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"I... I just don't know what to do sometimes. I want to help,
you know, but I don't know what to say". Dr Mann looked down at
the young boy sitting in the chair across from him. He knew exactly
how the young boy felt. Sometimes up to 10 people a day would come in
to have a session with him, only a third of them were as young as the
boy sitting in his chair. He always tried to help them the most, the
impressionable youngsters always had their own charm with their
simple outlooks on complex problems. But he also didn't always have
the answers. The youngster looked at his watch and stifled a yelp.
"Sorry Jon, but I have to get going". Dr Mann smiled as he
heard the name he had told the boy to call him by. He asked all of
his younger clients to call him "Jon", a name he had never
particularly liked, but he though it sounded wise, yet still
friendly. Everyone else new him only as Dr Mann. He was even starting
to call himself by only his title and last name.
Dr Jonathan Mann was a graduate of Psychology from Peabody College at
Vanderbilt. He had moved to the anonymous little suburb of Deerfield
when his mother, whom had been a Deerfield resident for over 9 years,
had suddenly grown ill. She had died 5 years ago, about six
months after he had come to take care of her. He frowned and looked
down at the small mirror he had on his desk as he though of his
mother. The mirror had been a gift of a minor acquaintance he had
made back when he was practicing at a private family psychology in
the outskirts of Philadelphia. The thing was of some sort of "New
Age" design, so he had never really got attached to it. It had
a certain "less is more" style, a simple metal rod about
the thickness of a pencil protruding down from either side and came
together at the base, forming a letter U on the desk. His frown only
intensified as he looked into the mirror, and stared at the effects
of age on his face. His hair was now a dark grey, not too far from
the black mane he once had, but certainly enough for him to feel a
difference. He had grown a beard and moustache during the years he
lived in the little town of deerfield, a bushy grey beard that gave
him an air of experience, almost elderhood. It was a far cry from the
clean shaven man with jet black hair who had once been the party
animal on campus. He leaned back in the soft leather of his chair and
stared into the eyes of the man in the mirror.
Dr Mann sipped at the small cup of coffee as he watched the clock,
figuring he had about 7 minutes before he had to get ready for his
next appointment. After the first year of watching after his mother,
always being transferred between hospital and home, he knew he had to
get another job in order to keep up with the bills that were starting
to pile up. There had already been a family therapy office in
Deerfield, although it really hadn't been more than a lobby and a
meeting room in an old, renovated house. It had been prime real
estate on First Street, but the old owner had refused to sell the
property unless the buyer agreed to keep the house there. Although it
seemed crazy to Dr Mann at the time, old Mr Wilson had agreed to it.
He smiled as he thought of Mr Wilson, the man who had started
Deerfield Family Therapy. Mr Wilson, whom had given run of the
business to Dr Mann when he had retired 2 years ago, had agreed to
buy the old house at a bargain, as the old owners couldn't stand
being on the busy street. Dr Mann had been amazed when the old man
had actually kept his side of the deal, since nowhere in the
agreement that he signed was anything about not demolishing the old
run-down house. Such old-style friendship was the norm in Deerfield,
he found, a city that almost seemed to be trapped in a time warp. It
wasn't the city, though. There were all the modern conveniences and
everything, but rather the people... The people (the natives and long
time residents, at least) were all of a stunning caliber of kindness
and caring. When he had first come to the town, he had been stunned,
but over the years it had all grown on him. It was his town now, and
it made him proud to know that he too, was a shoulder to cry on, and
a friend to depend on to so many. |
