"It's not so bad when they run away," she said. "When they run away there's still life. What's worse is when they just walk away slowly. Then you know it's over. Even then, though, at least they're gone. At least you can imagine what it's like for them." Her dog, a Labrador mutt, seemed to sense her wistful sadness. He stood from where he had been sitting on the cold, damp sidewalk beneath her chair and rested his chin on her lap, his friendly eyes peering up at her downcast face. "When they stay it's hell." She placed her hand lightly on the Lab's head and took the edge of his ear between her thumb and finger, rubbing in soft little circles. "They stay and it's like your skin becomes camouflage. You're invisible. You're furniture." I could hear the beginning of new tears in her voice.
"Wow," I started tentatively, "that would be rough, I guess. Maybe you could leave."
"Right," she said, taking a sip of coffee and staring into the distance. After several minutes of silence she said, "I think meeting out here was a good idea. I think it's better out here."
"Yeah," I said, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. "I have to be honest with you..."
"It only works if you're honest," she said.
"Right. Well, I was really just hoping you could help me with some depression issues I was having. For the last three sessions, though, I've just listened to you. Now, I don't mind. I like listening to people. But, I mean, I'm paying you $250 an hour. I just can't afford to keep doing this."
"I'm sorry," she said, tears running down her cheeks. She was losing it. "You're just the first person that's been willing to listen while I talk for a change."
"Don't cry," I said. "And don't apologize. It's okay. I'm not paying you anymore, though. You have to understand that."
"But," she began to sob, "you signed a contract!"
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Later. Love.
P. S. - Aphter: 44. Thanks for stopping by.
