Sound of a Broken Drum

Chapter 2

Sometimes you dream about these faces, these people you have never met. Who are they? How did they enter your mind? Did your imagination fabricate their temporary existence so that they would play characters in your dreams? Mindless marionettes completely at the will of your mind. Or are they somehow real people, from the past or present, whose souls somehow infiltrated your dreams to color it with the rest of reality? Are they actually who they are or were; their personalities, identities, and names part of the grand scheme of humanity, either breathing right now as we speak in another part of the world or even having once walked the earth? I've always wondered this because it does make me feel less isolated thinking these people I see in my dreams are somehow connected to reality, or at least the reality outside of you. A minor detail to some, but it makes a world of difference. Because then, even the loneliest person in the world is not truly alone.

Another day, another dolla'. Get up you putz.

What are you talking about, I don't even work today.

Well shit, guess it's just gonna be a whole lot of ass-layin' today, huh?

Man, why am I so rude to myself?

Well today is the day I get to see Hana. My shrink. I know it shouldn't feel special but it does. I would only admit it to myself. Not even to Hana because well, it would get weird. I think she already knows I am attracted to her. She is a psychologist after all. But for me to straight up admit that would add another layer onto the table. And I don't think she makes enough money for that.

But I get ready like I always do. Almost like a date, I shave, add a little bit of gel to my hair, a dash of cologne to my neck. And of course, I wear some of my nicer clothes. Button-up shirt with a nice pair of jeans. It's still a casual encounter after all.

I can easily get over the fact that my thoughts are completely inappropriate if they stay in my head. I have absolutely no issues with fantasizing about Hana within the safety of my mind. It's a lot like the librarian fantasy. Conservative Russian girl spending all day in an empty office, listening to clients complain about their lives. But no time for her.

Oh no Hana, I can pay you all the attention in the world. Why listen to me when I can listen to you? And believe me, I want to hear you say all kinds of things. As long as you are satisfied at the end. You can even still charge me for the session...

Wait, where the fuck is this going?

Yeah, guess that kind of makes her sound like a...

"That went downhill pretty fast."

I looked around the bus. Pretty busy in the daytime, couldn't even find a seat.

An old lady picks her nose right in front of me. The joys of public transportation.

"Next stop, Charles St! Please exit the bus in an orderly fashion."

As the bus pulls over, I hop off. Almost time for the appointment. I pop a breath mint and cross the street.

Her office is on the top-floor of a three-story walk-up. The steps of the building are worn down, creaking beneath every footstep. I bet she can hear me coming up.

Once I made it to the top step, I walked to her door, took a breath, and opened it.

The front lobby of her office was empty. Instead, you could hear murmuring in the next room where the sessions took place. Guess she is still with another client.

I took a seat on an old sofa, waiting in anticipation. I looked around at all the Psychology Now magazines strewn across the coffee table, as well as the mental health pamphlets sitting up on racks. There was a poster on the wall across from me. Something about narcissistic abuse.