Unexpectedly, Milo - Matthew Dicks [19]
All of these concerns made the prospect of entering Dr. Teagan’s office daunting and unnerving. If he weren’t so concerned that his refusal to attend these sessions might arouse suspicion in Christine’s mind and raise questions that he could not answer, Milo might have forgone the counseling process entirely. But this, he feared, was their only solution, the only means of reconciling and continuing on with their comfortable life. He would have to hold the line, maintain his composure, and do everything he could to avoid entering the doctor’s office with a demand already weighing him down. And if a new one arose in the midst of a session, Milo hoped that its onset and initial symptoms would be too small for even a professional such as Dr. Teagan to notice.
Dr. Teagan’s office was located in a building that housed several other therapists, family counselors, and similar head doctors, as Milo’s father would have referred to them. Therefore, the waiting room contained an odd collection of reading material, differentiated enough for the wide variety of patients that the room serviced. Included in the pile was the innocuous Highlights magazine, which Milo recognized as a children’s magazine though he had no memory of ever seeing a child actually reading it. Without a conscious thought, he began thumbing through the most recent copy, stopping to read the three-page spread of children’s poetry. The poems weren’t very good, but they were amusing just the same, including his favorite:
My Hurt Elbow
My school nurse is the smartest adult person I know.
I went to her office because I had a rash on my elbow
That hurt when I scratched.
My mom put smelly cream on it that just made it smell.
But Nurse Mancuso found the cure.
She told me not to scratch.
And it worked.
It didn’t hurt anymore.
Milo was reading this poem for the third time, beginning to commit it to memory, when Christine emerged from the hallway connecting Dr. Teagan’s office with the waiting room. “Your turn,” she said, avoiding eye contact as she passed him, or so he thought. Milo couldn’t be sure. It was easy to read too much into Christine’s facial expressions at a time like this, but still, it made him uneasy as he commenced the short walk down the hall into Dr. Teagan’s office.
“Hello, Milo. Take a seat, please.”
The doctor’s informal use of Milo’s first name surprised him. During their preliminary encounter, the doctor had referred to him as Mr. Slade, but after fifteen or twenty minutes with Christine, it seemed that he was already on a first-name basis with Milo.
He wondered what she might have said.
Milo crossed the rectangular office and took a seat in a cushioned chair positioned between two large indoor plants, noting a small table with a digital clock placed just to the left and behind him, affording the doctor a clear view of the time while presenting Milo with none.
“So Milo, I know that you and Christine are having some trouble, and I’m here to listen and help as much as possible. Can you tell me what goals you have in mind for our sessions?”
Milo breathed a sigh of relief. He was concerned that the doctor’s first question might be something like “So what secrets are you keeping from Christine?” He worried that he might be asked to talk about his odd and inexplicable demands: the bowling or the Weebles or those persistent, inescapable words in his head.
Most of all, he was terrified that this head doctor might ask if Milo thought that he was crazy.
Instead, the doc had opened up with a softball.
“I guess I’d like to get our marriage back on track,” Milo said, pleased with his response.
“What do you see as the problem with