Slender Bones

Friday, October 9th, 1992

The phone in my office rang, sending a sharp sound to cut the air.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said to Leyla Copper, holding up my hand. "Let me answer this really quick, and then we can get back to our discussion. Is that alright?"

She looked uncertain but nodded politely, letting out a soft reply.

"Yes, Dr. Albrecht."

"Thank you, Ms. Copper," I added, with a smile, leaning back towards my desk and grabbing the phone with one hand. "Dr. Albrecht speaking."

"Hey, do you mind if I cancel your appointment for Monday morning? A woman called, she claims that it's urgent, it's about her husband."

"Sure, Kathy. Go ahead and schedule her."

I hung up the phone and glanced at the clock sitting on my desk. Two-fifteen. Only fifteen more minutes of Leyla's nonsense.

I turned back to her and scooted my rolling chair over towards the coffee table between us. I nodded for her to continue her story; she needed my attention. She felt that he mild depression was so serious that she needed to come to me and talk it out. I didn't tell her she was only mild, I just let her think that her problem was a lot more serious than it really was. She liked having problems.

Leyla Anne Copper, as her patient form read, was a thirty-four year old mother of two, recently divorced. She complained of constant headaches and unrelenting sadness. I diagnosed it as a case of the blues, maybe seasonal depression. This kind of thing always passed within a month or two. In the few weeks that she had been seeing me, I already noticed a steady improvement in her demeanor.

She began to prattle on once more about her kids, their grades in school, a feeling of uncertainty she had about one of her son's older friends. I listened, nodded, noticed the tone of her voice and her word choice. After an ungodly long fifteen minute period, I told her that our time was up, and we both stood to leave my office. I held the door for her and followed her to the lobby, where I bade her goodbye.

I made my way to Kathy's desk, in the reception office, where she was writing notes on her schedule. She looked up when I approached.

"What's next?" I asked her. She flipped a few pages in her planning book.

"Nothing. You have lunch until three-thirty, then two more sessions. One with Mr. Bryant, and one with Mr. and Mrs. Kettler."

I sighed. Fuck. The Kettlers were okay, decent people, but James Bryant was a sleazy bastard. Not sleazy enough to report, but getting there.

"What about Monday?" I asked, walking over to the coffee machine and taking out the filter. I replaced it with a new one and filled it with coffee ground from a can under the counter. The smell of dark roast caressed my senses.

"Oh, yeah, about Monday," Kathy began, looking up from her planning book. "That woman that called? She made an appointment for her and her husband. She claimed it was an emergency."

"Names?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Cobain. You know, Kurt Cobain? I think it was his wife," Kathy said thoughtfully. "Courtney Love."

I tapped my foot thoughtfully as I poured water into the machine.

"Kurt Cobain?" I repeated, walking over to Kathy's desk.

"Yeah, like, from Nirvana?" she said, with a smug look. "I can't believe I got to talk to Courtney Love on the phone! And Kurt Cobain is coming in here! Nirvana is awesome! I have a record of theirs. You know them, don't you? It's called Nevermind."

"What is?"

"The record."

"Oh."

I tapped my foot again. I had heard of Nirvana, and I somehow knew that Nevermind had just been released last year, but I had never really listened to their music before. Sure, "Smells Like Teen Spirit" was on a lot of the radio stations, and I heard the DJs sometimes buzz about them, but that was as far as my knowledge went.

I didn't get out much.

"Weird," I mumbled. "I wonder what they could want?"

"Who knows, but you have to get me their autographs!" Kathy replied. "Do you want anything from the Chevron? I'm going to get a soda and some Cheetos. They don't have anything good in the damn machines around here."

"No thanks," I said, grabbing my mug and filling it with fresh coffee. "I'll be in my office."

I retreated to my cave and glanced at the calendar as I walked in. October 9th, 1992. An hour of peace and quiet, before my appointment with James Bryant.

I glanced at a stack of business cards on my desk. Masters Northwest Counseling Services, Dr. Esther Albrecht, M.D. I worked for one of the biggest and most prominent psychiatric offices in Washington and most of the northwest. I hated it. I never wanted to be a doctor, I never wanted to go to college, I never wanted to graduate high school.

But I did. And that was that.

I was only thirty-two. Right out of school, straight into the practice. Fresh meat, as my colleagues said.

The salary wasn't bad, but the work was lame. My life revolved around it. No boyfriend, no friends, just school and work.

But I did it. And that was that.

I rested my head in my arms, leaned on my desk, closed my eyes, and the phone rang. My head shot up, I felt drowsy. The clock read three-thirty.

"Dr. Albrecht speaking," I mumbled, sitting up straight and running a hand through my hair.

"Mr. Bryant is here," Kathy's voice chirped, cutting through my drowsiness. She must've been feeling that caffeine.

"Coming."

I stood up, stretched, walked to the door of my office. As I walked down the hall, to the waiting room, I thought of Mr. and Mrs. Cobain.

After my appointment with Mr. Bryant the Kettlers, I said goodnight to Kathy and left the offices for my car, parked under a tree in the back of the lot. It was a 1980 Volkswagen Golf that I bought after my first few paychecks. I spent most of my life in central Seattle, with no need for a car, but since I landed my job in the suburbs, I'd been using a taxi until about three weeks ago, when I moved closer to the offices.

On the road home, I stopped at the music store down the street from my apartment. I wanted to pick up a copy of Nevermind.