Young Writers Society

It’s just psychology

The large interior office of Dr. Lawrence Fletcher made him uneasy. Aside from the wall décor – which consisted of framed diplomas, certificates and weird Rorschach tests, the room was rather empty. Big, fancy rugs cover a large part of the fine hardwood floor. A long table decked with coffee servings stands nestled against one wall, and in the middle of the room a couch stands opposite a comfortable chair.

He hated psychiatrists; he mostly viewed them as bogey charlatans. You could tell them anything you wanted, ranging from ‘there are dinosaurs in my backyard’ to ‘I think my cat is plotting to kill me’, and they will always give you some stereotypical explanation akin to; ‘You didn’t get along with your father’ or ‘you have abandonment issues’. He thought it all to be bull.

Yet, today Jeff Stevenson found himself in a psychiatrist’s office. He didn’t want to be there, but the doctors had practically ordered him to. It’s a psychological issue they told him. And though he refused to accept their reasoning, they were completely right. For months he had experienced insomnia, vivid dreams, paranoia and feelings of completely lack of reality.

He didn’t want to debate himself into another batch of sleeping pills; he was just too tired. Dr. Fletcher’s comfy couch definitely weren’t helping his eyes stay open. Once he was engaged in conversation though, his attention regained focus.

“So, Jeffrey, now that we’ve gotten all the way to this point, how about you begin telling me about these dreams you said you have. You mentioned there were two specific ones that you don’t understand?” Dr. Lawrence leaned back in the deep chair and eyed Jeff intently.

He crossed his legs beneath him as he lay on the comfy couch and looked up at the décor covered wall in front of him. “Well doc, these dreams I’ve been having. They’re not natural at all. I make no connection to them at all and they seem merely random, yet I’ll wake up drenched in sweat and heaving for breaths every time.” He twiddled his thumbs as he spoke.

“Tell me.”

“Okay, I guess I’ll begin with the one I’ve been having the most.” Jeff began carefully. “It all begins in a field of flowers. I’m walking peacefully, enjoying the sun and smelling the flowers as time seems to stand still. But then it happens. Clouds gather above me, the sun disappears and I can hear thunder rumbling in the distance. And then I see it; the giant taco. It always tries to eat me. Always.” He shuddered.

It seemed like Dr. Fletcher had never heard this one before. “A giant taco?” He questioned.

“Yes, the giant taco. It walks on two legs, has no arms and is filled with what might be chicken and guacamole, but no lettuce though.” Jeff slowly explained. “It always comes for me. And there is no escape. The googly eyes protruding from the top of his body always haunt me. But that was before, because I had that dream again last night. And I got him. I finally got him!” His voice got high pitched, the psychiatric effect hitting him harder than he had expected.

“What do you mean when you say you got him?” Fletcher asked quietly. And he sat there for a while, listening to Jeff explain how he had made a trap for this monster in his mind. How he had hidden in the field of flowers and waited for the thing to seek him out, and then, when the opportune moment came; he attacked this monster, and instead of it devouring him, Jeff had devoured the giant taco.

Dr. Fletcher appeared calm, seemingly trying to take it all in. Jeff had been silent for a little while and he was about to ask him what happened next, but Jeff interrupted him before he could.

“But then I woke up, and my pillow was gone!” He exclaimed as he gestured with his hands.

“Jeff, are you trying to pull my leg here?”

“Does it look like I had a good night’s sleep to you, doc?” He replied hurt.

“Alright, alright. How about you tell me about this other dream then?” His legs crossed as he probably hoped the next one didn’t include any sort of condiments.

The room went silent for a while. The sound of the clock on the wall ticking, and the low breathing of two tense men were the only thing taking up the airspace.

Minutes passed before Jeff gave into the temptation of sharing. He was sure that the good doctor had already made up his mind about what his first dream was about. Probably questions my sexuality at this point, Jeff thought to himself. But he needed to share.

“Okay doc. My other dream doesn’t occur that often, but I feel it affects me even more, because…well; it fascinates me.” His hands made gestures again. Fletcher was sure he wasn’t even aware he was making them at all.

“What’s the dream?” He focused his glasses.

In the couch before him, his patient wriggled around, trying to find a more comfortable position. “I’m warning you doc, it’s kind of hard to explain.” He pushed himself up to a sitting position; his hands now better capable of performing bigger gestures.

“This one begins as I am born. I remember everything; the bright lights, the loud noises and so on. But then that all disappears as quickly as it appeared. Then I find myself in the middle of a brightly lit cave.”

Beside him, Dr. Fletcher writes down small passages into his notepad. “Mhm.”

“In this cave, there are paintings on the wall. They all depict various stages of my life; my childhood, teenage years and even my old age.” As he spoke this, he sounded almost amazed at the sight which he described.

“But before I can fully appreciate this wonderful image, my attention is pulled away from it. A terrible noise erupts from the darkness behind me, out of light’s reach. I immediately notice that I’m naked, and not only that; I’m covered in baby oil!”

At this, Fletcher raises his hand, trying to get his attention.

However; he doesn’t get it. “Then it begins. It emerges from the darkness before me. It’s hard to see at first, but then I realize that I’m standing in front of a large bear wearing boxing gloves.” Jeff’s eyes glisten in the light of the overhead lamp.

“It is clear that his intention is to fight me. And being this exposed, I’m not about to cower away. So I raise my fists, ready for the coming confrontation. And then –“He is rudely interrupted.

“Jeffrey! For crying out loud, you are not being serious!” Lawrence Fletcher shouted, the annoyance clear in his voice.

What followed next was a heavy discussion on the matter. Jeff remained adamant that he was not trying to play him for a fool, and Fletcher tried to understand him to the best of his ability.

A long pause came next, and Jeff neither spoke nor made any sort of eye contact. However, the Dr. soon came to a realization that he’d wished he had come to sooner.

“Jeff, tell me. What do you do? Do you have a profession? A hobby perhaps?” His voice carried lightly as he questioned.

Though he seemed reluctant at first, he ultimately answered the question. “Well, while I do work in an office, I’d rather consider myself a writer.” His reveal was somewhat filled with pride.

“So you’re a writer? You should have told me that when we first met.” The Dr. announced happily.

Jeff was confused, “What do you mean, doc?”

Lawrence Fletcher steadily rose up from his deep chair and walked over to the comfy couch. “All these dreams you are having. Just go home and write them. I think that might take care of your problem.” A wide smile curved his lips.

Slowly, it dawned on him. “Yes, maybe I’ll do that. Maybe.”

.

Author’s note: He did.