Partners in Climb
Against all expectations
There are many people on the #92 today. Some may get off at my stop. But none will go where I go. Once again, I shall climb the hill alone.
We kids used to play a game called “King of the Hill.” You had to be strong — first, to get to the top; next, to hold your ground while the others tried to push you off and take your place as king.
This hill is different. This hill is for the weak. Those who climb it are not to be envied; they are patients of Ridgedale Psychiatric Services.
What would she think, this woman next to me, if she knew? Well-dressed, good-looking, forty-something. You know the type. The kind of woman who always knows the date. Whose penmanship is impeccable. Who never sweats.
Whatever would she think of me, this “together” lady? Could she imagine what it’s like to fall apart? To climb this hill each week in fading hope that Dr. Gillespie can put you back together?
“Excuse me,” says my seatmate, jolting me out of my musings, “Is today the fourth or the fifth?”
“The sixth,” I reply, and she enters the date on the check she’s writing. And even though her handwriting is atrocious, and despite the ink being blotchy from drops of perspiration, I can just make out the pay-to name: Dr. James Gillespie.
