Talk It Out

She waved her hand through the doorway, seducing me into the room with the tips of her fingers. Beyond the threshold were a pair of viridian-clothed chairs. The green twins sat perpendicular to one another, captured in an unvarnished duality: one sat with its back to the window, basking as it was entrenched by the midday sun, while the other retreated from the light, withdrawing into the far corner of the room. Her prayer beads rattled behind me. She was making her way for the corner chair.

From a distance, both chairs appeared to be new; however, upon closer inspection, the sun-showered seat featured the scars left from former patient’s brooding, fidgeting, and scratching. Her chair must-have featured the same trauma, it must have, but she camouflaged it well in the shadows. I felt the discomfort of my soon-to-be lounger well before I saw it. It had some history that I could empathize with, but more that I would never understand. It was useless hiding its disfigurements. Not only would this shameful sun give me away, but I knew that she would see right through my attempts. She had seen them all before.

“Please, take a seat.”


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