The midday sun shone through the clear window and illuminated the old man who was typing on his typewriter. While his hand were old, they were experienced, and it showed as they glided on the the typewriter: fast and precise, but every so often he stopped, and with his aging eyes, squinted at the barely distinguishable writing on the paper.
He did this often, stopping every dozen words as he struggled to remember what he was trying to write - his memory not as sharp as it was years ago. As he stopped for the twelfth time in half an hour, he remembered that he still had that steaming cup of coffee and reached for his cup expectantly, but there was nothing in it, having been empty ever since breakfast.
Angry with himself for his forgetfulness, he returned to his work, but as his fingers got ready to finish off a sentence, he heard, or thought he heard, a knock on the wooden door. The old man hesitated as he glanced above his typewriter, towards the door. He wasn't sure if the knock was real or just his mind playing tricks with him - a case which has been happening ever so frequently lately.
After a moment of intense debate in his mind, he got up and promptly walked towards the door. When he reached it, he opened it a fraction, and to his surprise and delight ("I knew the knock was real!") saw the figure of a boy, through the narrow gap. Opening the door fully, he greeted the skinny lad (which looked strangely familiar), with a smile, "Hello there lad, how can I help you?"
"The receptionist with the beautiful teeth, said I could go straight in?" The boy, grinned - a cheeky smile.
The old man seeing this cheeky smile, saw a bit of himself in the boy, and smiled a bit broader, "Ha! Yes, yes, she has VERY beautiful teeth young man, come in, come in." whilst gesturing to come in.
As the boy came in and sat on the leather couch in front of the desk, the man sat behind the desk, and looked expectantly at the boy, but as the boy just looked back, he asked, "So, how may I help you?"
With a confused look, the boy replied, "I thought I had already booked a session with you today?", when the old man stared back with a similar look, the boy went on,"Aren't you a psychiatrist then? Or did I go to the wrong person?".
The old man suddenly remembered he did have a session booked today, but he wondered why the receptionist didn’t remind him, "I better tell her to remind me of any appointments, I don’t want to miss any customers, specially how business has been slow recently." He thought for a moment.
"Ah. Yes, sorry, I have forgotten that I had a session today." He stammered apologetically and turning to his typewriter, he put a blank paper in and asked the boy, "So what is your name?"
"Sam, Sam Hedger"
As the sound of the typewriter punching away filled the room, the old man replied, "Really? Wow, that is my name as well, what a coincidence!"
While the boy grinned, the old man asked him another question, "So, do you have any relatives? Oh! Speaking of relatives, where are your parents? They should be here with you."
With that, the boy's smile disappeared and he looked down onto the gray carpet, "They are.. away." The boy replied in a tiny voice.
"Ah. I.. I am sorry to hear that." the psychiatrist said, looking momentarily at the sad figure, before typing "N/A" next to the word "Parents" on the paper.
As the boy looked back at the old man, he shrugged it off, "That’s ok, I hardly remember them anyway. They passed away when I was barely five. My auntie and uncle looks after me now. But they couldn't come to this session today, they are still working".
The psychiatrist nodded, secretly sympathizing with the boy, as he himself lost his parents when he was still a baby, and he too was raised by the kindness of his auntie and uncle, through their long hours working, to provide for him. Turning the chair to face the boy he asked the psychiatrists' generic question "So, what has been troubling you lately?"
Lying back to look at the white ceiling, the boy answered, as if more to himself than to the psychiatrist, "I've been forgetting things.. and sometimes, I.. I see and hear things that aren't there".
"Oh? Tell me more about this issue, Sam." The psychiatrist said, without looking at the boy, while the typewriter tapped away, as the psychiatrist's aged hands danced on it expertly.
"I have a pet turtle called Boris at home, and he usually is in my little water tank. But quiet a few times I don't find him there, but in the living room, or in my uncle's study room. I don’t remember putting him in those places, but my auntie and uncle always tell me that they saw me put him there.." the boy said thoughtfully.
As the psychiatrist made notes of this example on the paper, he remembered a time in the past month, when he too frequently forgot where he put something, but in his case, his cup. Sometimes he would find it in his desk while other times it would be inside his or even in his drawer.
"Sometimes," the boy continued, watching the psychiatrist's hands as it typed , "I also see one of my cousins that I haven't seen in a long time, and we would play and talk, but my auntie then would ask me who I was talking to, and when I said one of my cousins, she would be confused and tell me that she didn't see anyone with me while I was playing".
"At first I thought my uncle and auntie were just joking with me, but it happened quite a lot of times, and is happening ever more frequently, that I am starting to get scared." The boy looked at the psychiatrist with a worried face, his eyes pleading to the psychiatrist for help.
"Ah. Yes, uhh..." the psychiatrist hesitated telling the boy. As fortunately, the psychiatrist knew what was going on, but he dreaded telling it to the boy. From what the boy has told him, he is suffering from Schizophrenia, which is causing his hallucinations and treatable, but more unfortunate was that it seems like the boy is also suffering from Dementia which is affecting his memory and is untreatable, often causing an early death.
With a heavy heart, the psychiatrist took a deep breath and opened his mouth, when there was a knock on the door, loud and clear, definitely not just his mind playing tricks with him.
With a quiet "excuse me" the old man promptly walked towards the door, secretly glad that he didn't have to immediately tell the boy his issues. As he opened the door, the familiar plump figure of his receptionist greeted him.
"Hello there Mr Hedger! I was just wondering if you were ok, I could hear you talking to someone", the receptionist asked kindly, her smile showing her over sized teeth.
"Yes, of course, I was diagnosing the boy that booked the session today," turning around towards the boy he believed was sitting on the couch, "I was surprised why you didn't tell me that I had an appointment today, especially since business is slo-".
The old man stopped talking, as he saw that the boy was nowhere to be seen, while the couch seemed like it was never sat on, even though there was someone on it a moment ago.
"But the boy, he was right there! Where could he possibly go? He couldn't of gone through the windo-", stopping as the receptionist put her hand on his right shoulder.
"Its ok," gently leading the old man towards the couch where he sat down heavily, "Its ok" she said again, in a comforting tone.
"But he was right there! He said that you told him to go straight to my office, and that he was suffering from illnesses!" The old man exasperated, confused and bewildered.
"Mr Hedger," She said, when the old man rambled on, she said his name again, but more firmly. When the old man quietened down, she gently patted his shoulder, "It was just your Schizophrenia and Dementia acting up again..."
"No that can't be! Im a psychiatrist!" The old man raised his voice, "That boy was real! He was the one that had Schizophrenia and Dementia, Im completely healthy!"
"Mr Hedger." She said gently but firmly, "You resigned from being a psychiatrist ten years ago, when you realized that you had Schizophrenia and Dementia, and you voluntarily put yourself here, in this rest home, so that you can be looked after and cared for by nurses like me."
"But the.. the kid!" The old man desperately said , the fog covering his memories slowly moving away.
"Was just a hallucination." The nurse interrupted calmly, while giving him a final pat on the shoulder, "And now I will make you a hot cup of coffee, would you like that Mr Hedger?". When the old man nodded silently with a certain sadness in his eyes, the nurse gave him a sympathetic smile before going out of the room.
The old man sat there, contemplating the midday sun as it drifted in and out of the clouds, in full realization that it was all just an illusion: the receptionist, the psychiatrist, the kid. With a sigh, he got back to his typewriter, but then he realized something, and quickly opened his drawer and took out the dusty photo album before putting it on the desk. Flipping through one of the early pictures of himself, he found what he was looking for, a picture of a boy with that same cheeky smile, holding the turtle called Boris.