Let's Swim to the Moon (standard:drama, 1190 words)
Author: Joe Edwardson	Added: Feb 24 2002	Views/Reads: 3534/2330	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A young man with a grudge against the world starts to question the only man he's been able to trust: his psychiatrist.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

the receptionist replied. 

I stood there completely bewildered because the patient he was supposed
to be with at this very moment was me.  I’ve never been very punctual.  
And I never even knew about his second office.  Needless to say, I was 
suspecting something was up. 

“Hello?” Dr. Nelson’s voice cracked as he answered his home phone. 

“Yeah, it’s Davy.  Sorry I’m late, but I got a little sidetracked.” 

“Oh,” Dr. Nelson paused before continuing, “It’s okay. I have something
important to talk to you about when you get here.  Just come over here 
when you’re finished.” 

“I will. . .alright, bye,” I hung up, knowing something was seriously
not right about my present situation. 

I waited in the lobby for an hour for this Dr. Nelson to finish with his
patient.  When he did, the receptionist told me I could see him 
quickly, and quick it was.  I only spent a couple seconds to look at 
Dr. Nelson’s face, see a completely different face from the familiar 
droopy middle aged one I’m familiar with, and leave.  I sped to my Dr. 
Nelson’s home/office, knocked on the door, and he answered as per 
usual.  For the first time I noticed he didn’t have a receptionist of 
his own.  I never thought much about it; I just figured he didn’t need 
one, but it was just one more piece of the puzzle. 

We went down to our usual meeting place and he slumped down into his
chair and sighed before asking me to take a seat. 

“Dr. Nelson, I need to talk to you about something,” I said. 

“Just wait.  There’s something important I need to tell you, like I said
on the phone.  When I got your call today, after checking my caller 
I.D., I got a sinking feeling in my stomach.  I know where you called 
me from, Davy, and I realized it would no longer be possible for me to 
trick you.  Nor would it be fair. . .though it’s never been fair, I 
guess, but I’m just stammering right now.  Ahem.  Let me get to it.” 

“Alright, go on,” I said. 

“I’ll make it quick and to the point.  After I’m finished, you can storm
right out the door if you want, and you don’t have to ever talk to me 
again,” he says, pausing to clear his throat and divert his eyes from 
mine, then continuing.  “I’m not Dr. Manuel Nelson.  My name is William 
Lyons.  I used to be Dr. Nelson’s assistant up until a couple months 
ago when they decided my presence wasn’t wanted around the office.  But 
anyway, that’s where I got your phone number, along with hundreds of 
others as well.  I called you, pretending to be Dr. Nelson, and had you 
come to my house for misleading psychiatric sessions.  I am very sorry. 
 Any legal action you choose to take, I’ll understand.  I can’t tell 
you how sorry I am.” 

His words seemed unreal.  I babbled something about not knowing what to
think and just wanting to leave.  So I left, drove slowly home, 
thinking of nothing.  I used to read stories in the paper, making me 
sick of and angered at all humanity.  I used to watch television and 
feel the same anger, sickness, and disgust.  But this time it’s 
happened to me and I didn’t think, I didn’t feel, I didn’t understand. 

I got home and turned on my stereo.  I laid down on my bed, pulled out
my newly bought bag of herb, and traveled back to my never-ending 
joyful meadowland.  I swam to the moon.


Tweet