THE THERAPIST
I see the church, tucked behind a shrubby embankment. The traffic lights are red. I wait first in line in the middle lane watching vehicles charge before me in both directions. An icy wind blows through my window and sweat trickles down my armpits.
The lights change to green. My heart palpitates. Release the handbrake, ease my foot off the clutch and drive straight ahead. Where’s the entrance to the car park? It’s on the other side of a median strip. Who put that there? I indicate right into the next side street. One three-point turn, two left turns and I park outside the church. It’s a low brick building with a rough stick cross nailed to the wall beside the entrance doors.
I’m early. The car park is empty. I stare at the traffic on the highway forced into freeze frames b
