therapy. Nothing works.â
âUse it or lose it?â Will asks. The hourâs up, but finally it seems as if theyâre on to something.
The man nods. âI even hear it in my head,â he says. âWell, I hear a lot of things like that, phrases that get stuck in my head.â
âTell me about them.â
The man shrugs self-consciously. âSome just bug me,â he says, âlike that old âStep on a crack, break your motherâs back.â And the other one that always pops up when I walk outside. As soon as I see dog crap, I hear âEat shit and die.â Well, obviously I donât act on that, but the words stay in my head. They play over and over until something, I donât know what, distracts me or turns them off somehow. I canât tell you how they stop because as long as Iâm trying to turn them off, I canât, you know? They have to stop when Iâve given up, when Iâm not paying attention anymore.â
âAre there others of these directives?â Will asks. âOthers you can remember?â
âOh, yes, many of them. Thereâs âHaste makes wasteâ and âA stitch in timeââthings like that. âNo pain, no gain.â â
âSayings, you mean? Aphorisms?â
âYes. But while most of them bother me by repeating over and over, the âUse it or lose itâ one forces me to act because the idea that itâs true, that I will lose it, is so powerful.â
âDo you avoid cracks in the sidewalk?â
âI guess I do, yes.â
âDo some of these directives occur more frequently than others?â
âNo. At least I donât think they do.â
âAnd mostly they stop when you obey?â
âYes. I hadnât spelled it out that way to myself, but youâre right.â Will makes a note. Heâs allowed the new patient to use up not only the few remaining minutes of his hourâheâs never been one for forcing a fifty-minute break-offâbut a little of the next patientâs as well, and she comes in glaring at him. Itâs six minutes past.
âMaria,â he says, standing to greet her. âPlease forgive me. The . . . the gentleman whose appointment was immediately before yours was describing a complicated set of circumstances. You know I donât like to cut people off.â
She nods, looking slightly mollified. âItâs okay, I guess.â
âPlease,â he says. He gestures toward the couch. âI was hoping that today, as I have a cancellation following your session, we could run overtime. If your schedule allows, that is.â
âYeah, thanks, okay.â She hangs her coat in the closet but keeps her purse with her, lies down holding it in front of her crotch. Several times, she has pointed this habit out to Will, as if afraid he hasnât picked up on this self-conscious Freudian allusion. He never takes the bait when she asks him what it might mean, just lobs the question back at her.
âI feel like youâre always watching me,â she says as soon as sheâs comfortably settled.
âYes, I remember. We were talking about that last week.â
âNo matter what Iâm doingâI can be at work or eating dinner or changing my clothes or even having sex, and I get this feeling that if I look up, youâll be standing there. Not saying anything, just watching me. Making your silent judgments.â She uses her hands as she speaks and doesnât return them to her purse during pauses but leaves them hanging in midair, above her chest. âWell,â she says, âdonât you have any response to that?â
âYes,â Will says. âIâm wondering why you think I judge you.â
âBecause you do. You sit there thinking how purposeless and stupid my life is.â
âWhy do you imagine me thinking that?â
âWhy wouldnât you? After all,
C. J. Cherryh
Learning to Kill: Stories
John O'Riley
Brenda Sinclair
Christopher George
Stephen Lloyd Jones
Karl Iagnemma
Celya Bowers
Jill Gregory
Aria Cunningham