Time After Time

6

“Hey, lady! This ain’t goddamned driving school!” he hollers.

Mom ignores him, only adjust the car’s position a little again before backing up into the parking space. It’s still pretty crooked, but for some reason this time she turns the car off, pulls out the keys and unbuckles her seatbelt, looking at me. “Let’s go,” she says tightly. I nod, throwing on my hood over my head just in case that kid in my English happens to be sitting next to him. We exit the car, I hear the loud beeping sound of the car as Mom locks it and we briskly walk towards the short white building. I stop in front of the entrance and stare up for a moment, just taking a second to take in how much of a prison it looks like.

We arrive just on time. As I flop onto an empty chair in the waiting room, Mom talks to the receptionist for a few seconds. She turns to me and beckons. Reluctantly I get up. A few people look up from their magazines and stare at me pityingly. Wondering why such a young guy needs therapy. Mom awkwardly pats me on the back as the receptionist opens the door.

“I gotta go somewhere real important. I’ll be back around nine, alright? Just head on home by yourself,” Mom says, removing something from her pocket and pressing it into my hand. The extra pair of house keys. “You know you’re way back, right?”

I nod.

“Be nice to Dr. Seifert,” she says, giving me an almost-threatening look. Almost. Then she gives me a kiss on the forehead and smoothes out my dark hair. I think I had forgotten to comb and flatten it before we left. “There. Bye, Alistair.”

“Bye, Mom.” My cheeks are enflamed, feeling at least eleven pairs of eyes on me. Mom doesn’t notice though, just turns and walks out of the place, leaving me here. So she’s not going to accompany me. As the receptionist leads me through the small hallway, I feel my lips curl into a grin.

4:41 p.m.

The door swings open and instinctively I swing my feet off of the swivel chair across from me. If only I knew the man would be ten minutes late, I groan to myself. I had just wasted the time relaxing and smoking in his office, just in case Mom waited around a little to see if I would ditch. I watch as a tall man with close-cropped blonde hair walks in. A golden retriever trails him obediently.

“Took you long enough,” I say in a loud and rude voice as the man I’m assuming is my therapist turns, back to me, and fiddles with something on the counter. “I just had half a mind, to leave, you know.” Maybe I can annoy the hell out of him and he’ll just toss me out himself and tell me never to return again. It could work, and I wouldn’t have to practice those fucking monologues anymore. It’s hell memorizing them.

But he doesn’t call on my attitude. Instead he just says, “No smoking.”

I scowl at his back. “Why not? I can damn well smoke wherever and whenever the hell I want.”

“It’s against the rules.” He pauses. “Though your mother tells me that these days you don’t have much regard for the rules, don’t you?”

“Do you?” I retort, crossing my arms over my chest, “I’m pretty sure that bringing pets in is against the rules, too.”

“I’m an exception,” he says quietly. A little too quietly.

Then he turns around, and I immediately want to take my words back. His eyes—they’re just this blank milky white. He’s looking at me, but he can’t see me. He can’t see anything. My therapist is a blind man, and I’ve just fucking insulted him. I want to just run out that door, have a shot of vodka and run back in and start over. Instead, the only thing I do is exhale smoke.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble. It’s the best I can do.

“It’s okay. We’re here to discuss your problems today,” he replies calmly, moving over to his chair with quick, sure movements and sitting down. He must be in this room a lot. “Not mine. I’m Dr. Seifert, by the way. This is my guide dog Seven.” Seven barks at me, wagging his tail. “You must be Alistair Ryan Beaufort.”