3:AM Magazine

By Tiff Holland.

The new psychiatrist is young, shiny. His patients have not yet made him crazy. He says he looks forward to the DSM-VI, and I believe him. He says he doesn’t like to put labels on people, that the labels tend to stick for life. He’s right. He doesn’t laugh at my jokes. I mention that he doesn’t laugh at my jokes. He manages a chuckle, says he doesn’t usually laugh at work. He asks me to remember three things: the color blue, Idaho, a Chevrolet. It’s not until I get up to go that I notice the poster on the wall, a sort of sixties pop rendering of a white Cadillac. The picture has an odd blue tint. He has me count backwards from one hundred by sevens. I stutter. I stammer. He asks me to list all the medications I have taken. I list the ones I remember. He lists others. I nod if I taken them, shake my head if I haven’t. I had a reaction to two. I explain the reactions. I tried to kill myself while taking another. He is thin, probably gay. On the way home I’ll think to myself, if I wanted a skinny young gay guy giving me advice, I’d call my brother. When I stand, I notice his hair is already thinning on top. He is dressed like a psychiatrist, which is like a lawyer who expects to have to go into court. He’s wearing a striped shirt, it makes my vision fuzzy. Personally, I think it’s best to stick with solid colors. He asks me what I want out of him. “Back pocket tool,” I say, without thinking how it sounds. I have no intention of taking the pills he recommends.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tiff Holland’s poetry and prose have appeared in dozens of litmags, anthologies and ezines and have twice been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. She’s an adjunct instructor at Austin Community College.

First published in 3:AM Magazine: Sunday, December 6th, 2009.