Another Day at the Office

First she told me he hit her. Then she asked me if I would drive her back to her apartment so she could feed the cats, pile his bad ass belongings on the outside stairway, pick up her daughter's medicine. They had walked five miles and were staying with a friend until she was sure he was gone. She said this time there would be no more chances. His jealously had overflowed for two days and two nights and by the time he hit her, she knew he and they were not safe.

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Now this job I have is not your typical psychotherapist. For one thing I see most clients in their homes, not in my two chair office. For another thing, most of my clients do not have cars and in her case, sometimes not even a five dollar bill. I lent her twenty bucks to buy cat food and litter because her four cats had been alone in her apartment for four days already. It was lend her the money or call the ASPCA, because I couldn't stand the thought of the cats without food or litter.

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When she asked me to drive her back to the apartment I froze. "Therapist Gunned Down by Jealous Boyfriend"--that was the headline in my head and I was smart enough (this time) to heed it.

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"No," I said. I'll drive you if you call the police and they agree to meet us there. And if they go into the apartment with you to be sure you're safe. And if they stay until we leave."

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That's how I spent my first two hours this morning. Except I miscalculated one thing. I told her I would wait in the car. I was not comfortable helping her pack up. After all, I'm a counselor, not a street fighter. Besides, I knew my supervisor probably preferred I hadn't agreed to any of this. But here's what I miscalculated: both police officers went upstairs with her and I, helpless, nervous, hypervigilant me--sat alone in my all-too-familiar car wondering if he did show up if he would forego the police shields and aim right for little me sitting there all by myself. It was a tense few moments. It reminded me I am older than I used to be, more cautious, but maybe not fully level headed.

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I drove her back to her friend's apartment, strongly hoping and advising her to get a restraining order on Monday morning. I told her I won't see her at the apartment unless she does. I told her the police told me he was a bad dude. Turns out he had a half dozen more arrests than she knew about.

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She's wondering why she chose him in the first place and why she's chosen bad dudes more than once. That kind of wondering is good: better late than never.

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And I'm wondering if I'm a bit of a street fighter despite my intentions. I didn't have to drive her. I didn't have to wonder if this crazy guy might appear any minute and let me have it. And yet, this is what I'm freely doing. Don't get me wrong: I'm cautious. I am. But here I am too somewhere I might have been thirty years ago, still doing it my way and hoping for the best.