I lost my mind

                                                       I Lost My Mind

        “Why are you crying?”

     “I don’t see why that is any of your business.”

     “I don’t want to intrude, but I thought you might be in some sort of trouble.”

     “Because I’m crying?”

     “I don’t know what to think…sorry. You’re right, I have no business being concerned about your condition, if that is what is causing your melancholia.”

     “What makes you think I suffer from melancholia?”

     “I had a client once who found everything, people, things, even dogs, depressing. You have similar symptoms to hers. I apologize I shouldn’t have compared you to her, I don’t even know you. For all I know you are running away from an abusive relationship, or have just lost everything in an internet scam. You didn’t respond to the guy saying he was stuck in Puerto Vallarta moneyless, having been robbed and left for dead in some tavern called Me Amigo’s, did you?”

     “For god’s sake, no. It wasn’t Puerto Vallarta, it was in San Juan Puerto Rico, and she wasn’t robbed literally, although they took all her money; a gambling addiction problem I assumed. And no, I did not send her all my money; I sent her my X-husbands. You seem to have a problem with first impressions for a psychologist or psychiatrist… or whatever you are. Perhaps you should see someone.”

    “I was only attempting to help. I meant no harm, and I’m neither a psychologist nor psychiatrist, I’m the director of a rescued pet facility in San Francisco. Paws are Us! Perhaps you’ve heard of us. We were recognized by Frugal Magazine as one of the most cost-efficient animal rescue organizations in the country. Our CEO, which is me, makes less than $50,000 dollars a year compared to the $150K most of the rescue clinic CEO’s make. If I seem to be a bit forward it is because I’ve seen so many tears, both happy and sad over my two-month residency. There is something about an animal finding a home where they will be loved and cared for that makes me want to cry. So, when I saw you in distress, I automatically assumed you had lost a pet, boyfriend, husband, or your life savings; all the survivors of tragic events exhibit similar signs after having experienced emotional distress.”

    “I can tell you right now, before you go any further, that I have not lost any of the things you mentioned. I am, if you must know, the one who is lost. I can’t remember who I am, my name, where I live, where I’m going or why I would be going there. You see I’ve lost my mind and I don’t believe getting a dog or cat is going to solve my problem, do you?”

    “Didn’t you have to prove who you were when you purchased your ticket? They are usually quite concerned with identification when it comes to travel these days. Did you have to take your shoes off?...I suppose not being your age, they normally wave that impediment if you are of a certain age. Did you purchase your ticket with a credit card? Certainly your name has to be on the card as well as the ticket. You must have some identification with you if you were able to board; they are strict about things like that. Let me see your ticket.”

    “Why?”

    “I just told you why. So we can find out what your name is, or at least… that is if you didn’t use an alias and phony documents to obtain your ticket.”

    “I admitted to being lost, I don’t admit to being a con artist or terrorist, although I might be. You never really know someone, especially yourself, until push comes to shove, right? You seem to be at a loss for words. Have you run out of absurd ideas about who I might be or how I came to be on this…

    “Wait a minute. You are the one that told me you are lost. I am only trying to help. My experience with those seeking lost souls, pets, or whatever has nothing to do with you, except that you are the recipient of my experience with emotionally distraught people and pets. I’m telling you, not because I’m attempting to make myself out to be more than I am, but I did graduate at the top of my class in Canine Stress Disorder; a relatively new field associated with the dogs returning from war zones. Until recently they were left on their own to cope with not only their loss of identity, no longer a member of the military, but also the inability to fit the image of what is expected as so-called normal canine behavior. So I hope you…”

    “Just a minute fella. I think you are in worse shape than I am. Do you really know who you are or just who you think you are. I’ve never heard such a load of crap in my life. If things are as bad as you say, shouldn’t it have made the headlines in the paper or at least 60 Minutes? I know we don’t do a very good job with our veterans, but with dogs? I’ve heard of people risking their lives to save a dog they considered a member of their family. If the problem is as acute as you suggest, shouldn’t you be lobbying Congress or the President for funds to alleviate the problems associate with…what you called it…some kind of stress syndrome? The former President has a dog. Yes, he bites people, but that may be the reason. I’m sure the former President would help if he realized the trauma associated with a dog becoming a civilian. You should make a point of contacting the White House immediately.”

    “Before I go down that rabbit hole, you know what Congress is like these days, I’d like to return to your situation. You really have no idea who you are or where you are going or why? It is hard to believe someone your age just picks up and leaves with no destination in mind… you can’t remember anything?”

    “No! Like I told you, I lost my mind in San Francisco and all I can think of is that I’m on a mission to find it. It’s people like you… you do gooders who confuse the situation. Why is it so important I know who I am or where I’m going. I’m content not knowing, why can’t you be? I wasn’t crying because I was lost; I should have kept some of the money I sent to that guy in Puerto Rico. Money doesn’t always change who you are, but it does make losing your mind less stressful I would think.”

    #

    “Mam…you alright? Can I get you anything? Water, a soda, juice? I noticed you’ve been having a rather heated conversation with… someone, and frankly, the other passengers are beginning to worry. Is there someone I can call for you?”

    “That’s very kind of you… Miss… Abbey, but I’m doing just fine. This guy on the other hand has delusions of grandeur…but then he’s a big shot CEO of some group that’s dedicated to the mental health of retired dogs. You ever heard of such a thing? He thought because I was crying that he could somehow help. I told him I really didn’t need his help, but he insisted. All I want to do is find my mind. I know where I lost it, I just can’t remember why or when. Is that really so terrible? And I apologize for any problem I may have caused you. You seem like a nice enough person, I wish I could have been seated next to someone like you instead of him. Paws are Us, indeed. And he’s concerned that I’m lost. I promise I’ll try and be good. I think I’ll take a little nap…maybe he’ll just go away so I don’t have to do something drastic to make him go away.”

    “Mam?”