The Storyteller
A story about a recording.
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- COVER: THE STORYTELLER · A story about a recording. · Eighteen months of sessions. Two versions of the same story.
- 02/10: The therapist’s office was beige. Two armchairs. A box of tissues. A certificate on the wall. She had been coming for eighteen months.
- 03/10: She told the story again. Her father. The leaving. The silence that followed. Each time she told it, the story grew cleaner.
- 04/10: “Your mother remarried,” the therapist said. “Yes. She chose him over me.” The therapist said nothing.
- 05/10: There was a recording device on the side table. The therapist had asked permission. She had given it. The red light blinked.
- 06/10: The therapist paused the recording. “Why did you stop talking to her last year?” “I didn’t stop talking to her. She stopped calling me.” The therapist tilted her head slightly. “That’s not what you told me in January.”
- 07/10: She looked at the recording device. Then at the door. Then at the tissue box. The tissue box remained sealed.
- 08/10: “Would you like to pause and sit with that?” “No. Let’s go back to where I was.”
- 09/10: The therapist moved the tissue box an inch closer. The session ran four minutes over. Neither of them mentioned it.
- 10/10: The red light blinked on. The recording held both versions. The tissue box was still sealed. The next session was already booked for Thursday.
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