Postcards From the Edge

It’s hard not to feel like an outcast in a drug clinic, but then it’s hard not to feel like an outcast, period.

“My mood is lifting,” she said, “like a small, heavy plane.” She was wearing her combat shopping outfit: a blue cotton dress with slits up the sides, and under it, black slacks with a blue belt. Suzanne only wore black and blue clothes. Her fashion statement was Bruised.

“You underestimate the power of food allergies,” said her mother confidently. “I told Dr. Feldman you’d be calling him.”

“Just imagine,” Suzanne said. “Here I’ve spent all these years in therapy, and it could have been tuna all along.”