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“Who?” asked the patient, “What’s his name?”
“As I said, he calls himself Hatter,” said the nurse checking behind her to be sure Hatter wasn’t coming.
“Why Hatter?” asked the psychological patient, looking worried.
“Did you ever read, ‘Alice in Wonderland?’”
“You mean the Mad Hatter?” asked the patient really looking intimidated by then.
“Yes,” the nurse checked behind herself again. “Now I really must go, um important business to attend to.” And she turned and left quickly, lest she should run into Hatter.
Hatter somersaulted into the room and into the leather chair, “Yes doctor, dizzy spells.” He seemed very pleased about this statement and laughed uncontrollably for two minutes or so before finally giving the leather chair up to the actual patient.
The patient eyed the psychiatrist and got into the chair, “Are you alright Sir?” He considered that Hatter may need to see a psychiatrist more than he.
“Better than you may think,” Hatter gave a big grin and looked the patient in the face, “Insanity keeps me away from the hard reality of life,” he again gave a grin and took a bottle of soda on his desk and gave it a large shake. “How are you?”
“I’ve felt better,” said the patient looking at Hatter shaking the soda.
“Good,” said Hatter, looking as though it had made his day to hear the patient say this. “Are you suicidal?”
“Good ‘cause then I’d have you pay in advance,” he said, going into a laughing spree for another two minutes.
“Sir?” said the patient, for the first time in his life feeling like the sane one in the room.
“You’re right; you are insane,” said Hatter grinning and drawing a knife from his pocket, “I recommend a lobotomy.” He stabbed the patient with the fake knife and ketchup squirted out. Hatter went on another laughing spree.
“I’m done here,” Hatter said shaking the patient’s hand with a joy buzzer and went laughing out the door.
The next morning Dick Houghton took himself out of the mental hospital, now considering himself completely sane. Hatter watched as Dick gave one last look at the mental hospital in which he had resided in for a month before they had called in Hatter. Hatter saw the red convertible. That was the same car in which his parents had driven away in so many years ago. He remembered that fateful night of which he had pretended to be sick in order to stay home from going to his grandmother’s house. That night his parents had the terrible car crash. Both of his parent were dead. So Hatter had been sent to live with his grandmother. The same grandmother who had slipped on a toy car and fallen down the stairs. A toy red convertible. He had been sent to an orphanage but he had never forgotten that fateful day. In which it was his fault that his parents had died because of him. Perhaps he could have told them to swerve. He felt tears welling up in his eyes. Then he heard someone approaching from behind him.
“You’re thinking of them aren’t you?” said Yamane Houston, one of Hatter‘s colleagues. Hatter just nodded to show that she was correct. “It wasn’t your fault,” said Yamane, “and besides, look how much you help people with their problems.”
Hatter gave Yamane a big grin and turned a somersault directly out the door and sang, “Good bye Yamane, you’re insane, that’s why you’re on this terrain.”
Yamane watched as he left and wondered if he knew how bad he was at vocabulary.