The two men sat there in the room, looking at one another. This standoff of silence happened more often than Dr. Jefferson liked to admit, but it was something he had to put up with whenever speaking to this particular patient. Jefferson sat in his chair with his legs folded with a notepad resting on his lap all while fiddling with his pen. He sometimes tapped his lip with the pen, other times hitting his knees as if he were performing a drum solo for an imaginary rock band. It was a hot day that afternoon, and the air conditioning unit was out, so there were a few fans circulating the air to keep both men cool. To also beat the heat, Jefferson had departed from his usual attire. Gone were the usual suit and tie, and the sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up, which was far more casual than he had preferred but sweating like he was in a sauna also wasn’t a good look for him either. It had been months since Gilbert had this standoff with Jefferson, which was like a mental staring contest to see who would speak first. Such standoffs would come to an end usually in ten minutes, which was usually when the Jefferson’s patience would begin to wear rather thin.

“Gilbert,” Jefferson started, picking up the note pad from his lap as he knew there would be something to notate very soon.

“I keep telling you,” Gilbert said, sighing. “I prefer to be called Gil.”

“And I keep telling you,” Jefferson countered, “I prefer to start our session on time rather than ten minutes after the fact.”

“What do you care?” Gil asked.

“That’s a good question, Gil.” Jefferson answered, “Regardless of how much time you spend here, I’m still going to charge you for the full hour. The only thing your uprising is having an effect on is your own wallet. One could argue this is your hour, so you can start it anytime you like, but it’s still going to end the same time every week.”

“Duly noted,” Gil said, finally taking a seat.

There were two very relaxing chairs in the middle of the room. Jefferson sat in one that was closest to his desk, while the guest was encouraged to take the other. There was also a couch on the other side of the room, which Gil had assumed was for couples or when a patient brought someone else to sit in. In total there was enough room for three people plus the doc, which many people assumed was the most people Jefferson would want to handle at the same time. Anything more and that would be considered group therapy.

“What are you thinking about, Gil?” Jefferson asked, again trying to break the silence.

“Whether or not jumping out your window is high enough to kill myself.” Gil said, with a rather shitty tone. “I'm sorry, was that too soon?”

Jefferson sat there for a moment and took a deep breath. “Some could argue that your depraved attempt at humor was an unconscious cry for help, but I know you well enough to recognize that you’re just trying to yank my chain. It won’t work.”

“I didn’t think it would,” Gil said, sighing himself. “Sorry about that. She was a good gal. I really felt bad when I read about her in the paper.”

“Thank you,” Jefferson said, not taking the gift horse in the mouth. It was the first sincere thing Gil had said since he arrived, so it was best to take it and run. “Yet we need to talk about you, Gil. How have you been doing?”

“Me?” Gil asked, thinking about it. “I’ve been okay, nothing special.”

“Same old, same old?” Jefferson added, continuing to grind.

“Pretty much,” Gil said, scratching his chin. “I get it; I should go out and do something different. Stop watching television and do something different.”

“I’m afraid I don’t agree with that, Gil.” Jefferson retorted.

“Hold on, you don’t?” Gil asked, genuinely surprised.

“Not one bit,” Jefferson confirmed, “I like watching television as much as the next person. It doesn’t make our problems go away, but sometimes it provides a much needed distraction. When whatever you’re watching is over our problems are still there, but we are able to approach them with a fresh attitude and new eyes. That alone can be very helpful, and even therapeutic. George Carlin once said if you show me a man watching television all day, all you’re showing me is someone that’s staying out of trouble. Trust me, Gil; there are far worse habits a person could have than television.”

“Wow,” Gil confessed, “That was unexpected. Most professionals say television will rot your brain.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Jefferson replied, “But that’s total bullshit. Today’s television well written, and more often far entertaining than what is being offered on the silver screen. I find a lot of current shows to be thought provoking and even educational, much more than the stuff our parents used to watch back in the day. I’ll take an episode of Breaking Bad, Game Of Thrones, and the Sopranos any day over the crap being shown to our kids on the big screen.”

“Not everyone can afford HBO and AMC,” Gil countered.

“Touché,” Jefferson concurred, pausing to write something down.

“Even today’s kid shows are better,” Gilbert added, “The Wiggles for example are way more educational than the stuff we used to watch as kids.”

“That’s an interesting example,” Jefferson said, as he found that particular example odd. “Those are shows that one would usually watch with a child that is very young, like a toddler. I thought your kids were in college.”

“They are,” Gil said, “The Wiggles have been around for over 20 years so even my kids watched them when they were younger.”

“But you said today’s shows,” Jefferson reminded him, “That’s the part that I found odd. Why would you watch the Wiggles today?”

Gilbert suddenly clammed up, as if he were caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to be. He even appeared to be angry about it and even got up off the couch and started to walk to the exit.

“I should probably go,” he suddenly said.

“Hang on,” Jefferson said, as he also stood up. “We’re not even halfway through our session. What’s going on here?”

Gil stood in front of the door, and while he had his hand on the handle he appeared to be hesitating. He stood there for a few seconds and then let go of the handle and turned back to face his therapist.

“I can’t tell you,” Gil spit out, “I don’t want to put you in a bad place.”

“What kind of bad place are you talking about, Gil?” Jefferson asked, trying to find common ground. Jefferson felt like he was just pushed out of an airplane and was spinning in free fall. “Talk to me.”

“I can’t,” Gil said, “You’ll rat me out.”

“I would never do that,” Jefferson said, almost insulted at the idea, “I keep everything we say between us. I’d rather rot in jail than break a patient’s confidence.”

“I thought you had to,” Gil said.

“Had to what?” Jefferson asked.

“Aren’t you required to report on me if you knew I was breaking the law?” Gil asked, as he slowly walked back to the center of the room.

“Have you broken the law?” Jefferson asked.

“Technically, yes.” Gil replied.

“Have you hurt anyone physically?” Jefferson then inquired.

“No,” Gil replied, “No one has been physically harmed.”

“Alright,” Jefferson said, taking a deep breath. “We’re now getting into what I call a moral grey area of that rule. Technically I am only allowed to report you if I believe you are about to harm someone or yourself. Like if I had knowledge that you might try to murder someone or commit suicide.”

“Not that kind of crime,” Gil confirmed, “This law I’m breaking is total bullshit to begin with. How it’s still in the books at all is just wrong itself.”

“Look, I talk to people who break the law all the time,” Jefferson admitted. “I talk with people who do drugs, and that’s technically a crime. I tell them not to do it, and encourage them to get their asses to rehab, but they still do shoot up or what not. I’m not required to narc on them and I don’t because jail doesn’t help them break their addictions and is even counterproductive. Are you doing drugs, Gil?”

“No!” Gil said, almost offended by the question. “I’m not doing drugs.”

“Then what did you do?” Jefferson asked, “I can’t help you if I’m driving blind here. Odds are we’re going to run off the road and crash. Talk to me Gil, what the hell did you do?”

“Alright,” Gil said, as he paced the room a bit. “I got married.”

“You got married,” Jefferson said, thinking about it. “I don’t think that’s illegal, Gil.”

“It is illegal,” Gil corrected, “If you’re already married to someone else.”

There was an awkward silence between the two men as the stood there, looking at one another. Gil was allowing the impact of his statement to set in and gave Jefferson all the time he needed to process it. Gil was in fact breaking the law, but the matter in question was far more complicated than that. Jefferson didn’t respond quickly but instead returned to his chair and sat down. He waved to the other chair and encouraged Gil to do the same, which he did without question. The two men sat there in their chairs and shared another round of silence, but this time it was genuine and not a childish standoff like it usually was. Finally after a few minutes, Jefferson broke the silence again.

“Alright,” he started, tossing the notepad aside. “You’re a bigamist.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Gil said, smiling at the notion. “Another person might call it polygamy, or even adultery.”

“Let’s leave god and religion out of this for the time being,” Jefferson said, waving off that thought. “I usually prefer to keep my sessions focused in the temporal plane of existence, thank you.”

“Is that so,” Gil said, again surprised. “Are you an atheist?”

“And what if I am,” Jefferson replied, “Does that change anything?”

“Not at all,” Gil answered, “If anything you might be the right person to speak about this with.”

“How so?” Jefferson inquired.

“Like you said,” Gil said, “We can leave religion and the almighty out of the discussion. The less self righteous judgement there is during this conversation the better if you ask me.”

“Are you a religious person, Gil?” Jefferson asked. “Do you think there is an almighty who might send you to hell for having more than one wife?”

“Not really,” Gil admitted, “I think all that is above my paygrade.”

“Just out of curiosity,” Jefferson added, “Am I correct to assume you have two wives? We’re not talking about three or four here, right?”

“God, no.” Gil said, “Just two. I don’t think I could handle more than that. Two is enough, trust me.”

“I believe you,” Jefferson concurred, “I can barely handle one, and that one crashed and burned.”

“Divorced?” Gil asked.

“I’m afraid so,” Jefferson confirmed, “So in God’s eyes we’re both sinners.”

“I thought we were leaving him out of this?” Gil reminded his therapist.

“We are,” Jefferson agreed, “She can fuck right off for all I care.”

“She?” Gil repeated.

“I know, it’s not right to assume anyone’s gender these days.” Jefferson said, “I guess we should allow even god to be whatever he/she/they want. For all we know, god is gender fluid.”

“Or gay.” Gil added with a laugh.

“Maybe,” Jefferson said, also laughing but that soon stopped. “Alright Gil, talk to me here. How long have you been married to this other woman?”

“A while,” Gil answered, “Eight years.”

“Eight years??” Jefferson repeated, actually impressed. “That’s a few years longer than we’ve been talking. Does Wendy know anything about this?”

“No, she has no idea.” Gil said, “And neither does Gabby.”

“Gabby,” Jefferson again repeated, “That’s the second wife, right?”

“Yes, wife number two.” Gil confirmed, “Go on; tell me what an immoral piece of shit I am. That I’m a degenerate for doing such a terrible thing.”

“Come on, Gil.” Jefferson said, sighing. “I don’t think that of you.”

“Are you sure?” Gil asked, “Because sometimes I do.”

“Answer this for me,” Jefferson started, “Do you take care of your wives? Do you provide them with a roof over their head, and a fridge full of food?”

“Yes, of course.” Gil answered.

“And the kids,” Jefferson continued, “Are they taken care of?”

“Absolutely,” Gil replied, “I work myself into the ground to make sure the have everything they need.”

“Then why would I judge you?” Jefferson said, “You’re a good husband and an even better father. You’re just pulling double shifts. Holy crap, Gil, how many kids do you have?”

“Seven,” Gil answered.

“Seven?” Jefferson repeated. “I know you have three boys with Wendy, and four with the other woman?”

“That’s correct,” Gil confirmed, “Two boys and two girls.”

“Wow,” Jefferson said, thinking about how full Gil’s plate was. “That is a lot of responsibility for one man to carry. How do you do it?”

“That’s complicated,” Gil said, “Sometimes it’s very difficult.”

“That’s an understatement.” Jefferson added, “How have you not driven yourself mad with two families? How do they not know about one another?”

“Different towns,” Gil answered, “One family lives here and is local, while the other is a three hour commute north.”

“So that’s how you’re doing it,” Jefferson said, as he figured it out. “Your other family lives in another state. Three hours north crosses the state line. You have two marriages, but each one is registered with a different state."

“Winner, winner, chicken dinner.” Gil said, even tempted to applaud.

“What do you tell the other family when you’re away?” Jefferson asked.

“Both families are under the impression that I’m on the road,” Gil explained, “That I spend half of my time at the office and the other half on the road, when in fact I’m spending all my time at the office and just sleeping at the other house when one family thinks I’m on the road.”

“That’s amazing,” Jefferson complimented, “Ingenious, actually.”

“Thank you,” Gil said, not expecting that response.

“But what you’ve actually built is a house of cards,” Jefferson said, suddenly changing direction. “All it takes is one mistake, or one card to be removed and if it’s the wrong card, everything will come tumbling down.”

“Are you going to remove that card?” Gil asked.

“No,” Jefferson said, making himself perfectly clear. “As long as you are not going to harm anyone, or yourself, then I have no ethical reason to notify the authorities of your criminal activity. That doesn’t mean that I approve of what you’re doing. To be honest, I’m not sure what to think of it. I’ve never met someone who has more than one wife before. I’ve read about it in books, stuff about morons in Utah and what not, but I’ve never actually met someone who committed the act. People do get married more than once, I get that. I’ve been tempted to try again, it just never occurred to me to do more than one at a time. You can say I’ve been programed to think that such an act is immoral.”

“A lot of people are programmed that way,” Gil added, “Sometimes I feel that way about it. I feel guilty for doing it.”

“That’s a shame,” Jefferson said, “You shouldn’t have to feel guilty about loving someone. The fact that you managed to hit the jackpot twice is something to be celebrated, not shamed and ridiculed.”

“You really think so?” Gil asked, as he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He just expected his therapist to lecture and scold him.

“I need time to unpack this,” Jefferson confessed, “You’ve clearly given me a lot to think about.”

“You have too,” Gil confessed, “Now I’m starting to wish I didn’t waste the first ten minutes.”

“I told you,” Jefferson said, as he loved to be proven right. “And another thing: if you have two families, how the hell do you have time for television?”