This is my response to the freewrite prompt "listen to your heart." I took more like 15 minutes than 5 minutes, which, for some reason, I feel a compulsive need to say even though it's not like it's being graded. Here are the instructions in case you would also like to take part.
She told me to listen to my heart. I sat watching her for a beat. And then another beat. The silence passed between us until it became an almost tangible presence. Finally, I couldn’t take it.
“I can’t,” I said emphatically.
She appeared puzzled. I don’t think anyone had ever responded to her well-meaning, if possibly slightly trite, advice in this way ever before. She let the silence continue to stretch between us. I started to think that being silent was her superpower whereas it was my Kryptonite, so she was going to win this conversation.
Furthermore, at the extortionate rate of $200 per hour that I was paying for her services, I realized it was in her best interest to say nothing. Although she was a trained therapist, by saying nothing, she risked nothing, and also, she was basically being paid for doing nothing. The thought of that irritated me. I looked at my watch. We were halfway through the session.
Had I gotten $100 worth? I knew that was not the right way to think of it, but it all seemed so insane.
I was finally about to give up and break the silence again when she said, “Why do you think that is?”
I thought for a moment. It was hard to remember what we had been talking about prior to this oppressive silence. Her rates being so high? Well, they were in line with the provincial standard, but still. Would it kill her to have a sliding scale? Do you have to be rich to be mentally ill? (Forget I asked – the answer is: yes. Well, you can be poor and mentally ill, but you must just suffer more.)
However, would it, in fact, be suffering not to see this woman? I thought not.
“Why do I think what is?” I finally said.
“Why do you think you cannot listen to your heart?” she said.
This session had gone off the rails. I was not sure when it had happened, but why were we even talking about this? It was so far from my main problem or even my secondary problem. In fact it was not even a problem as far as I was concerned.
“I cannot listen to my heart because my heart is an idiot.”
“Your heart is an idiot?” she repeated. I did a silent calculation, wondering how much she was making per word. It was alarmingly high.
“Yes,” I said.
“How do you know?” she said.
I sighed. “Life experience.”
She looked at me and said, “Maybe you haven’t been listening correctly.” Before I could argue, she handed me a gigantic set of over the ear headphones.
“What are these?” I asked.
“Over the ear headphones,” she said. “But these ones are special. Magical, actually. With these, you can hear what your heart has been trying to tell you all along.”
I must have appeared skeptical because she added, “Really. Try them. Why do you think I charge so much per hour? Obviously, I have powers.”
I put on the headphones. I thought they must be Bluetooth because there were no cords coming out of them. As soon as I put them on, I heard a rhythmic thudding sound. Ga-thump, Ga-thump.
“What is that?” I asked. She said something, but I could only see her lips moving, so I slid one of the headphones off an ear.
“You are probably hearing your heartbeat,” she said.
“Oh.” I was disappointed. “So, it’s like a stethoscope?” I said.
“Partly. You can hear your heart. Part of what your heart does is beat.”
“But, well my heart doesn’t literally talk,” I said. Just then, a deep booming voice sounded in my ear, the one that still had an earphone on it. It was a rich, melodic voice. A man’s voice with a thick Southern drawl.
“I talk plenty. Y’all just don’t listen. That’s the trouble with you,” the voice said.
I looked around. “Who was that?” I asked the therapist.
“Who was what?” she asked.
“That voice,” I said.
She laughed. “Oh, that.” She smiled knowingly. “That was your heart, my dear. Start listening, and things will get a whole lot better for you.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” the voice said. "By the way, who are you to call me an idiot?"
“I don’t like this,” I said.
“It takes some adjustment. We are out of time for today, so keep track of what your heart tells you and I will see you next week.”
“Wait. So, you just give me magic headphones and leave me for a week? How do I know I haven’t lost my mind?” I said.
“Well, I would love to discuss that more during next week’s session, but I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for today. However, please, feel free to borrow the headphones for as long as you need them. I think you will find the rental fee quite affordable.”
“Rental fee?” I asked, incredulous.
“Girl, that’s the least of your problems. Let’s go and we’ll talk about it,” the voice said.
“Have a great week,” the therapist said as she quickly ushered me towards the receptionist, whom I fondly thought of as “the cashier.”
“This is exciting!” the voice said. “The first thing we need to do is go shopping and maybe to the salon. This is really something.”
“I don’t think that’s what she had in mind,” I said.
“Who?” the cashier asked. I sighed, paid, and left. It was to be a strange week.
