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Let's Swim to the Moon (standard:drama, 1190 words)
Author: Joe EdwardsonAdded: Feb 24 2002Views/Reads: 2007/1254Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A young man with a grudge against the world starts to question the only man he's been able to trust: his psychiatrist.
 



“I tell you, there are so many people who deserve to die,” I say to my
psychiatrist as I lie on such a comfortable brown leather couch. 

“I mean. . .it’s a lot,” I continue, awaiting his response. 

“Davy, here’s what I think.  I just want you to lie there and remain
silent while listening to me.  Okay, first, I think your main problem 
is that. . .and you really need. . .it’s no fault of your own. . .just 
take time.” 

He made no damn sense.  At least the government was paying for this
crap, but I couldn’t get up and leave either.  So I humored him and 
even listened for a short while, but did you hear him  It’s nonsense. 

“Let’s swim to the moon. 

Let’s climb through the tide. 

Penetrate the secrets 

That the city sleeps to hide.” 

The notes soar like a hawk and penetrate like the bullet I’ve been
incessantly craving.  The lyrics of Jim Morrison, the music of the 
Doors, and the mystical sensual reality that overcomes me due to the 
smoke of the pipe, which clears my head after a long day of trivia.  
I’m at total peace with society and am one with nature.  Such wonderful 
feelings unfortunately don’t last long inside of me. 

“I’m so sick of human stupidity.  I was driving here and this stupid
woman turned left into my lane, cutting me off.  I slammed on the 
brakes.  She looked back at me with the most dumbfounded look I’ve ever 
seen.  It made me sad and sick,” I babbled my grievances toward my 
psychiatrist, Dr. Manuel Nelson, at our next session. 

His droopy middle-aged face stared back at me and I just waited for his
facial muscles to start to vibrate and bounce about as he would share 
his advice and wisdom.  But they didn’t come.  Maybe he had something 
of ultra importance to tell me, but since this is in the past tense, I 
already know he didn’t because he just sat there staring at me, 
clearing his throat, until finally saying, “I ain’t got much to say 
today, Davy.”  And he didn’t say anything until excusing me to leave. 

Dumbfounded, I just said, “Okay.” 

That weird bastard usually has tons of nonsensical verbose advice for
me.  I drove home confused, sort of happy that I didn’t have to waste 
an hour listening to him, but confused nonetheless. 

“People are strange 

When you’re a stranger, 

Faces look ugly 

When you’re alone” 

I inhale the cool smoke and travel back to my spiritual land of green
trees and infinite meadows, the music soothing my soul once again.  My 
comfortable nighttime ritual, though still pleasurable, was cut 
slightly short due to running out of supplement.  The next day I would 
go out to buy some more. 

And so I did.  But that’s not what matters.  On the way to make the
transaction, the morning before another meeting with Dr. Nelson, I took 
a wrong turn and ended up driving past a small strip mall.  One of the 
signs on the outside of the building said, “Dr. Manuel Nelson, 
psychiatrist.”  I was surprised that my meek little psychobabble man 
would have two offices: one here in this strip mall and the other run 
out of his home.  I couldn’t understand why he would need two.  The 
bills must stack up, right?  Right.  So I went in to check things out. 

“Could I see Dr. Nelson?” I asked the receptionist. 

“He’s with a patient right now, so you’ll have to wait about an hour,”


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