Gemotions

“Next!” The receptionist’s voice cut through the quiet of the clinic. It was my turn. I took a deep breath and walked into the office. There, behind a desk, sat Scott. He was the one who used to tie my shoelaces together on the bus. He had grown up to be a therapist specializing in childhood trauma.

He recognized me instantly. His expression changed, a flicker of something across his face. He quickly composed himself, though, and motioned for me to sit.

As I began to discuss my issues, he listened, his eyes focused and empathetic. The diplomas and certificates on his wall seemed to shimmer in the light.