Dora: A Headcase Read Online Free PDF Page B

echoes.
    My recording sessions, I have to say, I think of it as a stroke of pure genius. I have to wonder if any other patients do this. I can’t be the only one who has thought of it, can I? And it’s just so kick ass to play back when you get home. Beats the fuck out of television.
    Other times though when I’m listening I feel itchy. Like … I don’t know. I feel kind of like I get him. I mean like radically. I mean like I can see and feel what he means before he says it. Which makes no sense. Our lives are nothing alike. We’re so far from each other we are like illegal aliens to each other’s countries. Old man balls. Still. Sometimes it’s like his words were already in me.
    I pick up the beautiful heavy red books. When I go to put them in my backpack I see greasy thumbprints on the covers. I smile. “Marlene, I’m gonna take a whiz,” I say. In the bathroom I sit on the toilet. I pull out the recorder and play back, my own pee another sound layer. Siggy’s voice goes:
    “Your father has made you ill. You experience your own passions as evil, just as you perceive his to be evil. The punishment for which is illness.”

    I just sit there drip-drying with my elbows on my knees and my chin in my hands thinking. Yeah. I get that. Way down. My vag spasms a little. Piss shiver.
    But when I wipe up I hear him ask the lame-o question of the year: “Do you masturbate, Ida?”
    With my erratic bird voice going, “Do you? I mean men your age?” Christ. Had to be quick on the draw on that one. How and when I touch myself is none of his goddamn business. And my twinkle pet information is only available on my terms. I’ll use it if and when I need it. Perv.
    Then his voice on the H4n goes, “Ida, it is not a condition of our relationship as patient and doctor that we discuss my sexual history. It is your sexual history that has bearing on the content at hand. It is your sexual history that has put you in a difficult position.” It’s not the soft raspy voice. It’s the man he thinks he used to be voice. Deep and clear throated. Chin down.
    Clever bastard. Then I hear me going, “Yeah, but aren’t you supposed to also build up some kind of fake Herr Doktor trust shit so I’ll tell you all my girl secrets? Transferral or Trans-fickle or Transfuck of something? Why should I tell you jack shit if you aren’t holding? What’s in it for me?”
    God I hate my voice. There’s no whole body yet in that voice.
    And he goes, “Help. Help is what’s in it for you. Do you want to go into your life as an adult coughing and losing your voice? Do you want to move into your future relationships with all of these mixed up emotions? I can help you straighten it all out. It begins in your dreams.”
    Sly smug one, he is.
    To which I thought the only solid one would be to tilt my head to the side, soften my eyes and mouth, slowly finger my purse in my lap and say, “Are you mad at me or something?”
    I shut off the playback. I give myself a once over in the bathroom mirror. I already have five o’clock shadow on my head. I laugh. Still nothing girl voice. I open the mirror medicine cabinet. There are all of Marlene’s pills. Lined up quite perfectly. I zoom
in on a bottle – pick it up – bring it closer – that’s when I see her name. His. Hakizamana Ojo. I put my finger on the words. Possibly the coolest name I have ever touched. Then I pocket the pills. She’s got lots of them.
    Do I masturbate. You know what? Siggy can suck it. You have to watch out for these little booby traps. You have to stay one step ahead of the game. He’s got my father’s money on his side. The purse strings. He’s got the power to make a story of me that will make or break me. Think about it. If you can’t outsmart a middle aged shrink by the time you are eighteen, how the hell are you going to get through a life?
    I thank Marlene for the books and bacon. When I get home I’ll go into my bedroom and lock the door. I’ll log and