Find a Conversation
|Thu, 11-01-2001 - 11:45pm|
Now this is the last one for the night Hehehe! I have to use what I wrote down today in the hospital, and transfer it to my writing on the computer.
Stacy shifted the car and slowed to the intermittent pace of the afternoon traffic. She thought about how good it felt to take a long drive. It gave her time to think, something she hadn’t had freedom to do for a while. She had been ignoring the inevitable for some time but in some ways glad she had made the decision to see a counselor. Maybe it would get rid of her insecurities, chase off the demons that hid deep inside of her. “Ah! An open spot in the highway.”
She changed lanes, and shifted the car into fourth, and drove at a carefree speed of seventy-five mile per hour.
Her scarf that was tied around her head started to loosen up from the wind whipping around in the car. In one split second it flew off, and like a feather it drifted through the air. She watched in the rearview mirror with sadness as it disappeared into the traffic behind her. “Damn it,” she yelled as she hit the wheel with the palm of her hand. “That was my only scarf.”
Her unruly long curls whipped at her face, and every once in awhile the course hair seemed to have no mercy as it hit her in the eye. Unable to focus on the rode while she tried to keep her hair in place, she slowed the car down, and shifted into first. She pulled over to the side of the rode, and searched through her purse, looking for a hair tie. “Oh, come on ... there has to be one in here somewhere.”
She tossed her purse onto the adjacent seat, and leaned over to the glove box. As she dug through the cluttered box, she took her foot off the clutch and the car lunged forward and died, tossing her back into her seat. Her heart picked up a few extra beats as she grabbed the wheel, and stepped on the break peddle.
She brushed off the moment and bent back over to the glove box. “Ah ha! I found one.” She started to rap it around her thick hair when the rubber band snapped. “Well that’s just great!” I’ll just pull the top back over the car, that’ll solve the problem.
She cleared her hair from her eyes as she sat back onto the seat. She turned the key only to hear a clicking sound. “What’s wrong now?” She pumped the gas pedal and tried to start the car, once again she heard the same sound. She glanced at her watch. “Oh great, I have ten minutes to get to my appointment. Now what?”
She turned and looked through the back window and saw that traffic was picking up pace. She grabbed her purse, and pulled out her phone then turned it on and waited as if something might happen. “Damn it!” she said as she threw the phone back into her purse. Again she turned looking out the back window. Okay as soon as this truck passes I’m getting out, she thought.
She waved at the passing cars but no one stopped. She looked down at her watch. Now I have five minutes, she thought. “C’mon ... someone stop, please ... ” She climbed back into the car; her mind was whirling with anger as her temples throbbed in pain. She massaged the back of her neck in hopes to release her tension. It wasn’t helping so she leaned her head against the steering wheel and closed her eyes while she took in some deep breaths.
A few minutes later there was a tap to the side of her car window, she jumped with surprise. A very large man wearing pinstriped coveralls, with greasy hands, was mouthing to her. “Do you need help?”
Stacy cracked her window. “Do you need some help, lady?” Stacy could smell grease radiating from his clothes. She turned to the back window and saw a large semi parked behind her.
“Yes, yes please. I don’t know what’s wrong, it won’t start.”
“Well, pop the hood and I’ll take a look for you.”
Stacy didn’t feel comfortable getting out so she stayed in the car. The man was at the front of the car for a few minutes then he walked back to his truck. A few seconds later he walked back to the front of her car, and started banging. What the hell is he doing out there?
“Okay, try it now,” he yelled.
Stacy turned the key, and the car started up.
The man came back over to her, wiping his hands on his coveralls. “Your voltage regulator is going bad. You need to get a new one or else your going to find yourself stuck on the side of a rode again.”
“Well, thank you so very much for your help. I will get it fixed as soon as I can.”
The man motioned her to roll down the window some more; Stacy was reluctant. He pulled a short metal rod from behind his back; she felt a sudden rush run though her body.
“You need to get that regulator fixed right away. Can you go somewhere now?”
Stacy’s hands started to sweat while she held tight to the steering wheel. “Well, no. I have an appointment in—“ She looked at her watch again. “Well, right now,” she said.
The man turned and looked at the oncoming traffic then back to her. “Then you need to get out and take a look at what I was hitting on, so if your car dies again you will know what to do.”
She felt uneasy, but then thought if he was going to do anything to her there were enough cars on the highway that someone would stop and help, wouldn’t they? Stacy took her chances and got out.
The man walked ahead of her, his hand was tight around the metal rod as he rounded the car. She crossed her arms with some insecurity. He bent over and pointed to the voltage regulator. “You see this? This little round plastic thing? You have to whack at it. You can whack it on the side or on top just don’t beat the hell out of it, but do give it a good whack or two. Then go and try to start your car, if it doesn’t start, whack it again, Okay?”
Stacy nodded. “Okay, I think I can do that.”
He handed her the rod, and walked back to the truck. “Lady,” he shouted. “Don’t let that go on to long, okay?”
Stacy smiled and waved at him. “I won’t. And thank you.”
She pulled out onto the freeway and shifted gears with haste. She was late for her appointment and knew the visit to the counselor’s office was going to cost her more then she was willing to pay. The building was just on the other side of the freeway. She crossed the lanes over to the off ramp, and blew through a stop sign as she scanned for any possible police.
The place was busy and finding a parking spot wasn’t going to be as easy as she thought. An elderly couple was just leaving the building; she stopped the car in the middle of the lot and waited for them to pull out. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel with impatience and glanced at her watch once again. Fifteen minute late. Oh ... I’m so dead. Maybe I should just bag the whole thing. She looked up; the couple had gotten into their car and was now backing out. No Stacy, you’ve come this far you need to do this. She pulled the car into the spot, and ran for the front doors.
She hurried up to the front desk, and waited as the receptionist finished her conversation on the phone. The receptionist cupped the receiver. “May I help you?”
“Yes ... I have ... a two o’clock ... appointment,” she said with heavy breaths.
The woman looked over at the clock then turned back to Stacy. “Did you know your fifteen minutes late?”
Stacy turned towards the waiting area, some of the people seemed to have stopped what they were doing to listen; the woman was anything but quiet.
Stacy turned back to her. “Yes ... I know ... I’m sorry, my car broke down on the freeway, I had to—“
“Well, fill theses papers out,” she interrupted “Dr. Monroe will be with you in a few minutes.”
Stacy took the clipboard and sat down in a chair that faced away from the other patients. What a bitch. She took in some deep breaths to calm her rapid beating heart. The questions on the board seemed personal to her and didn’t feel comfortable filling some of them out.
She walked back up to the desk. “Excuse me, but do I have to answer all the questions on here? I mean my income is personal, I don’t think I should have to fill that out. And some of the health questions on here, what do they have to do with me seeing a shrink?”
The woman took the board and looked it over. “Well we need to know if you can pay for your visits. We need your personal income for insurance reasons, just incase they refuse to pay for the visits. And Dr. Monroe, isn’t a shrink, he’s a counselor.”
Her attitude is worse then mine, Stacy thought.
Stacy sat back down and finished the questions, most of them she put n/a. Let her figure it out.
Stacy turned and saw an older man standing at a side door; she stood up and crossed the floor to him.
He smiled as he held out his hand. “Hello, I’m Dr. Monroe. Nice to meet you.”
Stacy returned the shake. “Nice to meet you,” she said.
Stacy followed him down the hall and into the last room on the left.
“Have a seat. Have you had a chance to fill out the paper work?”
Stacy handed him the partially finished paperwork; he looked through it. A little anxious she looked around the room; it wasn’t like the offices she had seen on television. There were no big windows that looked out onto a magnificent skyline, and no lounge chair for her to lay and cry her heart out on. The office was small and cluttered with books. The room had two seemingly uncomfortable chairs, and a few plants that looked in desperate need of some water. The only window there was to look out of faced the parking lot.
Stacy turned back to him and studied his reactions as if he was going to say, oh my God! I have never seen such a case as yours. We need to call the press; this is an outrage. How did you ever make it through such abuse?
He looked up at her. “So Stacy, tell me a little bit about why you’re here?”
Tell you why I’m here? I thought that’s why I filled out all those questions on that paper your looking at, she thought. She cleared her throat, and stared out the window. “Well, I guess I need to work through fifteen years of abuse.”
She turned to the sound of him writing down what she said. In some ways she felt like she was being raped. He wanted to dig into her personal life, and then like it didn’t matter he would just put it on paper for everyone to read later; it made her feel uncomfortable.
“Do you have to write down everything I tell you?” she asked.
He looked back up and gave her a smile. “I’m only writing down the main points. I use a tap recorder to document the rest.”
Stacy adjusted herself in her chair, and crossed her arms.
He started to write again, she leaned forward. “Don’t worry,” he said as he continued to write. “Nothing goes past this room.” He looked up to her and smiled.