Lance
leaned back in his leather swivel chair, taking a look down at his watch
with the golden extender band. It really didn't matter what time it
was; time really didn't have much meaning in the afterlife. It was just
one of those habits that Lance still hadn't managed to shake, right up
there along with reaching up to push his glasses up on his nose. Turns
out the quickest way to get 20/20 vision was to die of a heart attack
and have enough green on your ledger that you made it into heaven.
The room he was in was small in the default stage: simple four walls, white, just one window looking out into the city square where other souls walked around. A new restaurant opened next door headed by some chef who made it big on American television only to die a few months after her show had been syndicated. It was a shame, but judging from the people lined up out of the doors, she was highly looked upon even by people who didn't really have to eat.
"Huh," Lance chuckled to himself, "I guess waiting in lines is something that you don't ever get away from. Not even here."
The walls of the room began to shift and change colors, signaling to Lance that his next patient was about to walk in. Paintings materialized on the wall, one was an oil painting of a windmill on an island floating in the sky, something that Lance had seen before but couldn't really put a finger on where or when. Another painting popped in on the wall to his right, this one depicting a woman and man dressed in 50's garb sitting at a burger restaurant. They were both sharing a single milkshake with two straws, smiling and staring into each others eyes.
"Huh," Lance said, again stroking the small patch of facial hair he had on his chin. The walls always changed whenever a patient came in, morphing into whatever made the patient more comfortable. Lance had little control of it, but it did make it easier getting a read on his patient before they walked in. The white walls started to bloom into a deep blue, and the window that faced out into the square doubled in size, red curtains dropping from the top and unrolling themselves down neatly. "This one's got an eye for decor," Lance said, admiring the shifting room.
The chair that normally sat across from him and his desk ballooned, wooden legs and back being swallowed by the seat cushion. Lance blinked once, and when he had next looked at the chair, it had completely morphed into a purple bean bag. "That does look comfy," he mused to himself, making a mental note to himself to try one out sometime.
The door cracked open and a small face peeked through.
"Don't be shy," Lance said, beckoning to the person, "come right in."
The door slowly opened, and a young woman with short blonde hair walked through. She had a bit of an upturned nose and a small mouth, but slightly puffy cheeks, reminding Lance of a hamster. She was very petite, and from the look of things, very anxious.
"You're, uh, Chancey, am I pronouncing that right?" Lance asked, again raising a hand and motioning Chancey to walk over.
"Yeah, that's right, hmm, where am I?"
"My name is Lance, and you're at Bellogner's Square," he said, pointing out the enlarged window, "I'm the square's therapist."
"Therapist?" She said, slowly walking over to the beanbag chair, eyes wandering all over the room but occasionally looking back to Lance.
"Yes, please sit," Lance said as he stood up himself. He walked over to the back corner of the room where he had a coffee pot sitting. It appeared empty. "Would you like some coffee?"
"Um, sure," Chancey said, slowly sitting down into the beanbag.
Lance opened a drawer, revealing two mugs, a Spider-Man mug, and a plain white mug, "I get the Spidey mug," Lance said, "if you don't like it, tough." He grabbed the empty pot and tipped it over his mug, a dark black liquid pouring out from seemingly nowhere, instantly filling the room with the strong smell of coffee. "I've always been a fan of hazelnut, what kind do you like?"
He looked over to Chancey, noticing that her eyes were wide with wonder. "Yeah, heaven's tools, really neat stuff, just wait till after our first session," he nodded towards the window, "all kinds of neat stuff out there. So, what kind do you like?" He held the pot over the plain white mug.
"Uh, I don't really know, I've never really drank coffee before."
"Oh, this will be interesting then, a surprise for both of us then," Lance said as he tipped the pot over, a light brown liquid pouring out of the pot and into the mug. Lance furled his brow, "I don't think that's coffee, huh." He grabbed the mug, fascinated that it was cold, rather than hot. "Here," he said as he handed it to Chancey.
She took a tentative sip, then smiled. "It's chocolate milk," she said.
"Oh, that's a first," Lance said, returning the smile and sitting back at his desk. He gathered the papers together that were sitting on his desk, Chancey's report, "so I'm sure Peter filled you in on heaven and everything, right?"
"Some basics, I guess, I'm just still really lost. This was the first place they sent me," Chancey said, her voice kind of squeaky.
"I always tell them that they should really take the new ones on a tour of the Grand Cafeteria, they've got soooo many cakes there. Either go there, or something, just to make the transition easier, but no, they always send them to one of us," Lance said, "but no worries, this will be a quick session, I want you out there," he said pointing out the window, "that's where all the fun is at.
"So," Lance said, trying to prep himself. It was always difficult trying to just dive in with patients. Most had breakdowns, others got angry, usually aiming their mugs of hot coffee at Lance. "Is there anything you want to talk about first?" He figured getting hit by cold chocolate milk wouldn't be too bad.
Chancey took a sip from her mug, looking around the room, smiling at the paintings. "No, not really, I think I'll be alright here."
"Are you sure?" Lance asked, looking down at her papers. Long history of abusive relationships, ended when one boyfriend in particular slit her throat. "You can trust anyone here, Chancey, we're all good people."
"No, I understand, I just feel like I'm going to be alright here."
Lance smiled. "You're right, you will be fine here. I think that will be enough for today. It's mandatory that you do come back a week from now though, just to check and see if you are transitioning fine."
"Yes, Peter mentioned that," she said, taking another sip from her mug, smiling much wider now.
"Okay then," Lance said, "if you're ready to go, just step out the door. You'll be greeted by a good friend of mine, Tom, and he'll show you some choices on where you'll be living. There's some good stuff out there, beach houses, mountain houses, even city apartments if that's your thing, they're all wonderful, and if you want to change and go somewhere else, that's just as fine."
After a few more minutes of details, Chancey thanked him, shook his hand, then stepped out of the office. The walls faded back to their plain white selves, paintings disappearing, window shrinking back to size.
"Wait," Lance muttered, "let's keep it like that." The walls turned blue again, the window grew bigger, and the paintings came back.
Lance walked around his desk, and plopped himself down into the purple beanbag, thinking about Chancey, wishing that more of his patients had been like her.
The room he was in was small in the default stage: simple four walls, white, just one window looking out into the city square where other souls walked around. A new restaurant opened next door headed by some chef who made it big on American television only to die a few months after her show had been syndicated. It was a shame, but judging from the people lined up out of the doors, she was highly looked upon even by people who didn't really have to eat.
"Huh," Lance chuckled to himself, "I guess waiting in lines is something that you don't ever get away from. Not even here."
The walls of the room began to shift and change colors, signaling to Lance that his next patient was about to walk in. Paintings materialized on the wall, one was an oil painting of a windmill on an island floating in the sky, something that Lance had seen before but couldn't really put a finger on where or when. Another painting popped in on the wall to his right, this one depicting a woman and man dressed in 50's garb sitting at a burger restaurant. They were both sharing a single milkshake with two straws, smiling and staring into each others eyes.
"Huh," Lance said, again stroking the small patch of facial hair he had on his chin. The walls always changed whenever a patient came in, morphing into whatever made the patient more comfortable. Lance had little control of it, but it did make it easier getting a read on his patient before they walked in. The white walls started to bloom into a deep blue, and the window that faced out into the square doubled in size, red curtains dropping from the top and unrolling themselves down neatly. "This one's got an eye for decor," Lance said, admiring the shifting room.
The chair that normally sat across from him and his desk ballooned, wooden legs and back being swallowed by the seat cushion. Lance blinked once, and when he had next looked at the chair, it had completely morphed into a purple bean bag. "That does look comfy," he mused to himself, making a mental note to himself to try one out sometime.
The door cracked open and a small face peeked through.
"Don't be shy," Lance said, beckoning to the person, "come right in."
The door slowly opened, and a young woman with short blonde hair walked through. She had a bit of an upturned nose and a small mouth, but slightly puffy cheeks, reminding Lance of a hamster. She was very petite, and from the look of things, very anxious.
"You're, uh, Chancey, am I pronouncing that right?" Lance asked, again raising a hand and motioning Chancey to walk over.
"Yeah, that's right, hmm, where am I?"
"My name is Lance, and you're at Bellogner's Square," he said, pointing out the enlarged window, "I'm the square's therapist."
"Therapist?" She said, slowly walking over to the beanbag chair, eyes wandering all over the room but occasionally looking back to Lance.
"Yes, please sit," Lance said as he stood up himself. He walked over to the back corner of the room where he had a coffee pot sitting. It appeared empty. "Would you like some coffee?"
"Um, sure," Chancey said, slowly sitting down into the beanbag.
Lance opened a drawer, revealing two mugs, a Spider-Man mug, and a plain white mug, "I get the Spidey mug," Lance said, "if you don't like it, tough." He grabbed the empty pot and tipped it over his mug, a dark black liquid pouring out from seemingly nowhere, instantly filling the room with the strong smell of coffee. "I've always been a fan of hazelnut, what kind do you like?"
He looked over to Chancey, noticing that her eyes were wide with wonder. "Yeah, heaven's tools, really neat stuff, just wait till after our first session," he nodded towards the window, "all kinds of neat stuff out there. So, what kind do you like?" He held the pot over the plain white mug.
"Uh, I don't really know, I've never really drank coffee before."
"Oh, this will be interesting then, a surprise for both of us then," Lance said as he tipped the pot over, a light brown liquid pouring out of the pot and into the mug. Lance furled his brow, "I don't think that's coffee, huh." He grabbed the mug, fascinated that it was cold, rather than hot. "Here," he said as he handed it to Chancey.
She took a tentative sip, then smiled. "It's chocolate milk," she said.
"Oh, that's a first," Lance said, returning the smile and sitting back at his desk. He gathered the papers together that were sitting on his desk, Chancey's report, "so I'm sure Peter filled you in on heaven and everything, right?"
"Some basics, I guess, I'm just still really lost. This was the first place they sent me," Chancey said, her voice kind of squeaky.
"I always tell them that they should really take the new ones on a tour of the Grand Cafeteria, they've got soooo many cakes there. Either go there, or something, just to make the transition easier, but no, they always send them to one of us," Lance said, "but no worries, this will be a quick session, I want you out there," he said pointing out the window, "that's where all the fun is at.
"So," Lance said, trying to prep himself. It was always difficult trying to just dive in with patients. Most had breakdowns, others got angry, usually aiming their mugs of hot coffee at Lance. "Is there anything you want to talk about first?" He figured getting hit by cold chocolate milk wouldn't be too bad.
Chancey took a sip from her mug, looking around the room, smiling at the paintings. "No, not really, I think I'll be alright here."
"Are you sure?" Lance asked, looking down at her papers. Long history of abusive relationships, ended when one boyfriend in particular slit her throat. "You can trust anyone here, Chancey, we're all good people."
"No, I understand, I just feel like I'm going to be alright here."
Lance smiled. "You're right, you will be fine here. I think that will be enough for today. It's mandatory that you do come back a week from now though, just to check and see if you are transitioning fine."
"Yes, Peter mentioned that," she said, taking another sip from her mug, smiling much wider now.
"Okay then," Lance said, "if you're ready to go, just step out the door. You'll be greeted by a good friend of mine, Tom, and he'll show you some choices on where you'll be living. There's some good stuff out there, beach houses, mountain houses, even city apartments if that's your thing, they're all wonderful, and if you want to change and go somewhere else, that's just as fine."
After a few more minutes of details, Chancey thanked him, shook his hand, then stepped out of the office. The walls faded back to their plain white selves, paintings disappearing, window shrinking back to size.
"Wait," Lance muttered, "let's keep it like that." The walls turned blue again, the window grew bigger, and the paintings came back.
Lance walked around his desk, and plopped himself down into the purple beanbag, thinking about Chancey, wishing that more of his patients had been like her.
