Black Box
““If you are in crisis,” the message said, “please call the emergency hotline at the following number.” I pressed the receiver to my ear and thought about the Grandma Therapist’s fuzzy shoes and the way she sometimes tilted her head when we talked. What exactly did she mean by crisis? And what did she think I ought to do about Dora?“I wish you well,” the message ended. “We’ll be in touch.”At the sound of the beep I hung up and immediately redialed. “Hello. You have reached the office of—”“Who ar...e you calling?” my mother asked. She had come up behind me in the kitchen.“No one.” I hung up.“You were standing there for such a long time.”“It wasn’t that long,” I said.My mother straightened out a pile of papers on the kitchen counter. “I meant to ask you how your therapy appointments are going.”“They’re fine.” Did she somehow know who I’d been calling?“Because we can find someone else for you to talk to if you’d rather.” She opened an envelope.MoreLess
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