Therapy

by Emma Styles-Swaim

Scene: A therapist’s office. The THERAPIST, a man in his sixties, wearing a button-up shirt, slacks and loafers, sits in a large leather armchair. ANASTASIA, a sullen teenage girl, sits in a second, smaller armchair. She is wearing high-top sneakers. Beside her is a small table with a box of tissues on it.

Characters:

THERAPIST: large well-dressed man in his sixties. Wears loafers. Has a habit of looking quizzically over the rims of his glasses.

ANASTASIA: sullen teenage girl. Wears high-tops. Figets.

THERAPIST: So (pause, leaning forward), Anastasia.

ANASTASIA: Yeah?

THERAPIST: (repeats name with different emphasis) Anastaysia.

ANASTAYSIA: Yes?

THERAPIST: Hmm, yes… tell me, Anastasia, why do you think you are here?

ANASTASIA: Um.

THERAPIST: Are you having trouble responding to my question?

ANASTASIA: I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m here.

THERAPIST: Hmm (nodding thoughtfully). Yes, you seem to be uncomfortable in my presence. Anastasia.

ANASTASIA: Yes?

THERAPIST: Do I remind you of your father?

ANASTASIA: What?

THERAPIST: Have I shocked you? Tell me, Anastasia, do you feel comfortable in your body?

ANASTASIA: What do you mean? My elbow itches. Sometimes I stub my toes. If I don’t get enough sleep my eye twitches. What do you mean, do I feel comfortable in my body?

THERAPIST: Do you ever wonder what it would be like to have, say, a penis?

(pause, Anastasia stares at him)

ANASTASIA: What kind of question is that?

THERAPIST: Does the question make you feel uncomfortable?

ANASTASIA: Of course it makes me feel uncomfortable! I’ve been in here for two minutes and right off the bat you start asking me about my father and penises! How am I supposed to feel?

THERAPIST: Slow down, Anastasia, we have plenty of time for you to express all your frustrations. Feel free to yell at me if it helps. And you can feel any way you want, of course! Do you often feel that people have unreasonable expectations of you?

ANASTASIA: Like who? My parents?

THERAPIST: That’s interesting that you should assume I’m talking about your parents. How do you feel about your relationship with your parents?

ANASTASIA: It’s okay, I guess. My mom and I have fights sometimes, but my dad and I get along well. I like my dad.

THERAPIST (leaning forward): You… like your dad?

ANASTASIA: Oh, for God’s sake, can we please not talk about my father!

THERAPIST: Does it make you uncomfortable when I ask you questions about your relationship with your father?

ANASTASIA (frustrated): Aren’t we here to talk about ME?

THERAPIST: Hmm. Do you feel like you don’t get enough time to talk about yourself?

ANASTASIA: Aren’t I supposed to be the one asking questions? Aren’t you supposed to be the one with the answers?

THERAPIST: Do you have something specific you’d like to ask me about?

ANASTASIA: Well, sometimes… I pretend that I’m dead. At sleepovers, or when my mom comes in to wake up in the morning. My parents think I have sleep apnea.

THERAPIST: Hmmm. And do you ever do this in front of your father?

ANASTASIA: No, because he--- Hey! I thought I said I didn’t want to talk about my father!

THERAPIST: You might feel better if you do, Anastasia.

ANASTASIA: I have nothing to say about my father. Absolutely nothing!

THERAPIST: Is that because you’re afraid of what might happen if you do say something?

ANASTASIA: NO! What are you talking about? (pause, frustrated growl) God, just leave me the fuck alone! Who are you, anyway? You don’t know anything about me! I haven’t given you any information, and here you are asking me all these creepy questions like I’m seriously screwed up! And you’re not even listening to me! Why don’t you just tell me what my problem is and then let me go home? Isn’t it weird that I pretend to be dead? Isn’t that weirder than my relationship with my father?

THERAPIST: So… you think your relationship with your father is… “weird”?

ANASTASIA: No, but you clearly do! What’s the big deal? Did my mom say something about me when she signed me up for this or something?

THERAPIST: Are you worried that your mother says negative things about you behind your back? Do you feel like you have to compete with her?

ANASTASIA: Look, mister, I studied Freud and psychoanalysis and all that in my freshman year English class. And I can tell you that I do NOT have an Oedipal complex—

THERAPIST: Electra complex, Anastasia, is the female version. Do you identify more with Oedipus?

ANASTASIA (ignoring him): And I definitely don’t have penis envy. No girl in her right mind wants to have a penis. Maybe for two hours, tops, just to see what it’s like. But no way. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. Freud himself said that.

THERAPIST: “Just to see what it’s like?” So you are curious?

ANASTASIA: NO! Next you’ll be implying that I have a foot fetish!

THERAPIST: Now, why would you bring that up? I did notice that you are wearing high tops. Is that because you feel self-conscious about your feet?

ANASTASIA: Everyone wears high tops! You’re wearing loafers. Does that mean YOU’RE self-conscious about your feet?

THERAPIST: Anastasia.

ANASTASIA: WHAT?

THERAPIST: We’re not here to talk about me.

ANASTASIA: Then let’s talk about me! I’m not in love with my father! I don’t wish I were a boy! I’m not sexually repressed, causing me to keep my feet covered! And above all, I am not clinically depressed and suicidal!

THERAPIST (leans back, exhales, taps fingers together): Ahh.

ANASTASIA: Ah what?

THERAPIST: Anastasia.

ANASTASIA: What?

THERAPIST: Anastasia, Anastasia, Anastasia.

ANASTASIA: What, what, what?

THERAPIST: Anastasia, I never suggested that you were clinically depressed and suicidal.

ANASTASIA sits quietly and looks at the floor, breathing heavily.

THERAPIST (quietly): Anastasia.

Anastasia does not look up.

THERAPIST: Anastasia, are you worried that you’re depressed?

ANASTASIA: I don’t know.

THERAPIST: Anastasia, I want you to know that I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you. In fact, I think you’re perfectly normal.

ANASTASIA: Really? What about the pretending to be dead thing?

THERAPIST: Ok, so that’s a little weird. But it’s just a way of processing the unfathomable idea of our eventual, undeniable death. You’re experimenting with the idea of the world without yourself in it.

ANASTASIA (relieved): Okay, so why am I here?

THERAPIST: Because your parents are aging, well-educated hippies who make too much money and think that one brain isn’t enough to hold all your thoughts and emotions.

ANASTASIA: Oh.

THERAPIST: But the fact of the matter is, I need to earn a living, and your parents need to feel that they don’t have to worry about you turning out all right and getting into Brown and becoming an environmental consultant for a big politically-correct corporation. Do you know how to play Shithead?

ANASTASIA: Yeah! My father taught me!

THERAPIST (pause): Your father?

ANASTASIA: Hey, shut up and deal, or I’m telling my parents it’s a scam.

Lights dim as the THERAPIST shuffles and deals.

The End