Feel free to tear this to bits- Thanks!
-Coral-
Her drumming fingers were driving him mad. Her rhythm was erratic at best, off-and-on again, beats in places they had no right to be in, throwing off any chance she ever had of completely an ear-worthy song. It would have been fine if she’d done it right, Freddy would have welcomed a bit of noise in the otherwise silent waiting room, but this? This disorderly mess of a song? It was unacceptable; a terrible show of what must be a terrifyingly chaotic mind. And yet, he remained silent. He knew that he must, despite having suffered it for what seemed to be forever. It was the longest four minutes of his life. But he must do it; that’s what his momma said to do, and he would do it, just like she said.
“You gotta keep all dat inside ya, Freddy. It’s not narmal to gitch yourself all warked up ‘bout little dings.” It’s what mama wanted, and he would do his best.
So Freddy sat and stared at his motionless hands, folded ever so carefully, emulating the peace he wished was in the girl’s hands. He tried to forget about those horrible hands, drumming away on the armchair across the narrow room.
When Dr. Lichtine called his name two minutes later, Freddy rose from his uncomfortable chair quickly and gratefully, and shot the nervous looking finger-drummer the dirtiest look he could muster up. Her fingers stopped mid-beat, and her mouth just barely opened in surprise.
He took the one step into the doctor’s office (he always liked to sit right next to the door), and sharply closed the door behind him.
“Hello, Freddy.” Dr. Lichtine was sitting in one of the two armchairs across the room, which was a considerably great deal more comfortable than those in the waiting room. His office was comfortable, sparsely but tastefully furnished. It almost seemed like a home library, only the shelves were filled with books on psychiatry instead of trashy romance novels that had no right to be published.
Dr. Lichtine was very calm, as he always was, and looked quite pensive with his fingers steepled. Freddy was not calm.
“There is a girl out there, drumming her fingers.” His voice was acid. Despite his silence and attempt in the composure in the waiting room, Freddy’s momma said nothing about not talking about it later. And he was outraged.
“Yes, I guess there is. It’s quite a common occurrence though; wouldn’t you say so, Freddy? Why don’t you have a seat?”
“But she isn’t even doing it right! It’s all wrong, all of it! And she’s wearing a purple shirt!” He crossed the room and threw himself into the armchair, only to look up at Dr. Lichtine with a familiar ferocity. “On a WEDNESDAY! The gall!”
