Concentrate on the happy things they said.
But I don’t have happy things.
Nothing major. Something small that makes you smile. They bored me.
Jeremy was much more pragmatic. He was still a pain in my ass, and entirely too optimistic, for his own good. But there were the occasions when he was tired, or distracted, and I caught an edge of cynicism in his tone. I could work on him.
In the cafeteria, they served a strong, black, bitter coffee in thin, brown paper cups. Most drowned it with packets of sweetener and milk, disguising its true nature. That was the problem, we are all hiding the truth. I sipped, repressing my grimace.
I didn’t have to wait long, Jeremy, with his armload of green files and sporting his usual white coat soon joined me at my table.
“How are we this morning?”
“We are happy.”
“Is that so?” Jeremy lifted an eyebrow, “And why is that?”
I raised the flimsy coffee cup, my silent toast to my worthy adversary. I took a sip.
“I see,” he said, retrieving a cheap, disposable ballpoint from his jacket pocket. “And the new medication?”
He flipped open my chart and began taking notes. I waited. When he looked at me, I regaled him with the fruit of my practice and smiled.
“How is it we are so happy today?”
“It’s easy. I block out the screams.”
Jeremy patted my hand.
“Sounds like we are making progress.”
Jeremy had no idea.
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer