The Therapist

The Therapist

Copyright 2011 Matt Cairone

All Rights Reserved

“My father never told me he loved me.”

Dr. Casey stopped writing.

“What’s that, Peter?”

“My father never told me he loved me.”

The doctor put his pen down and sat forward.

“You’ve never told me that.”

“I never really thought about it ‘til last night. I was lying in bed. I was thinking about dying. I was thinking about my son. Then I realized it. My father never once told me he loved me.”

“Did your father love you?”

“Yeah, I know he did.”

“Why do you think he never said it?”

“I don’t know. He was quiet.”

Peter looked out the window and crossed his feet. He closed his eyes and leaned back. A light swirled behind his eyelids and he couldn't make it stop. He closed his eyes hard, and then he relaxed them. It was still there. He rubbed at his eyes. It was no use. The light was there.

Peter got up. “I need to use the restroom,” he said.

“Okay.” Dr. Casey stood and walked to his desk. He picked up a fresh notepad.

Peter walked past the restroom. He stepped onto the elevator and watched the door close. He stepped out of the elevator and waved to the receptionist in the beauty salon on the first floor. She smiled and waved back. He walked straight to his car. Dr. Casey saw him from the window, turning left onto Route 19.

“Oh, Peter,” he said. “Don’t do that.” 

He got up and went to his desk. He threw the notepad down and scratched above his left eye.