Warm Whiskey in a Cold Ditch: #23

One winter afternoon Dr. Fay asked me what I imagined myself being as an adult. "Do you ever think about it?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," I said. And, frankly, I hadn't imagined much for myself. The previous few weeks had been gray and snowy, and since we'd had so many days off of school I had spent most of my time outside. During some light snow flurries one afternoon I hid my .BB gun beneath my heavy coat and walked Sam, our half-blind mutt, into the middle of the nearby cornfield where the short stalks were mostly hidden by drifts. In one bare patch Sam flushed a pheasant, and I shouldered my .BB gun, shot, and I watched as the .BB itself curved to the right many yards behind the bird's tail feathers. Before then I had not fired a gun at anything in motion, and I had not yet learned the art of leading the target. Even sitting on the train today I can smell the cold air of that day and see Sam silhouetted against the snow as he bounced through the snow in pursuit of the pheasant, as I cocked the gun and hoped for another shot.

"What would you like to do when you grow up?" Dr. Fay continued.

"I really don't know," I said. My sister had known early that she wanted to be a doctor, and my brother was sure that he would be a professional baseball player. I had always been impressed with how sales clerks worked cash registers, though I didn't think that Dr. Fay would've accepted that I wanted to be a sales clerk.

"Well, that's okay," she said. "How is school going?"

This was easy. "It's nice having so many snow-days," I said.

"What have you been doing every day that you're home?"

"Going outside, mostly. I like to be outside when things are quiet and covered up like they are during the winter."

"A lot of people spend their entire lives outside," Dr. Fay said.

"That sounds good to me," I said. "But why do you keep talking about what I want to be when I grow up, or what I can do?"

She smiled. "I'm just trying to find out what interests you."

"Being outside, then," I told her. "I'd like to be outside most of the time." This was true enough, but I also hoped it would put the doctor off the scent. I could look through the window beyond Dr. Fay's right shoulder and see that the snow was falling again--full, thick flakes. This meant that Steven and I would have to shovel the driveway and sidewalks clear that afternoon, but we had developed a system that got us done quickly and would give us time for something else afterward.

"I want to ask you something else," Dr. Fay said in a tone that made me realize she wanted me back from the distractions on the other side of the glass.

"Okay," I said. And I knew she was serious because of how she lisped each "s" in the statement.

"Do you think it's worthwhile, coming here and talking to me?"

This seemed like a trap, and once again I was caught wondering what she wanted me to say. "I don't mind it," I said, which was true enough. But she wasn't giving up as easily as she usually did.

"I want you to not just 'mind it'; I want you to think it's helpful for you." She was firm.

As much as I wanted to look at the falling snow, I refused the urge and instead looked directly at her. Years later, Peggy would speak to me in much the same way when I sounded unsure or even fearful. "I think it's helpful," I said. "I like talking with you. I'm just never sure of what I'm supposed to say."

She softened. "You aren't supposed to say anything. I just don't want you to be afraid of our conversations. I'm not trying to hurt you or make you feel uncomfortable."

"You don't hurt me," I said, but I could not commit to feeling comfortable.

As my father and I drove home later, I looked through the window of his Ford Falcon and felt the vibration of snow tires on the packed snow. The snow was still falling, and as we passed the field where Sam and I had encountered, the pheasant, I noticed that the cornstalks were now completely covered. The snow was still falling, and as we turned down the street we lived on, Steven was already outside shoveling.

"Your brother's crazy for not waiting for you to get home," my father said as the rear wheels momentarily lost traction on the slight slope of our driveway. Steven opened the garage door for so my father could park the Falcon, and when I got out of the car my brother handed me a shovel.

"Let me get my boots on," I said. We cleared the sidewalk and driveway quickly, and we rested for a minute to catch our breath and admire our work. When I looked to the house, I could see my parents and sister staring at us through the living room window, gesturing for us to come inside.