The Unlikely Hero of Room 13B Read Free

down his nose and peered over the rims. The glasses were massive wire-rimmed aviators from the 1980s. The man was a walking time capsule.
    Adam sighed, relenting, and handed Chuck a piece of paper that had been folded over so many times it looked like a runner-up in a demented origami contest. The therapist began the process of unfolding the paper and reading it while Adam paced inside himself. He knew the List by heart. He’d rewritten it several times in his head before committing pencil to paper. It was not perfect.

    Chuck didn’t flinch while he read, but Adam’s heart remained in the starting block waiting for the pistol to go off, waiting for signs of disgust.
    On your marks!
    Without looking up, Chuck asked Adam whether he’d been working on his breathing exercises. Adam said he had.
    Get set!
    “Really?” Left eyebrow raised. “Then you had better do one now, because I can hear you escalating from across the room.”
    Go!
    And off his heart went. Chuck
knew
! He had to know. He knew what a liar Adam was, and would condemn him accordingly because he deserved to be—
    “Adam?” Chuck spoke so softly, Adam wasn’t sure that he’d heard his name.
    “Yes, sir?”
    “Everybody lies, son. Everybody.”
    Chuck had gotten into his head and pulled that one out. Adam’s heart slowed to a jog. He nodded.
    “And don’t call me sir,” he said before returning to the List. “I’ll knock that out of you if it’s the last thing I do.”

    “Big step, Adam. Good job!” Chuck refolded the note. “We won’t review. We won’t ever delve into a List if you’re not ready. So take that pressure off yourself, okay? Just do them.”
    “Yeah, sure.” Adam nodded and looked up at the clock. He would’ve agreed to a circumcision just to get himself out of that beige-on-beige office. It was over fifty minutes.
Time to go
.
    “Just one point, though—okay? One small check-in?”
    Adam nodded. Fifty-three minutes.
On your mark!
“Yes, sir.”
    “Your mother?”
    Get set!
    “Yeah, she got weird.”
    The left eyebrow rose.
    “Er, she got weird
er
a couple of days ago.” Adam looked away from Chuck. “She was ripping up a letter or an envelope or something when I got home from school. It was like she was hyperventilating. We both pretended that I didn’t see. She didn’t talk for the rest of the night.”
    Chuck wrote stuff down. Fifty-five minutes. They were over their time. There was probably some poor schmuck dousing himself with hand sanitizer in the waiting room. “It’s usually something to do with the divorce, money, my dad … what the hell, pick one, eh? No biggie, right?”
    “Right.” Chuck closed the file folder and nodded. “Good. I think the medication level is working for us. I’m still surprised the Anafranil is symptom free, but given all the trouble we were having with the newer class of drugs, I’m relieved. Sometimes old school is best school, right?”
    Adam nodded as if he were paying attention.
    “Be precise in the List, okay? It’s critical now that you’re responsible for your own dosage. But it’s all good. So over the next month: breathing, the List, exercise, and you’re on your way.”
    On his way. It was all worth it if he was
on his way
.
    To what?
    To being fixed. To being
normal
.
    Adam got up, distracted by the possibilities, and absently shook his therapist’s hand. “Thank you.” He was on his way to normal. He was on his way to Robyn.
Robyn
.Her lips turned up at the ends. Those pillowy, perfect, shiny lips. From now on, Adam was going to run home every week, or at least walk briskly. No more buses or cabs, anywhere anytime. Between the exercise, doing all the assignments, the breathing thing, going to Group and one-on-one, hell, he’d be cured by the end of the month.
    “And, Adam?” Chuck called just as he reached for the door. “I’m sure you’re right about the letter—that it’s nothing—but try to keep me up on your mom’s stuff, okay?”
    Adam