GRIEF
“Was there ever a beard?” She dragged the pencil through the face until the paper tore. She pulled out a new sheet and continued drawing. The alarm went off.
“Already?”
She shoved the sketches into her bag, leaving a few behind on the table. She grabbed them again, counted them, and rushed out of the coffee shop.
“The red water thing is to my left, which means I should take a left.”
She went past the bowling alley. Two exits. Cinema. She stopped.
Her breathing became uneven. “Left or Right?”
She made it to the therapist’s office and ran to the water cooler.
“Madelyn?”
She gulped. “yes, yes, I am here”.
“Dr. Thompson will see you now.”
The leaning sofa. The books arranged by height. The faint smell of coffee. She reached for the coaster before the doctor offered one. Maybe she knew the room before.
“Madelyn?”
She looked up.
“What are you looking at?”
“Nothing, Dr. Thompson.” A small smile.
“Frank.”
She blinked. “What?”
“You can call me Frank.”
“Right.” She nodded.
Frank opened his notebook.
“So. How did the walk go today?”
Madelyn sat straighter.
“Perfect.”
“Perfect?”
“Yes.”
A pause.
With hesitance, “I made it all the way without any help. I remembered every stop and I knew inst...exactly where to go, I just went...and I am here...in front of you.”
As he settled into his chair, he opened his notebook. “And you were sweating because?”
“The summer! what else, Frank. “It’s...”
She frowned.
“God, what’s the word?” The clock ticked louder than she remembered.
He waited.
“When the air feels... heavy.”
“Humid?”
“No.”
“Sultry?”
Her shoulders relaxed.
“Yes.”
The doctor closed the notebook. “Madelyn, You know I want you to get better.”
“I Know, Frank. Which is why I need to be cleared and stop taking my medi-” pulled out the bottle of medicines from her bag and shakes it.
Dr. Thompson took back his notebook and continued writing down stuff.
“Stop writing, Frank, Stop it! Frank, STOP! STOP! Frank!“.
“Madelyn” She looked at him.
He turned over the desk name plate, “Dr. Carl Thompson”.
The room felt different. Not because anything had changed. Because she wondered what else she had forgotten. She backed down into the sofa.
“I know this feels unbearable, Madelyn. But you nearly died”.
“You are the one who doesn’t understand. I would rather die in his arms than live like this.”
Carl slid the notebook across.
“Draw him.”
She smiled. “I already have.”
She emptied her bag. Dozens. Hundreds. Every sketch different. Every one labelled
HIM
“Look at his smile, WAIT! that’s not right”
She flipped through sketch after sketch.
None are right.
Finally:
“No.”
Another.
She flipped faster.
“No.”
Her breathing changed.
“He’s there.”
Another page.
“No.”
Her hands shook.
“He’s there.”
“Calm down, Madelyn, here” offered her a box of tissues. Madelyn ignored them.
“I know him, We bought a house.”
Carl looked up. “What?”
“In my head. We had a dog.” She composed herself. “you have to help me, just reduce these.” slammed the medication “I need to remember.”
Carl’s eyes moved to her hands.
“Madelyn.”
She pulled her sleeves down. “What?”
“The gloves.”
She became still. “It’s cold.”
“Madelyn.”
She looked away. “Someone had watered the plants.”
“I will write to your neurologist about adjusting your medication.”
Her eyes returned to him.
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Slowly, she removed the gloves.
The room became quiet. Carl stood immediately.
“Madelyn.”
The bruises covered her fingers. He grabbed the first aid kit.
“How long?” She didn’t answer.
“How long did you stop taking your medication?”
