by Kelly Fordon
“Very true,” Corinne said to Gerard.
“You’ll be really surprised how moving this is,” he said. “Last time I did Constellation Work, I cried nonstop.”
Great, Corinne thought. I haven’t done that in a while.
Two hours later, after the rest of the guests had arrived, Anne announced that it was time to get to work, and one by one they all traipsed up the stairs to the second-floor great room. The far wall comprised floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lake. Anne had positioned a dozen dining room and folding chairs in a circle in front of the window.
The therapists fanned out: Bryce and Gretchen sat in the farthest corner, followed by Gerard, Anne, Corinne, a young therapist named Ruby, and an older grandmotherly therapist named Estelle, who worked in a halfway house for opioid addicts in Cleveland. Corinne had followed everyone upstairs because she couldn’t think of a way to politely decline, and she was curious to see how this all played out. After a decent interval, she planned to say she had a headache and retreat to her room.
The group leaders, Dan and Oona Marks, introduced themselves. They were young, close to Scott’s age. They looked like people who either exercised for a living or lived to exercise. Both wore black yoga pants and matching black tops, stomachs iron flat. Oona’s red hair was cinched into a ponytail that threatened to splinter her face. Dan reminded Corinne of the hirsute barista at her local Starbucks, the one who looked like he was trying out for a part on Little House on the Prairie. One time, when she and Ethan were in Starbucks and she’d dropped a dollar in the tip jar, Ethan had said, “Soon he’ll have enough for the butter churn.”
Oona and Dan had moved their chairs directly in front of the picture window as if they were deliberately trying to block the view. Beyond them on the rusty dock, the shorebirds continued their vigil. Out of nowhere, Corinne remembered the only fact she had retained from her shorebirds class. Shorebirds congregate on the shores of Lake Erie before migration because they are working up the nerve to traverse the long stretch of open water. “It’s the fact that they can’t see across the water that stymies them,” the instructor had said. “It literally stops them in their tracks until the weather shifts and they have no choice but to brave it.”
Dan said he would like to go around the circle for introductions. “I’ll start,” he said. “Oona and I have been married for five years, and we just started discussing kids. I expect that discussion will take another five years.” He looked at Oona, and she rolled her eyes. Everyone half-laughed.
Dan explained that Constellation Work is a tool for uncovering unhealthy family dynamics, which sometimes span generations. It was created by a German man named Bert Hellinger, who had modeled the technique after a tribal ritual he’d witnessed in Africa.
“Essentially,” Dan said, “it’s role-play. Just think of it as a way to work through your relationship problems via us.” He got up from his chair and began walking slowly around the circle with his hands clasped behind his back. “Now, I can’t promise everyone will get a turn, but I will try to be fair. Why don’t you all tell me a little bit about your issues.”
Estelle said she was working with opioid addicts and she was weary of “the endless loop.” Gerard admitted that he was tired of his sex-addicted patients, who made him feel profoundly lonely. “I’m old enough that sex has lost its appeal, which doesn’t help,” he added. “I keep thinking, just get over it already.”
Gretchen and Bryce said they thought witnessing each other’s constellations would help with some of their long-term relationship issues and more directly connect them to the LGBTQ kids at the center.
Anne said she needed to know how to cope with her workaholic husband.
Ruby said she wanted to cast off the shadow of alcoholism in her family. “I may be the only one who doesn’t have it,” she said, and then, in an ominous tone, added, “Yet.”
When they turned their attention to Corinne, she said she was Anne’s guest, and she was just there to observe. Everyone nodded. Corinne couldn’t tell if they were nodding to say this was fine and they would let her be, or it was fine for now, but they would make it their mission to draw her out.
After the introductions, Dan patted the rectangular box in his lap, then opened it and produced a small crystal, which he placed on the floor in the middle of the room.
“To ground us,” he said.
Corinne fought a smile. She looked over at Anne, but thankfully, Anne was turned the other way.
After he had circled the room a couple times, he stopped in front of Ruby. “I think I’m picking up something right here,” he said, using his pointer finger to draw a circle in the air in front of Ruby.
Fearing she might laugh, Corinne fixed her concentration on the window. Another freighter had appeared along the horizon, everyone onboard oblivious to this absurdity.
Ruby said on top of the legacy of alcoholism, she couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for her patients, some of whom were suicidal. She was afraid her ennui might prove fatal if she didn’t get it under control.
Dan bobbed his head as Ruby explained that her mother had often cut her down when she was drunk, and when she wasn’t doing that, she ignored her.
Bobbing is a feature of the solitary sandpiper, Corinne suddenly remembered, surprising herself with a second shorebird factoid. “Score!” she wanted to yell. If only Ethan were there to give her a high five.
“Can you pick someone to play her?” Dan said when Ruby was finished dismantling her mother.
Ruby pointed to Anne. Dan asked Anne to join them in the center of the room.
“Just place your hands on Anne’s shoulders and lead her to the place in the room that you want your mother to occupy,” Dan said.
Ruby steered Anne to the far right corner of the room, as far as Anne could go without toppling down the staircase. Then she turned Anne around so that she was facing the window, her back toward the room.
Holy cow, Corinne thought. Ruby must really hate her mother to corner her like that. Scott had gone through a similar phase in tenth grade. Every time she opened her mouth, he’d yell, “Don’t talk to me!” Now, Corinne realized that the same dynamic might play out ad infinitum, decades after high school. Great news.
“Now, pick someone to play your maternal grandmother,” Dan said.
Corinne tried to avoid catching her eye, but Ruby homed in on her anyway.
When Corinne didn’t move, Dan said, “I should have mentioned at the beginning, people who are chosen to be in the constellation can always say no.”
Corinne looked at all the therapists staring at her. How could she say no? She was stuck with these nincompoops for the entire weekend. Reluctantly, she got up from her chair.
Ruby placed Corinne at the opposite end of the room, as far as she could possibly be from Anne/mom. And unlike Anne/mom, Corinne/grandma was allowed to face the group instead of the window. She would have preferred to scan for shorebirds than stare out at the circle of therapists who stared back at her beady-eyed, a little like the wake of vultures that lined Anne’s deck railing some mornings scouting for carcasses.
Bryce was picked to play Ruby’s father, and Ruby positioned her in the middle of the room like the Washington Monument. Gretchen was given the role of Ruby’s maternal grandfather, and she was stationed to the left of Bryce.
Typical, Corinne thought, putting the men in the middle.
“Now choose someone to play you, Ruby,” Dan said.
There was no one left except the old woman, Estelle. When Ruby motioned to her, Estelle stood up and shuffled onto what Corinne had started to think of as the stage. Ruby placed Estelle directly in front of Bryce.
Dan directed the real Ruby to sit back down on the couch, then he made his way from actor to actor, peering into each face before moving on to the next person.
“The first thing I notice is that Dad here,” he pointed to Bryce, “is in the middle of the room. He’s taller than everyone else, and he’s the only one looking ou
t over the whole gathering. He’s the epicenter. Granddad is here to his left, almost as powerful.”
“Pop,” Ruby said from her chair. “We called him Pop.”
“OK. Remember, no interruptions,” Dan said to her.
He turned back to the actors. “We have Mom over in the corner just looking out the window, kind of disengaged. She can’t even see what’s going on. Grandma is way over on the other side of the room, and here’s Ruby. Ruby is here with the men. She’s put herself in a powerful position.”
Dan went over to Anne and said, “How are you feeling, Mom?”
Corinne heard Anne’s voice falter. “I’m just so sad over here staring out the window. I can’t see my mother. I can’t see my daughter. I can’t see anyone. And for some reason, knowing that my husband is in the middle of the room is making me absolutely furious.”
“Interesting,” Dan said.
Corinne glanced over at the real Ruby. She was sitting on the couch cross-legged with her mouth open.
Dan walked over to Bryce. “How are you feeling, Dad?” Dan asked.
“Well, I’m in charge. I’m feeling pretty powerful here in the center of the room, but I can’t help feeling sad, too. Everyone is so far away except for Pop here.” Bryce pointed her thumb at Gretchen.
“How about you, Pop?” Dan said. “What’s going on with you?”
“I feel like my wife doesn’t love me. She’s standing behind me, way over there in the corner of the room, and she’s just staring out the window.” Gretchen’s voice wavered as if she were about to cry.
“That’s not your wife,” Dan said. “That’s your daughter. Your wife is pretty far away, but she is looking at you.”
“Right,” Gretchen said. “Well, I’m still pretty ticked off. My daughter won’t even look at me. My wife is looking at me, but I can’t reach her.” At that, she burst into tears.
Corinne looked over at Ruby. Her mouth was still open, tears running down her cheeks.
Gretchen stood in the center of the room, swaying back and forth, crying silently.
This has got to be a joke, Corinne thought.
Even though she tried to will him away, Dan approached her next. “How are you, Grandma?” he asked.
“I keep thinking, what in the world am I doing here?” Corinne said.
Dan nodded his head. “At some point in life, that’s a question we all ask ourselves, don’t we?”
Next up on the constellation rotation was Gretchen, who had to deal with her religious mother played by Anne. Then Estelle, whose daughter wouldn’t speak to her. Estelle positioned her daughter, played by Corinne, in front of her mother, played by Anne, and her grandma/Ruby, like a long line of dominoes.
Corinne’s mother had not wanted her to marry Ethan. When Corinne told her that she was getting married, her mother had refused to acknowledge the announcement. Ethan lived in Detroit, and Corinne’s mother couldn’t imagine Corinne leaving New York City. Why would anyone in their right mind leave New York? And leaving New York had been hard, her mother was right about that. But Corinne had been happy in Detroit, mostly because of Ethan. Now that she could move anywhere she wanted, she didn’t think location would make a bit of difference. All the greeting cards were right: home is where the heart is. How sappy and sad was that?
When Dan finally made his way over to Corinne, she said, “Thank you, no. I don’t have anything to work on today.”
“But I have the feeling you are in pain,” Dan said. “Perhaps we can try a different technique?”
He turned to Oona. “Would you be willing?” he asked, tilting his head.
Oona sighed and made a face that suggested she would if forced.
“I think you lost someone recently,” Dan said to Corinne.
Corinne looked over at Anne. Anne shrugged and shook her head.
“Yes,” Corinne said.
“Oona is a shaman,” Dan said. “She may be able to reach . . .” He paused and raised his eyebrows.
“Ethan,” Corinne said. “But no, thank you. I don’t need to reach him.”
Oona stood up and walked over to them. “It might help to be able to speak to him.”
“What do you mean speak to him?”
Oona tucked her tiny black T-shirt back into her black leggings. Her legs were as spindly as a sandpiper’s. “Sometimes they come through. Sometimes they don’t. But we can try.”
Everyone stared at Corinne.
“Fine,” Corinne said. If worse came to worst, she’d have a good excuse for belting this woman, and, at the very least, she’d have a funny story to tell Scott.
Oona motioned her over to the middle of the room. She sat down on one side of the crystal and told Corinne to sit on the other side.
“Please don’t disturb us,” Oona said to the group. “I need to remain completely focused.”
Oona took Corinne’s hands and closed her eyes. Corinne stared at her. It would be awful if she started to laugh. Luckily, she didn’t feel like laughing. She didn’t know what she felt. A bit of anger, perhaps, that she’d even entertained the thought: what if this works? Anger that this woman was offering her such false promise. Anger that all the needy people in this room were being duped.
Suddenly Oona wobbled; her eyebrows fluttered, and her entire body shuddered. Her head lowered and her mouth fell open. After a few seconds, she opened her eyes. It looked like she was stoned.
“What’s going on?” she asked, blinking slowly. “Where am I?”
If nothing else, Corinne was impressed by Oona’s acting job. She had managed to misplace some inner light; she looked as vacant as Corinne’s grandmother when the dementia had set in.
Corinne glanced around the room. Anne was perched on the end of her seat as if watching a tennis match. She nodded encouragingly to Corinne.
What was Corinne supposed to say?
“Ethan?” she asked.
“Yes,” Oona said in a breathy whisper.
The fact that Oona had answered yes to Ethan’s name knocked Corinne flat. The nerve of it. This charade was such an awful thing to do to a grieving person, but when Corinne glanced around the room, everyone appeared enthralled. It was truly unbelievable! How gullible would you have to be to buy this crap? If she got up and walked out, would she crush these people? What did she owe them anyway? How long did she have to play along? Out of frustration or anger—she wasn’t sure which—tears started seeping from Corinne’s eyes. She swiped at them with her thumb.
“Ethan?” she asked again.
“Where am I?” Oona asked, continuing with her heavy-lidded gaze.
“You’re dead,” Corinne said. It took everything out of her not to add, faker.
“No, I’m not,” Oona said, shaking her head slowly. “I’m having trouble waking up this morning. It’s too early.”
“You’re not asleep,” Corinne said. As she said it, a hiccup came out. She put a hand up to her mouth. “Excuse me,” she said.
“Excuse you,” Oona said with a spaced-out smile. “Why didn’t you set the alarm?”
“You always set the alarm,” Corinne said. It’s a big deal. It involves a lot of discussion.
“So, why can’t I get up today?” Oona said.
“Because you’re dead! You’re dead! You’re dead,” Corinne hissed. “You died in your sleep. You never woke up!”
From one of the chairs, Corinne heard a gasp.
“I died?” Oona said.
“Yes. You finally got to sleep in! Isn’t that great news? No more yoga!” Corinne laughed, and even to her the laugh sounded hysterical.
Oona shook her head slowly, as if she couldn’t quite accept it or wasn’t hearing correctly or didn’t know what to say next. Of course she doesn’t know what to say next; she’s a fraud.
“At least you don’t have to get up to exercise anymore, Iron Man,” Corinne continued. “At least you’re done answering to the Axman. At least you don’t have to squeegee the second-floor windows this spring. At least you don’t
have to pay for that roof renovation. And just think—no more kale.”
Oona nodded slowly. “True,” she smiled. “That was gross.”
How long could Oona remain unflappable? Corinne decided to kick it up a notch.
“You can eat whatever you want. You can wear your poodle pants all day long. I won’t force you to learn the rumba. M&M heaven, am I right?”
“My poodle pants.” Oona nodded and smiled.
Corinne glanced over at Anne. Anne was frowning.
What in the world were poodle pants? And Ethan despised M&M’s. His little sister had choked once on a peanut M&M. He was the one who’d signed up for the rumba class. He loved dancing. If he’d been in the room, he would have been howling, but Corinne did not think any of this was funny.
“At least you won’t get caught again,” Corinne continued.
“Say what?” Oona said.
“You remember—when the maid caught you in the bathroom with those girlie magazines?”
Oona’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times like one of Ethan’s giant goldfish, the ones who persevered despite abject neglect.
“I think I see something,” Oona said, finally. “It’s a light coming at me.”
“That might be the light from the maid opening the door. Remember when she walked in? You were so embarrassed, but you shouldn’t have been. It’s natural. Well . . . maybe not the scissors. Maybe not the Cheerios and the toothpaste.”
Oona nodded. “But I think I have to go now . . . I think I should go into that light.”
“Lots of people have outlandish proclivities. There was the man who taped himself to a light pole and the one who liked to hang upside down from the rafters like a bat. The old notions of sin are a thing of the past. I don’t think St. Peter’s going to block your way. I don’t think you should be frightened.”
“I was a little frightened,” Oona said.
Oona said this with such intensity that Corinne was jolted briefly out of her game.
“When?” she asked.
“When I died.”