The Music Box

"Now, if you will look here," Doctor Valentine slid what looked like a cigar box across the top of large oak desk toward John. With her well manicured hands on both sides of the hinged lid, she opened it, revealing that it was not a cigar box at all, but a music box. Inside was a tiny ballerina, balancing on one toe, as she spun slowly to the high pitched sound of a familiar, yet distant tune. She turned and turned as John watched, turned and turned and turned...

SNAP

The box lid snapped down, cutting off the music. Doctor Valentine was staring at John with a smile on her face. Good. John loved it when Doctor Valentine was happy. Seeing Doctor Valentine happy made John happy. And that was why John had come to therapy, to become more happy.

It was working already!

"I think that's enough for today, John," she said, sliding the music box back to her side of the desk, the gingerly lifting it and sliding it into a drawer. John were sure that he had only heard the music for a moment, but he already missed it.

"But I just got here," John complained, "Don't I get an hour?"

"You will get the amount of time that I give you," Doctor Valentine said in a cross tone, "but yes, it has been an hour, and I believe that I have everything I need."

John looked at the clock on his phone. It had, indeed, been an hour! Had he zoned out during his first session? Did he screw up? The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint Doctor Valentine!

"You did very well," the good doctor said, while she made some notes in a file, not looking up, "So you need not worry. Make an appointment with my secretary for this time next week. You may go."

John stood up and thanked his therapist. He was so glad that she had taken his case. She was so wise, so professional. With her help, John was sure that he'd be fixed up in no time. He hurried over to the door, but before he opened it, turned, gave his doctor a polite curtsy, then left, excited that he's finally found a solution to all of his problems.