Hope Idiotic | Part 28
Each week they walked a few blocks to the therapist’s office. His name was Adam, and he specialized in couples. Adam was part of a practice of three other couples’ therapists who saw patients out of that location, and the waiting room was a revolving door of jilted lovers. The awkward efforts of the couples to not make eye contact with each other were exhausting ocular acrobatics. Lou missed the intimacy of Dr. Milner. The sessions were hour-long free-for-alls during which Michelle purged her frustrations with Lou’s faults. Among the faults: “Sometimes he’s too driven toward things that I just don’t understand.”
When Ali, Casey, and I were in college down in central Illinois, we lived in this great place just a block off campus. It was situated at the top of a hill overlooking the town smack dab in the middle of Greek Row, snuggled between the Beta and SAE houses—a modest, three-bedroom house with a front porch and back patio, and yard that made it ideal for barbecues and other themed or not themed parties.