Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2073457
by Katib
Rated: E · Fiction · Adult · #2073457
It's a story about a young man dealing with loss.
‘How do I feel?’ I wondered. ’Describe your feelings’ Dr. Youssef asked me in a stern, fatherly voice, his glasses slightly and slowly sliding over his arched nose. ‘The poor creature keeps pushing his glasses back’ I thought to myself ironically. ‘ He treats people, tries to help them, and his face bears the mark of all the sadness and sorrow of the world.’ I kept looking at his dark beard with some grey stripes ,showing the inevitable ageing process in all of us, while I was pondering, wrecking, cracking my mental faculty over his request. ‘ I don’t know, doctor’ I replied while he scribbled something on his notepad. I tried to raise my head to see if I could catch anything of notice. He smiled at me and reassured me that there was nothing to worry about. ‘Just some minor notes’ he said. I kept staring in front of me and trying to come up with an answer, but I couldn’t. I asked him imploringly, hoping that he would decrease the difficulty of the question, to make it understandable for even children to comprehend ’Could you give me a specific question, something more tangible? Because in all honesty I don’t like these kind of questions. ‘well’ he replied, this time he got up and poured tea into his glass and mine: ‘you’re into details, aren’t you?’. ‘Yes. Very much so. It gives me clarity, I need the full picture. It gives me a target to aim at, so to speak’. ‘Well I want you to try to let go of the specifics and just let your mind wander off’. The doctor suggested. I felt nervous, not sure weather to go for the carrot under the box. ‘What does he mean, wander off?’. ‘ I don’t like his approach’ I thought to myself, the anguish surrounding me with pikes and shields,cornering me the frightened animal in me. “But give it a try will you?’ I remembered Sophias words when she recommended this doctor. But why did I listen to her? I suppose the sincerity in her voice asking me to give it a try convinced me to be here.

“I’m still feeling uncomfortable, would you humour me this one time?’. I said it with what it seemed a pleading voice. At first, the doctor seemed firm in his pursuit and wouldn’t be persuaded otherwise. I felt the room was getting a hold on me, the walls stared at me. I felt ambushed and naked on elevated platform and the curtains drawn aside. The audience was gleefully staring at me. They will get me. The furniture seemed as if they were turning towards and against me for not fulfilling their masters bidding. I felt exhausted and strenuous.

The doctor sat back in his chair behind a huge desk, which was filled with paper works and portraits. A huge vase behind him had plastic plants in it, which I didn’t like one bit. ‘He could at least have placed some live plants, would give this room a more cheerful appearance’. I thought to myself while I tried to disguise my anxiety from the doctor. The good doctor however wanted to be press me on, but his cell phone rang. He seemed distracted while looking at his phone. As I excused him, he went outside for a while. ‘He didn’t look very happy, serves him right for making me nervous’. I stood up and paced the room a couple of times hile I let my fingers slide over the books he had on his shelves. I had a particular fondness for books, but they reminded me of sadness and sorrow but also of happier times. In my books, my hero’s would suffer or die and I would weep for them. Or they were victorious and lived happily ever after, and I’d feel grateful for being a part of their story. ‘They were fictional characters, but what of it?’ I thought to myself, regaining my composure. ‘They were more real to me than she ever was’.

The doctor came back in and apologised. ‘ I am honestly sorry, but you’ll have to excuse me for today. I have to cancel our session.’ He apologised hurriedly as he was packing his briefcase. I felt puzzled but extremely annoyed. ‘He sent me through the harrowing abyss by probing me like a guinea pig and now he cancels the session?! What an arrogant prick!’ But of course I did not say that to him to his face. I ought to give it a chance still, if only for her sake. ‘Go to my secretary and make an appointment in two weeks’. As he walked past me, I could feel his own distressing vibration intruding my own body. I felt nausea. I felt fatigue. I reminded myself of the seashore and how my feet felt as they touched the cool sands beneath them. I tried to recollect the breeze and the sounds the seagulls made. I felt slightly better. I didn’t throw up.

‘Again, I am very sorry for this sudden cancellation’ the doctor replied. As he was about to walk outside the room, he turned around and looked at me with a solemn look ‘And don’t forget about what I asked you today, or I won’t be of any help’. ‘ Yes, doctor’ I answered bitterly, as annoyance replaced nausea. ‘I won’t forget’. ‘and close the door when you leave, ok?’. He remarked as he finally left the room. I was still standing by the bookshelves and noticed the windows behind his desk were still open. I looked across the room outside and saw that it was raining. I never liked rained, especially if I’m outside. Every drop of rain that touches the skin of my body, feels like an intrusion. I never asked it to touch, let alone along dripping down my face. Some people get all poetic about the rain and how it caresses their faces with soft drops and washing them clean. To each his own I’d think, but I’d still stay and coward somewhere inside than unwarrantedly being touched. However the winds were rattling the tree-branches outside and it carried the newly deceased leaves from its branches into the room. I walked to the windows to shut them. It reminded me of the breeze at the beach that day, but this weather is “angry”. I closed the windows and the rage of the winds subsided and I felt relieved. ‘Well, I should probably leave now, before the “doctor” comes back and gives me more homework’ I thought to myself when I caught sight of the newspaper with my picture in it. ‘It’s from the museum!’

To be continued..

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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2073457