Juna and the Bluebirds

She walked into the thick, heavy office of oak and leather without
so much as a glance towards the man who sat at the desk in the corner.
Juna was not interested in therapy, nor did she believe in its
effectiveness. As far as she was concerned, this crotchety-looking old
bastard could take his theories, his expert opinions, and his volumes
of Freudian bullshit, and shove it all up his ass until it came out of
his mouth shredded.

Dr. McManus arose from his chair and approached her with an extended
hand.

"Francis McManus," he said, offering her a limp handshake, "and you
are?"

"In satisfactory mental health and totally disinterested in being
here." Juna shot back, and folded her arms defiantly. In truth she felt
despondent, numb, frustrated.

"You don't feel that therapy would be beneficial to your life?" Dr.
McManus asked. He opened a worn notebook and quickly scribbled in it
without waiting for her answer.

"I just don't see the sense in telling a complete stranger my innermost
feelings as if doing so will restore peace and balance to my life. You
don't know the first fucking thing about me, and you're already writing
in that notebook." Juna said. As far as she could tell, Dr. McManus was
a by-the-book therapist, with a stuffy office, was probably married to
a dominant woman, and had no children.

"Well," he began, "I do know that you're skeptical about the benefits
of psychotherapy, much like my late wife, God rest her soul, and that
is what I recorded in my notes."

He took a cigarette from the pack in his breast pocket and lit it
without asking Juna if she minded, which annoyed her much in the same
way it did when someone sneezed without covering their mouth. She took
out her own wrinkled pack and lit one as well. It wasn't that the smoke
bothered her, it was that he didn't ask. For a few minutes neither of
them said anything, each quietly enjoying their cigarette.

"So...aren't you supposed to ask me a bunch of shit about my childhood
and my parents or something?"

"Only if you feel that it's relevant to why you're here." Dr. McManus
answered, "Speaking of which, why are you here? You certainly aren't
paying to come in here and act like an ass."

Juna smirked and flicked her ash into the ceramic bowl he had placed on
the table between them. She wasn't paying for a damn thing.

"You figure you have me pegged already don't you?" she asked.

"No more than you have me pegged." He answered. "So, why don't you cut
the tough act and tell me why you're really here."

"Your office sounds like a bluebird." She answered.

"You're here because my office sounds like a bluebird?"

"It didn't at first...it was stuffy when I first walked in. But
now...you can feel it. Feel the blue, hear the bird." She waved her
fingers dreamily by her ears.

Dr. McManus suddenly realized that he might be in over his head.