Warm Whiskey in a Cold Ditch: #21

A problem I had with Dr. Fay was that I could not tell her all the things I wanted to be heard. At some level she must have sensed this--an inability to confide such things as, yes, I was quite fearful of many things. I would often lead her to just far enough in one direction to make her forget about something else, recognizing early that adults search for specifics and are easily distracted by tangents. "How is school?" and "how are things at home?" were her two most common lead-ins, and I would give her a few pieces more than "fine" even when things were not fine.

Sitting alone on the motionless prison of a train, I wondered about Dr. Fay. Not long after I told my parents I would not see her again, Dr. Fay apparently got married and started a family of her own. I often felt pity for her children, for how good could childhood be if your mother is trained to always seek out problems even when there might be none? Still, I thought I might enjoy having her see me as an adult. I would ask her if I had turned out as she had expected, or if I had somehow surprised her. I squinted into the shaded window glass and put my teeth against my tongue in a week attempt to mimic her lisp.

"You sound like a god damned snake," Steven said as he plopped into the seat beside me. He thought it was funny when he startled me enough for my head to bounce off the thick glass.

"Asshole," I said. "Where have you been?"

"Talking to Cousin Mark. He's going as batty as you are right now. Says if the train doesn't move soon, he's going to, and I loosely quote, "sue the fucking wheels off of Amtrak for the mental distress of my not being able to give my parents a proper burial."

"He's a college professor," I said.

"Exactly. Not much of a legal menace, is he."

"Where are Dad and Margie?"

"Playing cards again. They won three bags of corn nuts off of Mark before he quit."

"I was thinking of Dr. Fay," I said. I put my tongue against the back of my teeth again but did not hiss.

"Did you know that I saw her a couple of times?"

"You?"

"Yep. Mom and Dad thought it'd be a good idea if someone who knew you really well talked to her."

"Shit."

"That's pretty much what I said. I tried to beg off by saying that I hardly knew you."

"Was I really that much of a head-case?"

"No more than the rest of us were, I don't think. Or are, I guess. You want to know what I told her?"

"Think it'll damage my sensitive psyche?"

"I'll risk it. I told her that I thought you just liked being alone. That you didn't hate anyone, and that you only wanted to do things in a different way. Mom and Dad were worried, so you can't blame them."

"I don't. Dad said it was mostly Mom's idea."

My brother shrugged. "Maybe. I always thought it was the other way around. Mom's always been the type to let problems solve themselves."

"I was a problem?"

"Not to me. We were all glad when Peggy came along, though. She could handle you pretty well, we thought."

He was right about that. "What about Margie--she have to see Dr. Fay, too?"

"I don't know. Divide-and-conquer sometimes works best when nobody knows what's going on."

"We need to get this train moving," I said. "I mean it." My leg was shaking and I could not stop it.

"A couple hundred people are thinking the same thing. Mark said he saw a little scuffle in the dining car. Nerves are frayed."

I wanted to say something about how I'd come to understand why an animal would chew its mouth bloody when it's trapped in a cage even when there's isn't a chance of escape, even when it knows there's no chance of escape.

"You know," Steven said as he set his hand on my vibrating knee and pushed downward, "we weren't afraid that you were crazy, but that you were determined to make yourself so. You just need to calm down, now. This will all be good."

Part of me knew he was right.

"Let me see the notebook," he said as he reclined his seat.

I handed him the Rhodia.

"You read the entire thing?"

"Not even close," I said.

"It's story time. Listen to this. Some guy named Kominski wrote it. It's part of something longer."

While he lit the candles, she took two painted masks from the wall, placing one on each of their faces. She pulled back the drapes, opened the window, and looked out at the night framing a full moon.

Together, they lifted up the television and gently pushed it out of the third floor window onto the street below.

It took a long while to hit bottom.

The crash and the following silence would stay with them like an unemployed relative--for a long time.

Without a word, they took off the masks, then each other's clothes piece by piece, letting them drop to the floor. Bathed in the moonlight, they danced together slowly, their mouths drinking the elixir of love, their hands gripping and kneading whatever was available.

He closed the Rhodia and handed it back. "I wonder what that's about."

"It's about love," I said.

"Yeah," Steven said, "but isn't everything?"