Bates Dining Hall News Today

Sunken into the swollen faux leather chair, I wallow. It’s a dark February night in 2018. My therapist, Sue, is getting restless. “I’m going to go out for dinner, do you want to come with me?” It takes me a while to answer. “Ok.” Sue putters about the apartment. I stay in the office of mismatched furniture, piles of paper, her dogs’ pee pad, and the shelves of books. When she appears in her coat, we go down the service elevator, out into the wind. We turn right on the cobbled Bond...