“He mentioned the Bald Man?” Dr. Koenig asked. Outside, the dogwood trees flanking the concrete bench had largely shed their leaves. The weather had turned colder as we slid into that time of year when a body feels the first chills borne on the winds of autumn and understands that the temperature will continue falling, and falling and falling. “He did,” I said with a sigh. I felt exhausted from too little sleep but wired at the same time—the lingering effects of this morning’s massive infusion of coffee and the adrenaline rush of the evening before. “Are you sure?” “Yes.” He closed his eyes and rubbed them underneath his glasses. He too looked tired and I wondered then what challenges he himself faced on a daily basis. I wanted to know more about his life outside of his office and my problems, but to date my attempts to uncover facts about his personal life had met with deft changes of subject and therapeutically appropriate reminders that we needed to focus on my case and avoid the small talk. Which, he noted, Southerners have a hard time doing.
