Fear of the Deep
Thalassophobic Dreams
Science Infused Fiction
Near the middle of my session with Jim, I noticed on my desk monitor the silent image of Lisa entering the front office. As usual, Jim was facing the window with his back to me. A position providing enough psychological comfort to discuss his inability to carry on face-to-face conversations. One of the several prominent symptoms of his diagnosed Social Anxiety Disorder.
Lisa was thirty minutes early, an unusual departure from her normal just-in-time arrival. She sat in the waiting room corner opposite the water cooler to avoid eye contact with the soft, glowing, blue five-gallon water bottle atop the cooler. She projected a nervousness that didn’t bode well for our upcoming conversation.
Thirty minutes later Jim finished his session and slipped out the back door of my office to avoid contact with my receptionist, Lil, or any unsuspecting clients who might be waiting. I pressed a button on the right corner of my desk, signaling Lil to let the next client in, and rearranged myself into one of the chairs around a low granite coffee table. Lisa plopped down in the chair across from me. Her face told a story of tension and consternation. She started in, dispensing with any preliminary pleasantries.
