  A sigh.  "Okay.  What do you need?"

"How many patients do you see a day?" I ask.  She crinkles her eyebrows, but answers anyway.

"Ten."

"Out of those ten, how many have a missing limb?" I scrutinize her face and try to see if she's lying.  Surprisingly, it's blank.  They train their therapists well.

"Only you."

"Then how can I trust you?  You know, in treating me and stuff?" I ask.  "If I am the only one, you haven't had a lot of practice."

She giggles and flips her hair behind her other ear.  "Mandy, I have been trained to treat patients--"

"But you haven't been trained to treat me.  You don't even know me.  For goodness sakes, I haven't even talked to you!" Frustration.  The therapist doesn't understand.  How can she?  She has both arms.  She has a beautiful face.  She isn't covered in scars.

A blink.  I can tell she's thinking about it.  I don't wait.  My left arm pushes me into a crouched position before I stumble to gain balance.

"This session is over.  Thanks for your time."

A closed door.  My body leaning on it.  Another headache.

A window with red curtains.  Through the blinds I can see the therapist getting up.  She seems nervous, but I don't understand why.