Dr. Gibson showed me to his office, in the green tinted building, with it's massive sky lights, a courtyard in the center, surrounded by light and trees, and a pond that ran along the side of the building like a mote.
I took a seat, not across from him, because his desk was pushed up to the window, in a manner so that we were not looking across at one another, but more like vertical or horizontal, I can never remember the two, or get them straight, but of course in this context it does not really make a difference.
"How have you been?," he asked me. We made eye contact. He was sort of handsome, in a way, through his glasses, brown eyes, I think. I liked the sound of his voice. Not too low, not too high, no accent. He looked down at his notes, my chart, or whatever it was on paper, he was looking at.
"Fine, I guess. I mean - I have some anxiety still, but not too bad."
"So, are you still getting married?," he asked, writing some notes down.
"No, he dumped me. I guess I told him too much about myself, my childhood, things that were personal. I'm always too open, and I need to be more guarded, I suppose. I guess he wanted someone who had a picture story life. Good luck finding it. Ya know what I mean?"
He nodded, and continued to jot something down.
"I used to have a fear of abandonment, but then I ended up alone, so I had to get used to it," I said.
He laughed. I always made him laugh, somehow. I have this way of making people laugh, even when I am not trying to be funny. I suppose it is like some sort of deadpan humor, that I do not even realize I have.
"So, I guess he wasn't the one, then," he said.
"No, I mean. I don't want to be with someone, who I can't really be honest with, or be myself with."
"That's true," he responded.
"You know, when I was in my twenties, before my ex-husband and I had our second child, we were separated for eight months, during which time I went to India, and left my boy with my parents. In fact, it was their idea. They thought it would get my mind off things. We follow an eastern master," I added.
"So do I," he said, and pulled out a picture of him. He was very old, Indian, with a long white beard, holding an alphabet board. He was silent like my spiritual master.
I gave him a card, with a picture of my own spiritual master, in a white sadhra, flowing hair, and one hand in a body of water, like a river. He kept the card.
I went back to my story. "Well, before I went to India, this guy I knew from California, southern California, came and pursued me, but I wasn't interested, because I really wanted to be with my husband," I said regretfully.
"You were in love with someone else," he said. Why do I not think of the obvious, sometimes, and act as if life should be lived from the perspective of practicality alone? Maybe, because I have made so many bad decisions in my life.
I was forty then, a single mother, and still hoping to find a decent relationship, after having been with a conman for six years, who stole everything I had, so that I ended up on assistance from the government. Never again.
"You seem okay with the breakup with your fiance," he observed.
"No, I feel kind of bad about it. He was a college professor. I thought we would have some security, but truthfully he was obnoxious."
Dr. Gibson looked at me. "There's always other fish in the sea. You have an aura about you, that men will always be attracted to."
I said nothing, almost a little embarrassed. I looked down at my gypsy like outfit, blue velvet skirt and black embroidered peasant blouse. My hair was longish, and back in a loose pony tail.
Time went by, and time turned to years, seven to be exact, but always looking forward to seeing Dr. Gibson.
One day I noticed he seemed distracted. "Are you okay?," I asked.
"Oh, yeah," he said, but did not look it.
We went on to discuss me. While he was writing me a prescription, he asked, "how did you know I was feeling out of sorts?"
"I don't know. I just did."
It went on like this for years, and my life too, one crisis after another, a horrendous relationship, a sick child...
Things really got worse than ever when I started dating my next door neighbor, who was an ex con, and although generous fiscally, a real head game player. He was handsome in an Arnold Swartzinager type of way, I suppose.
When I look back, I feel embarrassed at how much I showed my affection to Dr. Gibson. I feel like a stalker, when I look back on the whole ordeal.
First of all, I took my family to hear speeches he gave. He spoke about the 'big mind' vs the 'little mind.'
I wrote him a song, sent him get well cards when he was sick, followed him to a different office, one hour away, when he changed offices, so that when he came back to the original office after a year or so, he just took me back with him, informing me.
So, finally his health was getting bad. He had stomach pain, and was absent a lot. I guess that is when he told me he was having health issues.
We talked at great length. He was married to a Chinese woman, who's father had been a film maker. His brother was a famous film score composer. He was really into health food and supplements, and followed an eastern spiritual master, as I mentioned earlier, out in California. It was something we shared in common, following eastern masters, who were both silent for years and years.
"Do you meditate?," he asked me, one day.
"No, I don't," was my reply. "My spiritual master did not stress meditation to his followers, all that much, besides a few discourses, I suppose, but certainly never mandated it. He felt he was enlightened, and that we should love him. Guess it sounds a bit weird to you."
He shook his head, no. "I think yoga and meditation would help you," he said. "It would help you to be calm."
"How do you meditate?"
"Just watch your breath."
I called him sometimes. He would always call me back. Sometimes, he called without me calling, because he was concerned or alarmed about something like for example: I was too thin, and getting thinner, or I had told my counselor that I thought I might be pregnant, and would have the baby, if that were the case, but had not told him. I guess it was irresponsible of me, since I was on medication that you really should not take while pregnant. As it turned out, I was either not pregnant, miscarried, or was just perimenapausal, I am not sure which.
Looking back, I am so embarrassed by all my shenanigans. I was over forty, and acting like I was sixteen. All of my behavior was like some latent teenage thing, as if I had never been a teenager. Truthfully I met my husband, while still a teenager, and was practically a teenager when I had my first child. Plus, I had always been very controlled by men.
I straightened myself out, though, and finally the day came when he said he was moving to California.
I stared at his shoes for a while, trying to absorb this. Then I began to cry.
"I knew you would react like this," he said.
I said, and this seems really silly to me now, as well, "your wife is very lucky."
He nodded in agreement, with a bit of mischief in his eyes.
It would be absurd if I thought he left because of me, or maybe not. Maybe that master he had in California said, "you must come to California," or "you must give up your practice and come to California," or maybe "that patient of yours will destroy your happy marriage, if you don't come to California," but of course I am totally humoring myself to think it had anything to do with me, as if I were that significant.
Fantasy is a dangerous thing to play with, and I feel so silly when I look back at how obvious I made this silly crush.
I guess it touched me that he cared, like when I was too thin, and he called twice to find out if I was eating or not, once getting my mother on the phone, who said, "she's eating, she just eats like a model," which really means I was barely eating at all.
When I went to see him, he said, "you need to gain weight. You're not as beautiful as you used to be."
I was not insulted by this. It touched my heart, truthfully. It was like in Sea Biscuit, when the millionaire said to the jockey, "it's okay to eat," as he looked down at his soup. This may not make sense to anyone but me.
Once, another thing to cringe about, I brought him my charcoal drawings of nude goddesses, to look at.
He said, "all these goddesses, who I assume you think of as beautiful, are full figured and curvy, voluptuous. So, why do you think you have to be so thin?"
I stammered a bit, but I really had no good answer, and he knew it, and I think he knew why, and so did I, deep down.
Now time has gone by, and I rarely think about Dr. Gibson, and when I do, I admit I feel embarrassed for myself.
I learned a lot from him. I mediate, do yoga, I even corresponded with his master. I learned the technique of pretending your life is just a movie, when things get bad. I learned that being really thin, is just the Madison Avenue lie, that all suffering was caused by lies you tell yourself. I learned that there are always other fish in the sea, that mixing prescription pills with alcohol, was a form of alcoholism. I learned the difference between the big mind and the little mind. Most of all, I learned that I was beautiful.
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