| It happened
while I was sitting on the chair at the psychiatrist's. I say the chair, because he did not have me lie down: I sat up, abruptly upright usually, and gripped the arms of the chair as we talked. He had an innate knack for bringing me out of my head and into my body, usually with a few words. When it happened it was without warning: the sense of the looking glass straight in front of me, almost pressed to my face, a warm and foggy mirror, a mirror colored by steam, a membrane to another world. On the other side I could see someone moving, a vague shape of flesh, the sense of terror. My blood ran cold, I gripped the arms of my chair, the hairs on the nape of my neck stood straight up, prickling, I froze, and then burst into tears. I have never revisited this moment; I keep waiting for it to reappear, but it has not. |
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