“Up!” hiccuped D.J.
“Down!” said Kathy.
She couldn’t help herself.
Dr. Pickle’s real name was Dr. Pickell. His office was on the fourth floor. Kathy knocked on the door.
Dr. Pickle opened it. He had a pointy beard and wore glasses. “Yes?” he said.
“Stupid here got the hiccups,” said Kathy.
“Up!” hiccuped D.J.
“Down,” said Kathy.
Dr. Pickle rubbed his chin. “Very interesting,” he muttered, although he was looking at Kathy, not at D.J. “Very, very interesting.”
He told Kathy to wait, and invited D.J. inside.
“And he smiles too much too!” Kathy called, just before the door shut.
D.J. sat down on a couch.
Dr. Pickle sat across from him. He held a long gold chain. On one end hung a green stone shaped like a pickle.
Dr. Pickle gently swung the stone, back and forth. “Watch the pickle,” he said. His voice was warm and soothing.
D.J.’s eyes moved back and forth with the stone.
“I will count to five. And then you will fall into a deep, deep sleep.” Dr. Pickle slowly counted. “One . . . two . . . BOO!”
D.J. fell off the couch.
“Well?” asked Dr. Pickle.
D.J. got up. He waited a moment. “I think they’re gone,” he said.
Dr. Pickle led him to the door. “First thing we learned in psychiatrist school,” he said, patting D.J. on the head.
“My hiccups are all gone!” D.J. told Kathy.
“Who cares,” said Kathy.
“Wait,” said Dr. Pickle. “Would you mind stepping inside my office, young lady?”
“Me?” asked Kathy.
“Please,” said Dr. Pi
ckle.
“But he’s the sicko!” said Kathy, pointing at D.J.
“Please,” Dr. Pickle repeated.
Kathy shrugged, then entered the counselor’s office. “That beard is really ugly,” she said. “I guess your face must be even worse, huh?”
D.J. sat on the floor in the hallway, with his back against the wall, waiting for Kathy. He smiled, happy that his hiccups were gone. Although he missed them a little bit too. Hiccups are annoying, but kind of fun.