PURE FICTION
Therapists Need Therapy, Too
A short story
The Hamilton Restaurant wasn’t as crowded as Tobias imagined since it was almost 11 am. It was too early for the lunch crowd but there were a few occupants, mostly elderly people, hung over from the breakfast rush with the aroma of eggs, scrapple, bacon, grits, pancakes, and coffee brewing filling the air. KYW Newsradio 103.9 FM was playing on the restaurant’s loudspeakers.
Sitting down at an empty stool, Tobias placed the black and white composition book he used as a journal on the Formica counter. He kept his sunglasses on while Patty, the middle-aged waitress with sandy hair with touches of gray, took his order of black coffee. She offered him her condolences regarding his friend and coworker, George Bell, who committed suicide a week and a half ago.
“Mr. Bell was a sweet, kind man.”
“Thanks, Patty.”
“Are you okay, Mr. Walker?”
“I’ll be fine.”
As Patty went to the kitchen to pick up an order, Tobias opened the notebook, retrieving his friend’s obituary he cut out from last week’s edition of The Philadelphia Daily News. Holding the newsprint in hand, he read the description as he felt tears developing in his brown eyes. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here, Tobias…
