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Chapter Nine

"David, you don't need a shrink."

David listened to the voice, he used to adore, as he walked across Park Avenue.

The light changed and he found himself stuck in the median. Why he had called Cassandra about this was way behind his self-understanding. Perhaps it was another issue to work on with the psychologist.
"Tell me about your problems. I'll help you." She sounded sweet today. Tender.  But it didn't change his feelings for her. He still felt a big fat nothing.
"Cassandra, how can you understand my dreams when you don't dream yourself. Or so you say."
"Is that why you need help? Because of your dreams?" The light changed and David walked to the other side of Park. He made his way uptown. "David, dreams are dreams. Don't let them get to you. It's what happens when you're awake that counts."
"Dreams can tell you a lot about yourself," David said. "I want someone to analyze my dreams."
"It's all crap. There's no difference between a psychologist and those East Village palm readers. You pay them a lot of money, and then they tell you things you should have figured out on your own."
David sighed. Why was he even having these discussions? "Look. Traffic is getting too loud. I'm finding it hard to hear you. I better go."
"It sounds quiet to me."
"Bye." David hung up. And then because mistakes don't like to stand alone....
When he got home, he called his mother. She answered with a sleepy-you-just-woke-me-up voice.
"Sorry," David said.
"I was dreaming about Billy," she said. "A wonderful dream."
"Sorry I interrupted it."
 "Are you okay?" his mother asked. Kindness. Forgiveness (hard to come by when Billy was involved). Maybe there was hope here.
"Well, speaking of dreams," he said.
"I've been having weird ones lately.
"David!" She sounded absolutely exasperated. "Do not interrupt my dreams to tell me about your dreams."
"If you have a real problem? Fine! Call me! But don't....You know what? Why don't you call Cassandra about this? Lie in bed together and discuss your dreams. That might be very romantic."
 His inner voice told him not to say what he was about to say next. But he did it anyway. It was as if he actually wanted to provoke his mother's wrath.
"I'm thinking of going to a psychologist."
"David!" She gasped. "No!" She acted like David had threatened to jump off a bridge. "Don't do it! Huge mistake. It will ruin your career."
"No one will know."
"They will!" She insisted.
"It's not like I'm constantly watched. I walked up Park Avenue today. Not one person recognized me or bothered me."
"And this is good news?" His mother said.
"You can go back to sleep, Mom." He hung up the phone.

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