It was just a couple of days after Christmas, and Dr. Claire Allen sat in her office reviewing case files for her upcoming sessions while the rest of the her office celebrated two weeks of uninterrupted vacation. Dressed casually, for it was Saturday, in an old pair of soft, comfy blue jeans and a white button-down dress shirt she rifled thru her cases not really paying attention. Popping a margarita-flavored jellybean in to her mouth, her eyes came to rest on a case file she hated to look at. The one and only Trevor Hale, the man who thought he was Cupid.
Easing back into her leather office chair, she kicked her feet up on the desk, one foot casually resting on an old, battered Webster’s Dictionary. Sighing, she opened the file on her lap and started to read. Perusing her older notes on their sessions, she chuckled.
He sounds like a cackling hyena or a mad scientist. Why in the world does anyone continue to believe that he may be Cupid? Why does he even believe that he is still a god? So much for his “matching 100 couples in mere span of days”. It has been almost 4 years since he has been a patient of mine and his delusional thoughts of being a Greek God is still as strong as ever. No headway ever made in to his true being, his inner psyche. Not even so much as a glimpse at who he used to be before I met him.
Closing the file, she stood up, lazily stretching her arms to the ceiling, letting her back relax and her mind go numb. Too long she had pondered the mystery of Trevor. In the four years he had been her patient, she had seen him locked up in a mental institution, released in to her care, gain employment, and become an upstanding citizen. He no longer had to have regular check-ins with the hospital, no more threats of being sent back from quack psychiatrists who thought they could cure him with drugs. In all honesty, Trevor really no longer needed her. His delusional thoughts were nothing more then a constant daydream and not a harm to anyone, not even himself.
She placed the files back in to the cabinet and as she tugged on her jacket and scarf, she made up her mind to tell Trevor that he no longer needed her.
Trevor Hale sat on his couch eating chicken and dumpling soup he had made from the previous night for dinner. Grabbing the remote control, he turned the television on and began flipping through all 137 channels of cable. While channel surfing, he stopped on a program about Japanese Kamikaze pilots from World War 2.
“Yeah, Hirokazu, if you would have only listened to me in the first place you would never have become a pilot and could have married Makiko. You would have had a ton of children.” Trevor groaned, as he watched footage of a young, Japanese pilot slide into the cockpit of his bomber, preparing for a raid on Pearl Harbor.
Raising the bowl to his lips, Trevor drained the soup in one long, last slurp. Belching loudly, Trevor made to reach for the remote control to change the channel when he heard a knock on the door. Brushing the crumbs away from his t-shirt and sweats, he put the bowl on the coffee table with a clink and went to the door.
“Who is it?” He asked in a grumpy, annoyed tone.
“Its me, Claire. May I come in?”
Opening the door a crack, Trevor squinted down at her. “To what do I owe the pleasure, and I stress that word with much sarcasm, of your visit?”
“I have some things that I need to talk about with you and I didn’t think it could wait until our next session on January 2nd.” Claire said, huddling into her coat to stay warm. Flecks of snow were still clinging to her shoulders and her hair, making her feel slightly like a melting snowman.
Grimacing, Trevor opened the door far enough to allow Claire to squeeze by. Shivering, she removed her coat and sat down on the couch. Noticing a red fleece blanket with snowflakes on it, she pulled it over to cover her to her chin and shivered some more. Trevor stomped to the chair next to the couch and flopped down into it. Holding his stomach, he noted her informal behavior and belched the alphabet. Grinning impishly and feeling almost back to his normal self he asked. “What couldn’t wait until our next session that you had to come over here during your winter break from shrink-land and tell me? Have you decided to take me up on that road trip to that lavish Montreal casino? Because if you have, let me grab a change of clothes and a little cash then we can go!”
“No, I am not here to take you up on that road trip offer, as tempting as that may be. I am here to talk about our sessions.” She remarked as she glanced at the empty bowl, which made her stomach growl.
“So then why?” Trevor said, as he picked up the empty bowl she was eying. He went to the kitchen and placed the bowl in the dishwasher and got down another. He filled the bowl with the remaining soup and brought it to Claire with a flourish. “Grandma’s Voodoo Chicken and Dumpling Soup. I thought you might be hungry.”
“You don’t need me any longer.” Claire said simply.
“Wha-what? Don’t need you any longer? Claire, have you lost your senses? Has the Queen of the Head Shrinker’s ball become one of us lowly shrinkee’s? Because if you have, let me tell you to stay away from a couple of doctors, rather a few hundred doctors that like to treat their patients with shock therapy and other various renditions of archaic treatment.” Trevor quipped.
“No, Trevor. I am serious. You no longer need me because you are a normal, every day person. Your delusions are not harmful to anyone or anything and are more like a constant day dream then something delusional. Have you ever seen that cartoon about a boy who day dreams of being a space cadet or a dinosaur hunter? You are like him. He lives in his daydreams as a means of escaping reality, which isn’t that bad. Its just escapism and almost every human being on this planet participate in some kind of escape. And there is no cure for being human, I am afraid to say.” Claire shrugged.
“So, are you saying that I no longer have to go to therapy?” Trevor asked, leaning forward, a look of intense concentration plastered to his face.
“Correct. No more therapy. For all intents and purpose, you are cured.” Claire said, sipping soup. Her nose was starting to run and her cheeks were becoming flushed from the hot soup. She was starting to feel warm again and really not looking forward to braving the elements of the chilly Chicago afternoon.
Trevor leaned back against the chair, not knowing how to react to this startling revelation. Thinking of his beads, he abruptly stood up and almost ran into his bedroom.
To Be Continued...