Carl placed a hand on the metal handle of the glass door, the sunlight reflecting off of it so that it was more difficult to read.  Squinting and cupping a hand over his eyes, he managed to get a better look at the letters painted boldly in capital letters on the door: “DR. SANDRA ADAMS, PHD.”  He gulped.  He was apparently in the right place.  He looked back at the very small parking lot on the sidewalk leading to the door.  His car was the only one there, and almost no others drove past.  This was to be expected, as he was in what was a decidedly less-often traveled part of town, but it still made him feel uneasy.  This whole situation had made him feel uneasy, as he thought about it.

Carl had started feeling depressed during his freshmen year of college.  Now, five years later, his situation hadn’t improved at all; it had only become much worse.  A matter of months before, Carl had actually begun having suicidal thoughts, so deep had he become in his own wallows.  One of his best friends had discovered this, and had signed Carl up without even getting his permission for an appointment with a Dr. Sandra Adams, a psychologist.  Carl had protested, even been a bit angry, but at the same time he knew his friend only wanted to help.  Begrudgingly, he had agreed to show up at the extremely small, out of the way office of the doctor, whom his friend had highly recommended, saying she had helped purge him of some slight depression during his sophomore year of college.  Carl had asked if his friend could just give him the condensed version of whatever it was the doctor had said, but he insisted he had signed a consent form not to share the methods.  Groaning, Carl had agreed to do it for his best friend and show up.

His appointment was for 8 am, just as the sun was coming up.  Taking a deep breath, Carl gripped the door handle and tugged, entering a short hallway.  There was a very small reception desk with no one behind it, although the computer was still lit.  There was a bathroom to his left, and ahead of him was a wooden door with the golden letters of Dr. Adams’ name nailed in.  Two folding chairs were leaned against the wall, presumably for waiting patients.  Unsure now if he was early or just plain way off the mark on his location, he pulled the seat of the chair out and sat down, twiddling his thumbs in the silence, biting his lip, wanting to get this over with.  He looked down at his lap, wondering if this was even worth obliging his friend for.

“Carl Morgan?” a voice asked sweetly from in front of him.  He raised his head to face Dr. Sandra Adams, who had just walked out of her office across the room.  She was slim, although not overly tall; she gave this impression, though, with a pair of black three inch heels that clacked against the tile as she stepped toward Carl, which allowed her to have a few inches in height over the depressed individual.  Despite being thin, her face was round, making her look a little younger than Carl guessed she was; he would have estimated she was only around five or six years older than himself.  Her black hair hung over her shoulders, wavy and shiny, curled slightly at the ends.  Her skin was pale, but not unhealthily so, particularly around her cheeks, which almost looked tan.  Her lips were a light pink, glistening from the dim overhead lamp on the ceiling, and they parted in a very wide smiling, showing off blindingly perfect white teeth, all in flawless rows.  Her breasts were reasonably sized, although not immodest, as they pressed against her shirt in juicy bulges.  She was adorned in a navy blue pressed business suit and skirt with a white dress shirt underneath, with tanned stockings hugging her admittedly toned legs.  She also wore stylish black glasses that framed her large, soft green eyes and long eyelashes, which she batted in a friendly manner as she extended her hand toward Carl, her fingernails filed smoothly.  Her long fingers gripped his hand confidently, while Carl just sort of let her do the work; he didn’t particularly want to be here, after all.

“Yeah… that’s me,” he grimaced, not able to look her in the eye from embarrassment.

“I’m Dr. Adams… but I prefer it when my patients just call me Sandra.  Why don’t you come into my office and we’ll have a little chat?” she asked, tilting her head and leaning over slightly to smile at Carl, but he didn’t look her in the eye.  Still gripping his hand, she led him like a small child across the room, where she pushed open her office door.  Carl quickly scanned the room with his eyes as the woman continued stepping into the room, her large hand still firmly gripping his own.  There was a small window allowing in sunlight on the wall.  A desk with a computer, phone, and piles of notes sat right in front of the window.  There were a few filing cabinets along the opposite wall, with a closet next to these.  In the center of the room was a leather recliner, facing the desk just a couple of feet away.  Sandra led Carl to the chair, placing her hands on his shoulders to have him stop.  She gave him an encouraging press down on his arms to make him sit down.  “Please take a seat, Carl,” she smiled as he obeyed.  She clacked her heels against the ground as she stepped over to her desk, taking a seat and leaning over as far as she could to speak to the patient.  She pushed a paper across the desk.

“Before we begin, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to sign this form,” she said, taking a pen from a cup on her desk and setting it on the paper.

“What… for?” asked Carl uneasily.  She smiled reassuringly at him.

“It’s really nothing.  It’s simply a form stating you won’t share anything that happens in this room with anyone, just as I won’t share any of your personal information.  It’s to keep my practice safe legally, so my particular medical methods aren’t utilized by my competitors, you understand,” she continued.  Carl nodded, shrugging, having nothing to lose anyway.  He leaned forward and scribbled his signature onto the paper, which Sandra whisked away immediately and slipped into a manila envelope.

“Thank you, Carl.  Now…” she began, steepling her fingers together in thought, her elbows resting on the desktop.  “Let’s talk.  I understand you were signed up without your knowledge by a friend of yours, Mr…”

“Wilson.  Brian Wilson.”

“Ahh, yes… Brian…” answered Sandra, her eyes lighting up in recognition.  “He was a patient of mine around four years ago, I believe.  He’s  a very nice young man.”

“He seemed to think you’re the best there is at this… stuff,” mumbled Carl.

Sandra smiled, pushing a stray curl out of her eyes.  “Well, that was very kind of him to say so.  He must be a good friend.  And I’m glad you decided to come and see me.  I know that wasn’t what you would have intended to do.”

“No, not really…”

“Carl, I guess I’d like to just start with the root of your problems.”

“Is this the part where you ask me to tell you how I’m feeling?” asked Carl, perhaps a little more snidely than he intended.  Sandra laughed.

“That’s very funny, Carl, but no.  I became a psychologist to fix what I’ve seen wrong with other practices, in my own way.  And I feel I’ve been very successful.  So no, I don’t want to hear what you think you’re feeling.  You may feel conflicted about those feelings anyway.  What I really just need to hear is the story of you.  Talk to me about YOU, and what made it necessary for you to be here,” she answered kindly, completely disregarding his slight rudeness.  Carl grunted, slowly leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms uncomfortably.

“Umm… okay, sure, sure… it all started about five years ago, right after high school.  During the summer.  I started to wonder, I guess, about my future, and what’s going to be in it.  I know that might sound a little sad for someone to think they have to worry so much about that when they’re only 18, but that’s what I did.”

“It’s perfectly natural, Carl.  Keep going.”

“Anyway, it got a little better.  I didn’t get into the college I wanted, but I got into one that was okay enough for me, I guess.  I did well.”

“Was it during college, then, that you started having these feelings?”

“Yeah, I guess.  What really kick-started it after that was Gina.”

“Gina,” Sandra repeated, her eyes locked, unblinking, as she listened intently.  Carl gulped, feeling a bit odd having such an (admittedly) gorgeous woman paying such close attention to his words.

“Gina.  I’d… liked her since sophomore year of high school, liked her a lot actually.  Never had the guts to go for it, though.  When I found out we were going to the same college, she had no boyfriend, I made my move, asked her out.  And she… said yes, somehow, said she liked me too.”  Sandra smiled at these words, holding her fingers together as if in prayer, calm and collected.  “We went out all through college… until graduation day.  I… I was planning on asking her to marry me after graduation.  I knew we were young, but I loved her so much I almost couldn’t breathe if I couldn’t guarantee I’d be with her for the rest of my life.  Walked into her dorm room to give her a ride over to the auditorium.  She’s got her legs wrapped around my… friend… Todd, and nobody’s wearing pants.  Known the guy since middle school…” mumbled Carl, the painful experience relation drying his throat.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Carl,” answered Sandra sympathetically.  “Please continue.”

“Broke it off there.  With both of them.  Never spoke to them again…”

“What about after college?  The last year before now.”

“Well…” mumbled Carl.  “Had a decent job as an engineer, really great pay for someone my age, maybe six months.  Screwed up.   Really bad.  Kinda got blacklisted by the major companies.  I can’t find a new “real” job, I’ve been living off my savings.  Brian’s actually paying for this one session, and I’m not sure I can keep coming in after today…”

“Don’t worry about that right now, Carl, just keep talking.”

“I lost my house last week.  I crashed at my uncle’s old place, he almost never uses it.  Probably won’t be able to keep that up, either.”

“The suicidal feelings, Carl.  I know you’ve had them.  When did they start?”

He gulped hard again, his words becoming more wavy as he tried to get them out clearly.  “It… it was a couple months ago, I guess.  Passed Gina and Todd on the street.  They… they were picking out a tux for Todd to wear to their wedding…” he moaned, his voice trailing off.  Embarrassed, Carl actually felt a tear roll down his cheek, which he quickly wiped away but tried to cover up.  As the deep green eyes of Sandra were trained on him, her lips pursed in slight sorrow, he had a feeling she could see just about any detail on him that she wanted or needed to see.

“I think I’m seeing it all now, Carl.  So now, you feel that your life is no longer worth living to you…”

“Yeah…” he rambled, and as he sat there, thinking about it more and saying it out loud, it occurred to him how futile his existence was.  He wanted to end it soon.  Very soon.  “I… I’m going to do it.  I know I am.  I just… I just…” he blubbered.  A few more tears fell down his cheeks, and he began to tremble, clutching his face in his hands.  He hadn’t actually been able to relay this full account to anyone from his own lips.  Somehow, the serenity and comforting visage of Sandra had coaxed it from him.  As he continued clutching his face, he felt warm fingers gripping his shoulder tightly.  He looked up to see the woman looking down on him in his chair, rubbing at his shoulder.

“Just relax, Carl.  I’m listening, and I understand.”

Carl looked up at her blurrily, seeing the comforting smile on her lips, and yet he felt even more angered.  She had lied; she was just like any psychologist.  “No, you don’t,” he answered bitterly.  She sighed, continuing to stroke his shoulder with her long fingers.  She slid them over his neck and to his other shoulder, which she then began to work.

“Carl, I’d like to try something.  A meditation exercise, if you will.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.  Do you drink tea?”

“Tea?” he asked disbelievingly.  She nodded.

“Yes, that’s right.  I’d like you to just lie back in the chair, and close your eyes.”

“I really don’t…”

“Just try it, please.  Give me a chance,” she asked, almost pleadingly, walking in front of him and standing rather poised, cupping her hands together.  Rolling his eyes very apparently, Carl did as he was told, closing his lids.  “Wonderful.  Sit tight,” she said, striding confidently to the closet.  With his eyes closed, Carl heard the doors opening, the clinking of a glass mug, and the pouring of liquid.  As he continued waiting, he heard Sandra’s black heels clacking back toward him.  “Keep your eyes closed, just open your mouth a little,” said offered soothingly.  Feeling reasonably comfortable despite his still strongly suicidal thoughts, Carl did as he was told.  A few swallows of tea were poured over his lips from the cup, which Sandra held lightly against his lips.  It wasn’t particularly sweet, but it was warm on his throat.

“Dr. Adams…” he whispered questioningly, wondering what the benefit of this was.  “I really don’t think that I’m…”

“Shhh…” she murmured, pouring another sip into his mouth.  “Don’t say anything, just drink.  Relax your muscles.  Don’t move a muscle except in your throat.  Don’t think about anything…”  With the combination of Sandra’s soft, calming words and the hot tea, Carl actually found himself drifting off to sleep.