bed early one evening, her Math homework spread out around her, "I really need your advice."
She glanced over at her desk. Freud stared at her with his blank plaster eyes. His nose, she noticed, was a little crooked.
"Would you rather be called Dr. Freud?" she asked politely.
He stared blankly into space.
Anastasia sat up, cross-legged on her unmade, bookstrewn bed, and gazed across the room at her psychiatrist. She tilted the lampshade on her bedside lamp so that Freud was illuminated a little better and the shadows across his face were gone.
"Or would you mind if I called you by your first name?" she asked. "I know doctors like to be called 'Doctor'—at least Sonya's father does; he likes to be called
'Dr. Isaacson'—but it seems to me that since it's just the two of us here, and we're in my bedroom, not in an office or anything, that we could be kind of informal."
Freud stared blankly across the room.
On a whim, Anastasia took the blue marking pen that she'd been using for Math. She brought Freud's head to her bed where the light was better, and carefully, with the marker, drew blue centers in Freud's plaster eyes. Then, with the tip of a black pen, she drew dots in the middle of each blue circle.
As an afterthought, she used the fine-tipped black pen at the corners of Freud's mouth, turning the edges of his lips upward a bit. She replaced him on the desk and went back to her bed.
She moved her books aside and lay on her back, her arms crossed behind her head.
"Sigmund?" she said shyly, and glanced over at him. He was looking directly at her, and smiling.
"All riiight," murmured Anastasia. "Now we're in business."
It was November already, and nothing much had changed. Life was boring; her parents were boring; Sam was boring; and the gerbils were the most boring of all. She hadn't even added anything to her Science Project, she realized guiltily. Probably Norman Berkowitz had completed 25 percent of his computer by now, in November, and Anastasia only had two notebook pages about gerbils.
"Sigmund," she said, "I know that probably I'm supposed to tell you about my childhood and all. But what
I really want to talk about is my current problems. Is that okay?"
She looked over. Freud smiled. It was okay, apparently.
She sighed. Where to begin? "My friend Daphne Bellingham," she said. "That's a problem. Daphne used to be my really good friend. Daphne and Sonya and Meredith and I used to do everything together.
"But then Daphne got a crush on this dumb boy—this football player. And now she never wants to hang out with me and Meredith and Sonya anymore. She just hangs out around the school football field, watching dumb practices."
Anastasia frowned. "Why do you think that happened, Sigmund?"
He smiled. If her mother had smiled that way, the smile would have meant: "What do
you
think, Anastasia?"
"I think," she went on, "that Daphne has entered Stage Two of Adolescence. The stage where you chase guys."
Anastasia sighed. "I guess I'm not at Stage Two yet. I suppose I'll catch up with her sometime."
An explosion of noise erupted in the gerbil cage. Anastasia glanced over, even though she knew what she would see: the gerbils were fighting again.
"Sigmund," she wailed, "I have TOO MANY gerbils!"
Freud grinned knowingly.
"I know, I know. It's my own fault. And I can't get rid of them. Nobody wants gerbils. I was the fifth person Meredith offered them to. And anyway, I need them for my dumb Science Project."
She sat up and turned the pages of the calendar on the table beside her bed. It told her what she already knew.
"It's Day Twenty-five today," she muttered. "This is the day they were supposed to have babies. Instead, the babies are three weeks old, and the cage smells bad, and they make a lot of noise, and I spend half my allowance on gerbil food."
She noticed that Freud was still smiling, so she got up and turned him around. It wasn't amusing, the gerbil problem.
"I'll see you at my next appointment,
She glanced over at her desk. Freud stared at her with his blank plaster eyes. His nose, she noticed, was a little crooked.
"Would you rather be called Dr. Freud?" she asked politely.
He stared blankly into space.
Anastasia sat up, cross-legged on her unmade, bookstrewn bed, and gazed across the room at her psychiatrist. She tilted the lampshade on her bedside lamp so that Freud was illuminated a little better and the shadows across his face were gone.
"Or would you mind if I called you by your first name?" she asked. "I know doctors like to be called 'Doctor'—at least Sonya's father does; he likes to be called
'Dr. Isaacson'—but it seems to me that since it's just the two of us here, and we're in my bedroom, not in an office or anything, that we could be kind of informal."
Freud stared blankly across the room.
On a whim, Anastasia took the blue marking pen that she'd been using for Math. She brought Freud's head to her bed where the light was better, and carefully, with the marker, drew blue centers in Freud's plaster eyes. Then, with the tip of a black pen, she drew dots in the middle of each blue circle.
As an afterthought, she used the fine-tipped black pen at the corners of Freud's mouth, turning the edges of his lips upward a bit. She replaced him on the desk and went back to her bed.
She moved her books aside and lay on her back, her arms crossed behind her head.
"Sigmund?" she said shyly, and glanced over at him. He was looking directly at her, and smiling.
"All riiight," murmured Anastasia. "Now we're in business."
It was November already, and nothing much had changed. Life was boring; her parents were boring; Sam was boring; and the gerbils were the most boring of all. She hadn't even added anything to her Science Project, she realized guiltily. Probably Norman Berkowitz had completed 25 percent of his computer by now, in November, and Anastasia only had two notebook pages about gerbils.
"Sigmund," she said, "I know that probably I'm supposed to tell you about my childhood and all. But what
I really want to talk about is my current problems. Is that okay?"
She looked over. Freud smiled. It was okay, apparently.
She sighed. Where to begin? "My friend Daphne Bellingham," she said. "That's a problem. Daphne used to be my really good friend. Daphne and Sonya and Meredith and I used to do everything together.
"But then Daphne got a crush on this dumb boy—this football player. And now she never wants to hang out with me and Meredith and Sonya anymore. She just hangs out around the school football field, watching dumb practices."
Anastasia frowned. "Why do you think that happened, Sigmund?"
He smiled. If her mother had smiled that way, the smile would have meant: "What do
you
think, Anastasia?"
"I think," she went on, "that Daphne has entered Stage Two of Adolescence. The stage where you chase guys."
Anastasia sighed. "I guess I'm not at Stage Two yet. I suppose I'll catch up with her sometime."
An explosion of noise erupted in the gerbil cage. Anastasia glanced over, even though she knew what she would see: the gerbils were fighting again.
"Sigmund," she wailed, "I have TOO MANY gerbils!"
Freud grinned knowingly.
"I know, I know. It's my own fault. And I can't get rid of them. Nobody wants gerbils. I was the fifth person Meredith offered them to. And anyway, I need them for my dumb Science Project."
She sat up and turned the pages of the calendar on the table beside her bed. It told her what she already knew.
"It's Day Twenty-five today," she muttered. "This is the day they were supposed to have babies. Instead, the babies are three weeks old, and the cage smells bad, and they make a lot of noise, and I spend half my allowance on gerbil food."
She noticed that Freud was still smiling, so she got up and turned him around. It wasn't amusing, the gerbil problem.
"I'll see you at my next appointment,
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