Therapy

“There is a thing about a love so strong; it refuses to die even when it in function is dead.” I stared at her in stupendous wonder and thought to myself “this is the dumbest crap anyone had ever said to me in the name of therapy. This was my third session with Dr. Kindness, my ex-crush turned psychologist; still as radiant as I met her, with a smile that can light an entire city. When I first walked into her office and seeing all her qualifications and licences, I thought to myself; “what was I doing while she was acquiring all the degrees?” It dawned on me almost immediately; I had been doing the very same thing that had brought me to her office in the first place.

Just like any other love, mine was a beautiful thing, a light in the midst of all my darkness, a haven from all the battles I fight daily. I dare say I was smitten like never before, there could never be any like her; I was attracted to everything about her. She was like a steroid stereotyped to satisfy my inner desires, my heart leaped the first time I saw her; then I heard her speak and fell head over hills for the charm in her firm voice. She was a beauty inside out. I was happy no matter how short lived.

Our last two sessions had ended in a deadlock with me storming out in anger on both occasions and vowing never to comeback, yet I did. She had on both occasions tried to get me to tell her my story but I am not one to be compelled, but I am in a story telling mood today and I had a feeling that talking to her would make things better. Today I had arrived before her; she walked in with more style than was professionally necessary and was dressed in a manner that could soften any man’s resolve.

Right as she began with the routine, she passed very personal compliments, smiled more than usual (she knows I love her smile), and made eye contacts more often. I found that nice at first then amusing, very amusing because I could see that it was part of the therapy; to seduce me into openness. This discovery would normally have made me withhold whatever story I had but then I thought it would be fun playing along. Before I began my story, she offered me a generous glass of Jack Daniels; I smiled “In vino veritas” I told myself.

I had intentionally begun my story from when I met my lover and my aim for that was very much accomplished from the look on her face. It was as much therapy for her as it was for me better for me; I had my drink. She had to halt me again before I started, this time she went looking for her tape recorder which I considered out of date even after she assured me of its efficiency. A tale to be told begins thus.

“I met her in one of the seminars I was involved in back in school and thought nothing of her other than her beauty, I thought of amusing myself with her after the seminar, unaware that she was a final year guest speaker from another institution” at this point she smiled and murmured what sounded like “men and their ways.” I continued “half way into the seminar and after her speech, my initial notion of her completely changed and I began to see her more for her intellectual sagacity. I no longer had the courage to carry out my initial plan fearing that she may have read my thoughts.” I paused for a sip and caught the keenness in her stare, like she was reading a romantic best-seller.

I took another sip and continued “after the seminar; a tomboy friend of mine and part of my team, Maureen ran up to me and said one of the guests speakers loved my speech and wanted to meet. I was flattered, so I followed her to meet Dr. Ike who incidentally was assisted by Udo” her pupils dilated. “That’s her name?” she asked, I gave a slight nod and continued “and it so happened that Dr. Ike couldn’t make it in time for his speech that she had to deliver it and did so beautifully. The meeting with Dr. Ike was encouraging; I only got to know that when I got home because I spent most of the seven minutes of the meeting stealing glances at Udo. He took my number and gave me his card.”

My psychologist was at this point leaning forward with both elbows on her desk and her hands clutching her cheeks. “In the following week, I got a call; a familiar female voice quoted some lines off my seminar speech and pitched me into a marathon of debates and discuss on the Nigerian political system without even introducing herself. I knew the voice only too well and was delighted to play along without asking for an introduction.” I remembered that phone call as Kindness watched me smile at myself; it was at about 1:45 am on a Tuesday.

At this point, I decided to cut my story and see the effect it has on my psychologist. “Doc, I believe our two hours is up” I smiled at her pointing to the clock hanging on the wall beside her. She tried her best to conceal her exasperation but only managed not to be vocal about it. She picked her recorder from the desk, thumbed a button on it and threw it into her drawer; Kindness stared at me ferociously as I finished up my drink and got up to leave. I'm certain she was uncertain who amongst us is psyching the other.