A Girl Named Jimmy, PT 1 : An Angry Coffee Table

We begin again! This story begins more or less where Mature Women left off. I was going to wait a while, but then I decided not to. The impulsiveness works both ways!

“What are you doing?” Therapist, Mrs Thwaites appeared to be addressing an empty room. It was a very nice room, tastefully appointed with soothing decor and therapeutic tapestries, but it was not the sort of room which needed to be questioned by a therapist. Under most circumstances the questioning of the room would probably have constituted cause for some rather serious therapy in and of itself. Fortunately, Mrs Thwaites had not lost her mind, instead she was addressing her latest and most difficult client.

“Therapy.” Jimmy’s voice came from somewhere near the floor.

“Is there some reason you’ve decided not to sit on the couch?”

“Is the floor off-limits?” Jimmy peered around the coffee table, under which she was lying prone. She was a skinny little thing with a shock of messy dark hair, her eyes rimmed with enough liner and mascara to make her look like a member of a 70’s rock band, a reference she would not have appreciated if it had been bought to her attention.


“I have chosen the floor,” Jimmy declared, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Does lying on the floor give you a sense of control?”

“Does sitting on a chair give you a sense of impending doom?” Jimmy asked the question in precisely the same tone Mrs Thwaites had used.

“Not particularly.” A muscle twitched in Mrs Thwaites’ cheek.

“Neither,” Jimmy said before falling silent.

“So this is our second session,” Mrs Thwaites eventually said when it became apparent that the silence was going to potentially stretch on forever. “Which is a good time to establish treatment goals.”

“My goal is not to go to jail,” Jimmy said, reaching up and around to take a little silver ornament from the table. She turned it around in her hands, examining its abstract shape with apparent interest.

“That’s a sensible goal,” Mrs Thwaites agreed. “In order to be able to make a statement on your behalf, I’m going to need to be assured that you’ve done the necessary emotional work.”

“Emotional work,” Jimmy snorted.


“So you what? Want me to cry? Is that what you need?”

“There’s more to emotions than just tears.”

Jimmy let out a long sigh. “Lady, you’re speaking another language. This is a real racket. Even better than mine. See, I actually had to sell something that made people feel different. You just tell people they should feel different, and if they don’t, it’s because they haven’t done the work. This is the scam of all scams right here, I tell you, huh.”

Mrs Thwaites did not respond.

“You can’t handle the truth, can you,” Jimmy said triumphantly. “You know it’s true.”

“Not quite,” Mrs Thwaites said. “I was just reflecting as to how strange it is to be lectured by my coffee table.”