I'm not what people expect and I'm okay with that. I'm a grown woman-- supposedly-- but I don't act like it. I was pretty much a tomboy growing up and I guess t's just my style. And when you've been happily single, there's no one around to cramp it. That's why I found it particularly annoying to be sitting a stuffy office, visiting with a doctor I'd never met, on the 'suggestion' of an employer who didn't especially like me anyway.
Yeh, it was that type of doctor.
Dr. Spencer was pretty much what I expected when I took seat in a squeaky leather chair in front of his desk. He had a nicer, larger leather chair of his own, backed by a wall of bookshelves with hundreds of volumes packed in, They all had medical sounding titles, some in Latin and others just otherwise announcing every issue a doctor in his field might have occasion to address. There were the usual diplomas and certificates hanging in frames around the room, and among the very organized items on the over-sized desk was a bowl of individually wrapped peppermint candies, which were sadly out of my reach.
Dr. Spencer appeared a frail man to me, maybe because the desk and chair both seemed too big for him. He was otherwise middle-aged, middle-height, middle-weight and middle-receding hair line, wearing a snappy tweed jacket and a pair of glasses so big and thick he could probably see the future.
He started off pleasantly enough, looking at the single page of my file with no more interest than a shopping list, but smiling and nonetheless addressing me by name.
"I'll be honest with you. doctor," I spoke up calmly. "I have no idea why I'm here."
Of course I had a vague idea, but I didn't want to do all Spencer's work for him.
"Well, that is what we're going to try and find out." he assured. I was disappointed that he did not have a German accent so I could feel more confident in his credentials. "Your employer, Dr, Cavendish, thought you might be under a bit of a strain lately. That it might be effecting your work, or your co-workers."
He saw me roll my eyes, but his only response was to fold his hands on the desk in front of him. I guessed it was still my move.
"Dr. Cavendish hasn't liked me from day one." I grimaced when realizing I might sound a bit paranoid. "I mean, she has her favorite staff at the office, and I'm not part of it. I'm just a lowly transcriptionist."
"Oh? Do you feel your work is not important?"
"It's a lot more important than sitting in the doctor's office with her, chatting like old chums as if there's not three patients waiting, and two on borrowed time already." I couldn't help but smirk at my own observation, knowing full well that everything I said would get back to the office eventually. "The rest of the girls are all younger and, well, sometimes I think it's high school all over again. You know, girl-talk, designer fingernails, drama when a tennis bracelet breaks or. the boyfriend doesn't call..." Spencer lowered eyelids partway, looking very pensive, and gave a slight nod.
"I'm sensing some hostility." he observed softly.
I wasn't going to argue with him, as there was a lot more hostility he had yet to sense.
"If you think it has anything to do with jealousy, you can forget that," I grinned when I told him to tone that down. "I just don't like getting stuck with answering phones and handling everyone else's job while they all take a break or all go to lunch for 3 hours. I work for my paycheck and if that's what the boss wants to call stress, maybe she's right. But how is that effecting my co-workers?"
Spencer took a quick peek at the paper in front of him to refresh his memory.
"Dr. Cavendish reports that you seem to be upsetting your co-workers with elaborate stories. She is concerned you are drifting a bit into a fantasy world."
This time I laughed out loud but quickly caught myself and pointed to the file.
"Does it mention in there anywhere the specific elaborate stories I've shared with my co-workers? Maybe when I mentioned how introducing a broadsword to the side of their heads would solve everyone's problems?"
Spencer's expression grew even more owlish at this.
"You threatened them?" he almost whispered.
"I wasn't suggesting I was going to do it." I held my hands up in innocence. "It was just an observation. Seriously, a broadsword introduced to the side of anyone's head would be a game-changer. I also talk to myself, and mumble. I guess they object to that, too:"
I saw plainly where this was going even without being a psychic. Dr. Spencer would get on the phone to Cavendish the minute I walked out the door, and by the time I got back to the office the locks would be changed and there would be a pink slip waiting. I had to hand it to Spencer, though, for forging ahead as if something redeeming could come out of this.
"I understand that you have recently been through some sort of traumatic experience that you have not spoken about, at work?"
'"Of course I haven't talked about it at work." The idea was ridiculous, but I hoped I didn't sound too snarky. "Why would I? Those people have no understanding, and they aren't even my friends."
"Well perhaps you could discuss it with me. If it proves to be the source of problems, there is always medication or treatment to help."
I was quiet for a moment, even grinning. I was already undergoing treatment of a rather unique kind and much to be preferred to any prescription. But that of course was neither the source of any problem at work, nor anyone's business. As I saw it, the problem at work was 'everything'. Still, I would give Dr. Spencer at least some explanation.
"I guess trauma is one way to put it." How was I to explain? "A couple of weeks ago, I'm minding my own business and suddenly I 'm yanked through a rip in time, some vortex or wormhole or whatever it was. Me, as I am, my whole self--- one moment I'm here in New Jersey, at a barbecue, no less-- and I make one teensy, little detour in this guy's back garden and blammo! Suddenly I'm in merry old England, about a thousand years behind the times."
I was perfectly aware that I sounded like a complete lunatic to the good doctor, but by this point I didn't care. What I had seen, and experienced of that whole event, was more important than keeping a job that I hated and passing inspection with a clean bill of health for people I didn't respect. With luck, Spencer would recommend I be laid off for a long vacation, to regain my senses. As if.
"Absolutely fascinating." the doctor reacted a bit more calmly than I'd expected, mildly distracted by noises in the waiting room. He quickly refocused attention on me and tried to maintain composure. "You believe you traveled through time."
"Oh, it's not a question of belief." I leaned forward in my seat, as if to prove a point though I was more anxious to leave. "It was the real deal. Been there, definitely done that, made it back, and brought more than a T shirt home with me."
"I think I would like to see you back here next week." Spencer was already thinking about how to cure poor little delusional me, maybe get the case in one of those professional journals, but I already knew that wasn't going to happen.
"Sorry, doc, but I'm spoken for."
There was more noise from the waiting room, and a distinct and excited female voice promising, 'You can't go in there!' followed by three heavy thumps against the consulting room door.
This immediately burst open and in strode my knight in rusty chain mail.
Spencer's eyes bulged behind his glasses, and he pushed himself deeper into the back of his chair as this stranger approached the desk with a determined stride. Dark eyes settled on me and something like a gruff sigh of relief escaped the new arrival. He halted by my chair and rested hands on his sword hilt before focusing his gaze on the figure behind the desk. Spencer, in turn, could not make a sound, though his mouth opened in a silent attempt. The man with the shaggy hair, grumpy disposition, wearing leather, and mail, and smelling of horses had definitely made an impression.
It didn't really matter what the doctor thought of my previous explanation. My good Sir knight was the personification of 'he followed me home, can I keep him?'.
"Sorry." I gave the terrified Spencer a last glance and shrugged. "Looks like my ride's here." Giving my companion a wink, I gestured toward the desk. "Oooh, look-- he has peppermints."
The doctor had the good sense to push the candy bowl forward with trembling hand, in time for a large black gauntlet to reach in and grab most of the contents. Spencer clenched his eyes tightly closed at this point and I'm guessing he did not open them again until sometime after we left.
I quit my office job soon after, persuaded by my new friend to devote time to writing about our extraordinary adventure--- but that's another story.