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Other patients shuffled around, mumbled to themselves, or just paced. Many just sat, like her.She was 23 and a hopeless case. Treatment-resistant depression. She had been tried on twenty-odd different medications. They had zapped her brain with ECT. None of it did any good. She had tried to kill herself three times, and the last time had come pretty close. She mused about how she could really pull it off the next time they let her out.Time for her case conference. Every Thursday at 2:30. After the usual drivel about her diet and physical condition and mental assessment and how well she did with the OT (pathetic "play" for grown-ups), there was something new. Her psychiatrist Dr. Bernstein said a colleague wanted to meet with the two of them privately."Hello, Jennifer, I hope you are no worse than usual today?" asked Dr. Bernstein. She had to hand it to him: at least he didn't say, "How are you feeling today, Jennifer?" with a loud, cheery voice. She was tempted to answer that kind of. " What?" D'you have a shirt I can wear? One that just reeks of 'Chuck's shirt'?" I have plenty of shirts. I don't think anybody pays attention to what shirt I wear, though. 'Specially not one that Courtney or her bunch would recognize." I tilted my head, questioning.She grinned. "Wanna wear YOUR shirt." Pick one."Yeah, it's way too big, and she looks adorably disheveled and I'm thinking I really like it."Well?" She questioned, spinning to show me her 'look'."Charming. Whimsical, crazy perfection." I was just thinking that your sister saw me all dressed up at the store after church, so she gets to see the other side. I like being comfortable. And wearing your shirt – that's just like I've got you wrapped around me full time." Her face changed for a bit. "Do I need make-up?" Nope. Not that I can see. Those eyelashes look like what most women attempt to emulate." So you want to roll into your sister's house and present plain ol' Jenn, unadorned..." Informal, relaxed, cute as a button...".
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