Dr. Allen's New Patient Ch. 01

"I don't want to bother them", Sally said in a meek, almost inaudible voice. She looked down at her shoes, unable to meet Dr. Allen's eyes. To continue avoiding his eyes further, she looked out the window off to her right, observing the cars passing by. They were busily stopping and charging across the intersection in accordance with the traffic lights, apparently in a rush to get to another red light.

Sally had been referred to Dr. Allen by her co-worker, Abby, who was desperate to find the young girl help for her "problem". Abby, an office colleague in her early 50's, was alarmed when she finally found out what Sally had meant by the phrase, "I'm going to see my guy tonight."

Abby had always felt responsible for, and a little protective of Sally, who was young enough to be her daughter. After having known the quiet girl for a little more than a year, one normal August work day, Abby noticed little welts on Sally's shoulders.

Sally was the exceptionally quiet girl who sat at the corner of the company's vast office area, always busily filing paperwork. That summer day had been excruciatingly hot, and as luck would have it, the office air conditioning had broken down again. This soon had every employee peeling off clothes to some extent, some even ending up in their tank tops, disregarding the dress code that was usually strictly enforced. Sally had ended up no different. At first, she tried to stay fully dressed and "decent", but after hours of sweating profusely in her stuffy little corner of the office, she gave up, and shed her gray blouse to reveal a modest camisole worn over a cotton bra.

Although the impressive mountain of file folders heaped on her desk provided somewhat of a barricade, blocking full view of "Sally exposed", her disrobing had nevertheless revealed a small part of her back, not to mention ample sections of her shoulders. The little scratches on her backside looked like newly wielded scars, perhaps only a few days old.

Weeks before, the older co-worker, perhaps through motherly instinct, and also partly due to her curiosity, had pried some information out of her timid, awkward co-worker. What did her "guy" do for a living? Abby inquisitively asked Sally.

"He doesn't work. He doesn't need to."

"Well, where does he live then?"

"He lives downtown."

"Where did you meet him?"

"He saw me on the street."

"Well, I'd like to meet him. Call him up and invite him for a cup of coffee with us after work", Abby suggested in a friendly gesture.

"He doesn't have a phone."

With Sally's brief, evasive responses, Abby ended up more puzzled than ever about the new "guy" in the young girl's life. Abby was clearly not satisfied with the young co-worker's answers to her prying questions.

Fast forward to a few months later and a few blocks over. In the same neighborhood as the building where the two women worked, sat Sally, slightly slouched in Dr. Allen's comfortable office armchair. She sat quietly in the chair that seemed big enough to swallow her up. Sally did not know for sure what Abby wanted out of all this; perhaps the older woman was simply trying to exercise her maternal instincts over a younger colleague.

In his office, Dr. Allen quietly observed that Sally wore no makeup, and had her long black hair tied up in a modest ponytail cinched at the nape of her neck. She wore glasses (just as well, Sally thought to herself, since she wasn't used to looking people in the eye anyway). The loose-fitting, gray blouse she wore hardly hinted any coordination with her long black skirt and dark gray nylons. This ensemble hid any semblance of femininity her legs might have otherwise shown. It was no surprise that Sally was quite accustomed to no attention from others, especially from men.

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That was why she was startled, almost scared, when Damian suddenly approached her one day on her regular morning trek to work.

The night before, after yet another lonely, restless evening alone in her small bedroom, desperate for attention from any man who would look at her, Sally decided to kneel down beside her bed and ask for the Lord's help. She clasped her hands together, rested her elbows on the edge of the bed, and intently closed her eyes. She decided to say her prayer out loud, careful to keep her voice down so as to not disturb the other people living in the boarding house.

"Dear Lord, it's me. I'm praying to you because I don't know what to do anymore. I'm 23, and still a virgin. I've tried to do everything the right way-being a good girl and following the rules. I've tried to wait until the 3rd date before having sex with a boy, but I've never made it that far, Lord. I've tried to act ladylike and decent, not ask a boy out, but to let him ask me out. But I'm clueless talking to boys, Lord. I wasn't born clever that way. I know I'm not pretty, which I've accepted a long time ago. But Lord, I promise that if you send me someone, I will do what you want me to, and I will accept my destiny. Please Lord, send me a sign; send me the man I'm meant to be with. Thank you. Amen."

The next morning, after she got off the downtown city bus to walk the usual ten blocks to her workplace, Damian suddenly appeared out of a dirty alley. He stood calmly in front of her. Extending his hand out, he looked deep into her eyes. His were an intense green, but his gaze aimed directly at her was even more intense. Damian's hands were dirty, as was his face. Not used to looking people in the eye, least of which on a busy street, Sally found herself mesmerized by Damian's stare. Even though she wasn't standing that close to him, she could smell alcohol and cigarettes on his breath. He was dressed in rags, old and faded from years of roaming the streets and sleeping in cold alleys. Not surprisingly, he also reeked of urine. Out of fear and by sheer instinct, Sally took a step back and then swiftly continued her walk down the busy downtown street, towards the building where she worked.

That entire work day, however, the vision of the tall, thin stranger and his striking green eyes haunted her. Sally could scarcely concentrate on the huge stacks of papers piled up on top of her desk. Every time she told herself to snap out of her reverie, the fantasy-like image of the strange man who leaped out of a cold, dingy alley would drift back to seize her thoughts. She would try to go back to tend to her files, and then suddenly she would fall back into the same daydream she had collapsed into minutes earlier.

Several times that work day, almost predictably, Abby came by and asked Sally if she was okay; the young girl had seemed more "out of it" than normal, if that was even possible. Instead of her usual absent, empty look, Sally's facial expression today was drastically different, betrayed by sensual thoughts which had invaded her whole being, obviously thoughts of utmost intensity. Her eyes were glazed with fantasy.

In the weeks that followed, Abby noticed her young co-worker suddenly smiling to herself when she thought no one was looking. Abby definitely took notice of Sally's new state of mind, until this one particular sweltering summer day, she was shocked to see several scratches on the small of Sally's back and shoulders. Out of sheer concern for her quiet, unassuming colleague, Abby decided to find out where the welts had originated. With determined purpose, she walked over to the corner of the big office space the company staff shared, where Sally was busy sorting through the various files and binders on her desk.

"Sally honey, I need to talk to you."

"I've got a lot of filing to do", said the meek girl, barely meeting her eyes.

"Please, Sally, it's important", Abby insisted.

Sally relented and motioned for her older colleague to sit down on the chair next to the cluttered desk.

Abby started, "Honey, I noticed the scratches on your back. What's going on?" The concern in Abby's voice was apparent.

True to form, Sally shied away from the question, softly shrugging her shoulders, looking down at the floor. But Abby refused to be sent away before getting to the heart of the matter.

"Sally, I'm worried, really worried about you, dear. Is someone hurting you? Those scars on your back aren't normal, and I can't just stand by and see you like this."

"It's nothing. No one is hurting me", Sally offered in her most resolute voice.

"How can you say that? Those scars were made by someone, and I don't think that someone is a nice someone. Now tell me the truth, who's doing this to you?"

"He's not a bad person, and I was the one who went to him."

Now Abby was really confused. Her thoughts ran rampant. What could this be all about? "How could someone willingly go to another person to get hurt, to get scarred like that?" It didn't make any sense to Abby.

Just then, the clock struck 5:00 pm. Both women looked up at the old chiming machine; time to leave work. With that, Sally bolted out of her chair, grabbed her purse, and briefly paused next to her desk still piled high with files. Avoiding Abby's eyes, the young girl ran to the office's front door and swiftly leaped out, getting far away from her concerned interrogator.

Abby was dumbfounded. Out of genuine concern for her troubled young colleague, Abby searched for ways to begin to help Sally. She didn't know how, to be honest, because Sally's problem seemed to need the expertise of a professional, someone actually trained to deal with abnormal problems, as this seemed to be a problem most abnormal to Abby.

Abby walked back to her own desk, gathered her things, and still full of confusion, walked out of the office. She had a million questions about Sally, not the least of which concerned Sally's new "guy".

That night, it was difficult for Abby to get a decent night's sleep. She was overwhelmed with concern for Sally, and what she should do to help the poor thing. Maybe Sally was crying out for help, albeit in her own quiet way. From previous brief conversations, Abby knew that Sally's parents were both dead, and that she had siblings that she didn't keep in touch with. The young woman seemed alone in the world. No doubt she had few, if any, friends outside of work. Even during lunch, Sally ate her homemade sandwiches and salads at her own desk, finishing her meal much earlier than the allotted hour permitted. She seemed like the perfect little worker, and did things as efficiently as possible, to get the maximum amount filing done because it seemed paperwork was constantly put on her desk. The girl was a bit of an enigma, actually, never rude to co-workers, but never friendly, either. "What could be going on in her life, that she sported all those scratches on her back?" Abby wondered, overwhelmed with a mix of concern and curiosity.

Abby briefly considered contacting the police about the issue, in case it was a matter of abuse or assault. But then, a thought occurred to her just as quickly as the idea appeared, "Since Sally didn't even want to talk about her problems with a colleague she had known for a while (Abby), why would she open up to the police (complete strangers) about it?" This, especially since Sally indicated she herself had been the one initiating contact with this "guy", whoever he was. The idea of calling the cops suddenly seemed a poor one to Abby.

Abby racked her brain for possible solutions to Sally's problem. After hours of some serious brainstorming, she thought back to her college days, when she had taken a few psychology courses. She remembered learning that humans sometimes did self-destructive things, not necessarily for the sake of harm, but because they were fulfilling a longing or need from within. After some consideration of the pros and cons, Abby resolved to go ahead and look for a psychiatrist for Sally. A psychiatrist would surely have the training and know-how to deal with a delicate issue such as this.

The next morning, Abby sat in front of her work computer, browsing the internet. She carefully searched for shrinks in the area who could possibly tackle the problem Sally so obviously manifested. There were quite a few therapists whose names popped up, and she emailed each of their offices to see if one couldn't help her young co-worker obviously in need of some serious counseling.

The company where Abby and Sally worked offered excellent insurance coverage to address mental health issues, so Abby made sure that whichever shrink she went with could accommodate Sally's needs. Abby had finally gotten a call back from the office of Dr. Allen later that week, along with some preliminary questions: "What was the purpose of the therapy? How long had the issue been going on? Was the patient a danger to herself or others? Could she come to his office herself for a preliminary screening?" None of the other therapist offices got back to Abby, which probably meant their patient lists were full, in which case the choice of shrinks for Sally was made that much easier.

Later that day, Abby approached Sally again. Sitting next to the mountain-high stack of folders and binders on Sally's desk, Abby was determined to come to the aid of her troubled co-worker. Out of the corner of her eye, Sally observed Abby walking intently towards her desk, and took a deep, slightly aggravated breath.

"Sally, I can't ignore what's happening to you. You need help, honey."

"I don't need help. I'm fine. There's nothing wrong with me", uttered the diminutive young woman, barely five feet three inches tall. It was doubtful she even tipped the scale at a hundred pounds. Already exasperated at this point, Sally was eager to drop the subject insistently brought up by her over protective co-worker.

Figuring out beforehand that she would be met with denial, Abby was determined to keep pursuing the matter. She told herself not to relent, no matter how difficult Sally made it for her. Abby was prepared to pull out all her big guns for this one. Sure enough, after about an hour of trying to convince Sally to see Dr. Allen and having no success, Abby decided to resort to an ultimatum.

"Sally, if you don't see a therapist about this, I'm going to have to call the police and have them look into it." The young woman stopped dead in her tracks. She instinctively knew she did not want any public revelations about her personal life. That would complicate things at work. Least of all, she did not want the police prying into her relationship with Damian. Reluctantly, Sally gave in to Abby's demand to at least meet Dr. Allen for a consultation. She had no other choice.

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When Sally first walked into Dr. Allen's office, strategically decorated with calming abstract art pieces in blue and white hues, she customarily avoided any eye contact with her would-be therapist. Even her walk into his office was inconsequential, almost stealth-like. Dr. Allen instinctively got the feeling this young woman would be a tough nut to crack.

After the initial routine questions, slowly peeling away the layers of Sally's carefully guarded surface, Dr. Allen's skillful questioning methods were surprisingly successful at least in puncturing some thick outer layers, getting slowly but surely closer to Sally's essence. Although he didn't let on to it, Dr. Allen was astonished Sally was so candid about her situation. After careful prodding, Dr. Allen slowly got Sally to reveal more and more of what made her tick.

"...I didn't know what else to do. God made me this way, and I'm accepting myself the way I am..."

"They don't want me, the normal boys. I'm not supposed to be with them. I'm supposed to be on the street, in the alleys. God made me this way on purpose", she declared, quite certain of the conclusion she'd reached about herself.

"And how has God made you, Sally?" Dr. Allen questioned her calmly.

"Not pretty and not special", she indicated quite matter-of-fact.

"Go on", he encouraged.

"He didn't give me any special gifts, no charm, no talent, no nothing. He only made me a very sexual person."

Dr. Allen was quite taken aback by the last phrase uttered by this quiet young woman sitting across from him. She was staring at the floor, as she had been throughout their conversation. Needless to say, Sally emanated anything but sexuality from her unassuming, almost silent presence. Dr. Allen had difficulty imagining any sort of desire oozing from this homely girl with the glasses, sitting meekly in front of him. But, as the quintessential professional he was, he didn't dare display his astonishment, and continued listening, careful not to stop her from revealing herself.

She repeated, "God has made me this way for a good reason."

"He has?"

"Yes, God plans everything, and he has a plan for me."

"And what is God's plan for you, Sally?"

"He wants to make sure I am simple and humble. He wants me to learn that it's important to stay simple and humble in life. That's why he didn't make me pretty or special. He wants me to be with the men on the street. They will keep me simple and humble."

"The men on the street?" asked Dr. Allen, quite stunned at this point.

"Yes, the dirty, penniless men on the street. The ones without jobs, the ones who are homeless; God wants me to be with them. The ones who don't have phones, who don't even have change in their pockets."

"You think that God wants you to be on the cold, dirty streets with these homeless men?"

"Yes", she replied quickly, quite sure of herself.

"Why wouldn't God want you to be with a normal young man, Sally?" Dr. Allen quietly asked.

"Well, because I've tried it that way. I've tried to do things the normal way, like going out with normal boys with jobs, the ones with their own apartments. I'd wait for them to call and take me out on normal dates. But I'm in my early twenties, and I've only gone out with a handful of boys, and only on first dates. Then I would wait by the phone, and none of them would ever call me back. Even the dates these boys took me on, you couldn't even call them real dates. They would take me out for coffee, or they would take me to McDonalds. And then I realized they didn't want to spend any money on someone like me. You see, only pretty girls get taken out to nice restaurants, and to wonderful places like the ballet or the symphony. I never got taken to these places, not even to the movies. I began to resent all the fairy tales, you know, Cinderella, Snow White, and Sleeping Beauty, where Prince Charming comes and sweeps the girl off her feet. I realized a long time ago; that's not possible for a girl like me. I've learned to accept the truth."

"When did you realize this truth about yourself, Sally?" continued Dr. Allen, mesmerized.

"A few months ago, after I went out with the last 'normal' guy. You see, I was left with credit card debt, because I was buying pretty dresses for myself, always getting ready to go out with Prince Charming; but I never got to wear any of the nice things I bought; So I asked myself: What is the point of wearing something pretty, when I don't get asked out anywhere special?' Soon, I told myself to stop trying to be something I'm not. I stopped entertaining the silly thought I was anything special. I resolved to just let God lead the way for me."

"Did he then, lead the way for you?" Dr. Allen asked.

"Yes, he answered my prayers."

"How did he answer your prayers?" questioned Dr. Allen, brimming with curiosity at this point.

"He sent me Damian. Damian came to me the day after I asked God for guidance."

"Who's Damian? "

"He's my guy."

"He's your guy?"

"Yes, he's my lover."

Dr. Allen could barely contain his surprise at Sally's choice of words. "Damian's your lover? Tell me about him."