“That’s true. But it’s not the answer.” She lifted an eyebrow

“The answer is that you’re here so that you can feel better.”

Oh, please, Crazy Megan begins, rolling her crazy eyes. And, okay it was totally stupid, his words themselves. But.

but,.. there was something about the way Dr. Peters said them that, just for a second, less than a second, Megan believed that he really meant them. This guy’s in a different universe from Dr. Loser Elbow Patch Hanson.

He opened his briefcase and took out a yellow pad. A brochure fell out onto the desk. She glanced at it. A picture of San Francisco was on the cover.

“Oh, you’re going there?” she asked.

“A conference,” he said, flipping through the brochure. He handed it to her.

“Awesome.”

“I love the city.” he continued. “I’m a former hippie. Tie-dyed-in-the-wool Deadhead and Jefferson Airplane fan… Whole nine yards. Course. that was before your time.”

“No way. I'm totally into Janis Joplin and Hendrix,”

“Yeah? You ever been to the Bay Area?”

“Not yet. But I’m going someday. My mother doesn’t know it. But I am.”

He squinted. “Hey, you know, there is a resemblance-von and Joplin. If you didn’t have your hair up it’d he the same as hers.”

Megan now wished she hadn’t done the pert ‘n’ perky ponytail.

The doctor added, “You’re prettier, of course. And thinner. Can you belt out the blues?”

“Like, I wish…"

“But you don’t remember hippies.” He chuckled.

“Time out!” she said enthusiastically. “I’ve seen Woodstock , like, eight times.”

She also wished she’d kept the peace symbol.

“So tell me, did you really try to kill yourself? Cross your heart.”

“And hope to die?” she joked.

He smiled.

She said, “No.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, I was just drinking a little Southern Comfort. All right, maybe more than a little.”