Ep.71- Open Appointment

Hello Readers,

Can you believe it’s been almost two years since I opened this site and started writing Alice’s adventures in Arcana?

While the entries are less regular than in my most diligent moments, I choose optimism- that I still check in on this project from time to time is worthy of celebration.

Alice lives on.

I’m doing a little better than I was when we last spoke almost two months ago. Grief has come and gone. The weather is now hot and sticky and I am at home. I have been to different cities, caught the flu once again and recovered and made some solemn plans for the future.

Anyway. Alice.

We are mid flash-about with Alice. She has a bit to say. Some mysterious characters say a bit more. We’ll see how far we get.

Originally, my hope was to publish weekly. I don’t think that’s realistic for where I’m currently at, but I will not forget Alice.

Let’s get to it.

int. therapy office day

A small office, modern, seashell white and muted grays. A set of dated floral pattern chairs set against a coffee table with tissues, a thermos and pair of ceramic coffee cups.

Alice sits in one of the chairs. In her lap, folded neatly- is the black hoodie from her prior montage…

Across from Alice sits THE THERAPIST. This being, backlit and shown in outline only, holds a notably chewed pencil while balancing a notebook on their knee. When they speak, it is with gentle, pitying tones- the way we all imagine- or wish- our therapist would speak to us.

THERAPIST
Breath, Alice.

In this moment, Alice, her lips tinged a faint blue, realizes she has in fact not been breathing- and with a sudden gasp she inhales, her back straightening with a crick of discs.

THERAPIST
Very good, Alice. Your deep breathing exercises have come a long way since our first session. I’m so proud of you.

Alice sighs.

ALICE
A funeral, a school room and now…therapy. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.

THERAPIST
Are you not enjoying our sessions, Alice?

ALICE
I’m…not sure. It’s…disorienting. These Crawl Spaces. They’re all places I’ve been or imagined I’ll be. It’s…

Alice leans forward, gazing intently at the Therapist, her eyes squinting against the leaking backlight.

THERAPIST
I’m a different sort from the previous two lessons, yes.

ALICE
I thought so, but it’s not easy to tell. You all sound…put on. Like you’re trying to be friendly but it doesn’t quite fit, like shoes you’ve yet to break in.

THERAPIST
(writing)
Do all authority figures sound that way to you, Alice?

Alice doesn’t answer. Even in this faux therapy office truth is held preciously close to the chest. We often hear tales of the mythical therapist’s office- the place of healing where your friends go to confess and cry, to sit at the mount and hear the great sermons of restoration from the many woes that have plagued us since childhood. Alice’s experiences have never been so dramatic as all that- or as restorative. Alice’s therapy sessions, regardless of who they are with, have always been more a professional exchange between strangers. Some truth might change hands, but the deepest, most secret veins remain untapped. Some people daydream about wealth or material possessions or sex. Alice daydreams about the moment she speaks with complete and devastating honesty.