His Black Slippers

Excerpt from my journal on April 11: "You are subdued," he said today. He had that watchful look he gets when he's concerned but trying not to show it. Went a half an hour over. I find the fact that he wears slippers in his office oddly comforting. Nothing changes here. The geodes on the shelf are, apparently, dusted but have never been moved. The radio by the wall. The elegant vaguely European art. The shelves full of files. My file, thick as War and Peace. A history of fifteen years of seeing him. Not all that time with his black slippers but all that time with his exquisite, meticulous care. My psychiatrist, Phil.