Casper starts every Group the same way. The accordion exercise, the breathing, stretching your neck, reaching to your toes. Casper is tiny and soft. She wears clogs with elfish, muted heels. All the other doctors here have clangy, sharp shoes that make a lot of noise, even on carpet. She is pale. Her eyes are enormous, round, and very blue. There are no jagged edges to Casper.
She looks around at us, her face settling into a gentle smile. She says, “Your job here is you. We are all here to get better, aren’t we?”
Which means: we are all presently shit.
But we knew that already.
