a work in progress

Chapter 17 - The Cure

"Dr. Logan I think I'm cured."

From the bathroom at his office I'm rehearsing for my session. I am nervous about this afternoon. I cancelled our appointment last week for the first time ever and I feel like he may be angry. But cancelling was good. I'm doing much better. At work I have a rhythm. Matias and I are on a nice path toward...I'm not exactly certain where we're headed, but I know the path we're on has forward progress. My dissertation...well, I've paused a bit on that, but where I stopped it looks great. I'm back to being a normal adult again.

"Who are you kidding?" I ask staring blankly into the mirror.

My life's a ball of mess. No one likes that I'm with Matias. I don't have anything to write with this dissertation. I don't like my work, but it pays the bills, and all I want to do is dance with Matias and let him read to me and be blissfully carefree.

"Get it together MC. You can't let him see you sweat. Let's do this," I say pointing at my reflection in the mirror.

I make my way out of the bathroom, down the long sterile corridor and back to Dr. Logan's waiting room. So far I've sweat through my shirt and my cardigan and I just feel like I am having heat flash after heat flash. This shouldn't be this difficult.

"Noe, Dr. Logan will see you now," Julia calls out.

"Right, yes of course he will. Thank you. It's 3 o'clock. It's time. It's now or never. It's...let's do this."

"Are you alright dear?"

"Great, peachy. He's just right beyond this door here. Make a left. He's the second office on the left. I know this. I've done it a million times," I say to myself willing each leg to take a step as I make my way to his space.

"Noe? Noe, why are you hanging outside the door? Come inside."

"Dr. L-Logan."

"Yes, 'tis I," he announces in a most Shakespearean way, chest protruding and lifting his arm toward the ceiling.

Dr. Logan is in rare form. He's wearing gray slacks, and a gray vest covering a white button down with his sleeves rolled up just above his elbows. He's wearing an unusually bright canary yellow tie and as he parades around like Demetrius from a Midsummer Night's Dream I can't help feeling this peculiar and alluring tingly feeling awakening from my lower belly. His joviality, almost attractive, temporarily alarms me.

"Dr. Logan?"

"Yes, come in. Why haven't you had a seat?"

"Are you okay today?"

"I'm magnificent. Why? What's up with you? Why are you looking that way? Noe, sit. What's going on with you?"

"Dr. Logan stop telling me to sit and stop freaking out. I'm fine."

"You're....fine?" he repeats, finding his way to his seat and rolling close to me, facial expression turned up with disbelief – his playfulness quickly fading.

"I'll sit if that makes you feel better. I've just...it's just I've been here for a while and I have been sitting for all of that time and I'm just tired of sitting."

"You've been here for a while? What does that mean? Our appointment is always at 3 o'clock."

"Yes it's at 3, but I came early."

"Early? More please."

"I came in just 60 minutes early or so –"

"You got in an hour early?" he asks completely dumbfounded. "Why Noe? Why, if nothing's wrong, why would you come an hour early for an appointment that never changes its time?"