Peter hadn't told his wife yet but he had started psychiatric sessions. He had been fired from his last job in odd circumstances and believed his problems could from it. He still didn't know why. For now, he was to start a psychiatric therapy for his stress. Arriving at his destination after enduring the honks and jams of inner city traffi, he shut off the car and exited the door. He briskly entered the building and walked up flights to the office of Dr. Gillenberg. His secretary looked up as his enter the waiting room.
"Can I help you?"
"I have an appointment with Dr. Gillenberg. Last name, Renyolds?"
"Have a seat, Mr. Reynolds."
Peter took a chair and began to look about the room. It was painted in a light green. Seagreen, people called it. The hardwood floor was a nice touch but was very loud. If the place was a bit more aged, it could pass for the guest room in his mother's house. He hated that place.
Dr. Gillenberg strode in and noticed Peter. Gillenberg's suit jacket looked Italian tailored with his khakis underneath. He was a sharp dresser.
"Mr. Reynolds, I am Dr. Gillenberg. Please come with me and I'll show you to the office."
The door to his office creeeaked open, slowly and agitated. A modest setup, none too fancy, none too English. The drywall was pocked a bit, detailed with bumps and cracks. He once experienced the same detail in his mother's house. He hated that place.
"You may have a seat in the chair or we can be traditional and I can set up the couch."
"The chair is fine."
Peter sat in the chair and leaned back. Silence.
Dr. Gillenberg leaned in his own chair. "So, tell me a little bit about yourself, Mr. Reynolds."
With a heavy sigh, he began, "My name is Peter Reynolds. I am thirty-two years-old. I have a wife and daughter. I work at Hallifax Incorporated."
"And what do you do at Hallifax Incorporated, Mr. Reynolds?"
"I'll be honest. I only started two weeks ago. I just answer phones and not much else."
~~
The interview went on for an hour. Peter was beginning to sweat. At last, Dr. Gillenberg put his head in hand and spoke diliberately.
"Mr. Reynolds, I'll be honest. All you have told me is your name, age, family, occupation and the fact you are stressed. You need to give me more information."
Peter lept from his chair "What more do WANT? I don't live an amazing life. I'm a desk jockey, a father, a mid-life crisee. What do you WANT?"
"I want you to admit the turth, Noiseboy."
That stopped Reynolds. He turned his head around.
Dr. Gillenberg opened a file. "I always try to read up on newcomers. You, Mr. Peter Reynolds, were once part of the illustrious gang The Greeks. You were known by the name Noiseboy for your hypersensitive ears which they used for their own gain. You are ashamed for your actions and thus, suffer from acute akousticaphobia."
"That's not IT."
"Then what is it? Could it be the time you got fired from your job?"
"I didn't do anything wrong."
"Really? The report that your place of employment filed said that you nearly attacked your coworker with a bottle of vodka."
"It was our Christmas party. I was drunk."
"The tests they did will show you will three times under the legal limit. You had one beer all night and your coworkers say they saw you refuse drinks multiple times."
Peter tilted his head downward. His eyes darted around the cramped office. He appeared like a caged rat.
Dr. Gillenberg leaned in to his face. "What's wrong, Peter? I cannot help you if you jus-"
At last, Peter spoke. "How would you feel if your life seemed so utterly meaningless?"
Dr. Gillenberg seemed looked shocked at the sudden retort.
"I'm sorry?"
"All the Greeks. All of them. Gone. Did you know I was the last one?"
"I didn't know that."
"Well, first there was Big Eazy. He was doomed from the start. Three months after the founding, traffic violation. Once they check your record, it's over."
Peter continued "Then there was Louie. Good old Louie. He found himself at the not nice end of a station wagon. It took three days just to find all the pieces. Then Sarge, that was our leader, was killed by the rival gang, the Junkers. Once he died, there was no hope. The group split and the rest were arrested or shot up on the street. They kept me alive because I was weak. I prayed for my life. I wouldn't let them take me. Not with my wife-"
"Mr. Reynolds, what you have told has nothing to do with your condition. Absolutely nothing. You have been rambling on for over an hour and your time is up. We will continue on another day. For now, I will say you have trauma caused by your time in the Greeks. I say you need to relax. Perhaps calling out of work tonight."
Peter shook his head. "That's impossible. I need to work or we won't be able to put food on the table."
"This is not a suggestion, Mr. Reynolds. This is an order. Take a break or burn out. Your choice."
