The receptionist is chewing gum. She tells me to take a seat.
The waiting room is small and stuffy: A mumbling man with a calloused hand is fumbling through loose change. A lady wearing a red beanie sits next to him, counting stitches while knitting an orange scarf.
I plop next to an older woman wearing thick-lensed glasses. My purse bumps her arm.
She says, "Watch it."
"I'm sorry." I tap my fingertips on the armrest of my chair.
It doesn't take long before Doctor Hill steps out and calls my name. Her hair is pulled back into a bun. She has on a white blouse and a brown skirt.
I get up; I feel a tug on the hem of my sweater. I turn. The old lady whispers, "She's nuts."
Doctor Hill leads me into a consulting room. I sit on a straight-back chair. She picks up a notepad. Her eye twitches. This is annoying to me. I pull on my ear lobe.
The doctor crosses one leg over the other. "Shall we start?" She looks up and gives me a half-smile.
I crack a half-smile back. "I guess so."
"Tell me what's bothering you."
"Can't stand my mother. If it's not my hair she doesn't like, it's my clothes. When I give her a gift, she gives it back. But not before she's had a good laugh."
Doctor Hill jots a note.
After twenty minutes of talking, I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans.
"Is that the reason you're here?"
"Worse, I want to kill her--- of course, I wouldn't. Or would I?" I scratch my head.
"Close your eyes and imagine you're near the ocean. Picture yourself walking along a beach. Tell me what you see."
"Miles of black sand. Giant waves breaking on craggy rocks. Seagulls flying through fog."
"What else do you notice?"
"My mother. She has on my new sunglasses. She's laughing."
"If she were an animal, what would she be?"
"A skunk spraying a warning."
Doctor glances at the clock. "The session is over."
I squirrel back into the waiting room.
The old woman is still there, "I told you."