Transcript Two

“Allow me to interpret you in a vagrant light.  Barefoot, knee clutched to chest,
you turn the ritual of gas and brake into something vaguely unwholesome.  Like
watching a bullfight.  I cannot avert myself from the blood.” 

“Are you soliciting a response?”

(nodded affirmative)
 
“Youth only lives one night.  There’s decadence, yes, the consumption of fatty foods.

Even today, couples pause in their flight from suburb to suburb to perform unmentionable
acts in cornfields.  The past is all we ever hold, what remains of the future smolders,
empty and buzzing—”

“You realize I’m not a licensed therapist.”

“Yes, but do you remember the totems we gathered which spoke to our fears
about religion?  The dashboard virgin swaying provocatively?  Will you admit to
smoking clove cigarettes?"

(vigorous shaking of head)

“This is the danger we pose to one another, these unthinking affectations.”
 
“It’s true the brakes failed as we descended the Sawtooth Mountains.  That much
I’ll admit.  True I flagged down an RV as you laughed, cried, fixed your mascara
with napkins from the glovebox.”

“Yes, but do you recall the motor court reeking of curry?  How you placed your
hands on my stomach as raindrops speckled the pool?  Remember the Interstate
stretching away to some other province forever in those days?”

“It is what we call ‘the paradox of misspent youth.’  But alas, our time is up.”

“But this is not your office.  And I am not your patient.”