“I will not waste any time in pleasantries, here is your coffee,” said Sheila, putting down the mug, “it is serious,” she continued.
“Go ahead, I am listening,” I said. Sheila said nothing for a while and kept staring out of the window to nowhere in particular.
“Sheila, I said I am listening, go ahead.”
“It is about Ruth. She is going through a bad patch. I think it is some mental issue. She talks about some imaginary powers and messages she gets form them and talks total nonsense at times. I am terrified.”
“Hmmm, sounds serious indeed. She needs psychiatric treatment,” I said, holding myself from putting a label on her condition.
“I know, and I want you to convince her to see a psychiatrist,” said Sheila.
“No. I am not qualified to even talk to her about this matter. It is an expert’s job. Let a psychologist talk to her. Have you tried?”
“Who me? Talk to her? It’s impossible. She trusts you more than anyone else.”
The doorbell rang. We looked at each other, knowing who that would be. Sheila put her finger on her lips to shush me and went to open the door. That was Ruth. Charming and dynamic as ever, she almost pushed her mom aside and came straight to me and sat next to me.
“Thank God you are here uncle Joe,” she said, taking my hand, “Mom is trying to poison me. She has even hired a sniper who follows me to college and back,” she said, fuming.
“Hmmm. I will talk to her,” I said, holding back my tears while patting Ruth’s hand and at that very moment I decided that it was either me or nobody else. I nodded to Sheila.