My clothes are laid out on the bed ready to go. I pull on the boxer briefs and pull out the elastic in the thighs as my legs are built well and these skinny things would just cut off the circulation if left unchecked. A nice pair of slacks and polo follow. Little bit of deodorant and my favorite watch and I’m ready to go.
I dust off the seat to the truck so I don’t mess up my clothes then sit. The drive is quick. She’s only a few blocks away by the local cemetery, just a great place for a shrink. Pulling in, I park the truck and crack the window for my weekly ritual. Lighting that cigarette calms the nerves and helps to come up with the courage to speak to her again. I can’t even count the number of sessions I’ve missed because of my down days, but I’m trying to put that behind me. This year of therapy has been exciting and unnerving. She’s really helped me break through my issues and embrace them, giving me a new ray of light to focus on. I just hope it’s not all for nothing.
Finished now, I put out the butt and walk into the reception area. No need to check in, everyone here knows who I am. Sitting quietly in the corner I listen to the soft background music and my legs begin to shake. It’s just an hour then I can move on with the rest of my week.
She comes out three minutes early, and I see her approaching around the corner. Black flats and nylons and a black skirt with white blouse complete the look.
“Ben,” she beckons. I brace myself on the chair and manage to get up slowly with anxiety and weakness. Following Dr. Schuder I tower over her and can clearly see the office at the end of the hall before us.
A loveseat sat along the wall in the office to the right next to a huge floor to ceiling window. The window overlooked the river behind the building and a lazy willow tree would sway its long reaching branches with the breeze. I sit on the love seat and stare out the window. Dr. Schuder sits across from me in an old eighteenth-century chair.
“So how was your week Ben?” I look back away from the window and towards Dr. Schuder. I don’t know why, but half the time I have trouble staring at her face so I usually end up looking down or out the window at the river. This time isn’t so hard though as I stare up at her.
“Today went pretty well. I got up early this morning and went over to Edward’s and picked up a couple fishing poles for me and Hadley.”
“So you spent time with Hadley again this week?”
“Yeah, Matt too. All the times are good though. We really just enjoy each others company and do fun things together. This morning I got a BB gun for Matt, and I taught him how to shoot. I haven’t actually got him the BB gun yet though.”
“Okay and the rest of the week?”
“I don’t really remember much of the rest of the week.” What the hell was I doing all week before yesterday?
“Were you drinking again the rest of the week?”
“Oh yeah, that’s why I don’t remember,” I thought.
“Yeah, I’ve been locking everything up though like we’ve talked about so it’s been safe drinking.” I pause. “It’s still probably too much.I don’t go out anymore to drink so I keep it in the house and I’ve been trying to limit myself to six hard drinks a day.” Sounds like a lot but I used to go through a handle and a half a day to keep myself from going crazy with my thoughts. Now I drink to keep that warm buzz that helps me keep my dreams pleasant.
“Okay, well you know I’m going to tell you to keep on trying to cut back. Remember you promised to be sober before you try taking your next steps,” her voice has this soothing rhythm and my anxieties melt. This is why I keep coming. There’s just something about her. I know I have no chance to get with her but it’s still just a pleasant relationship with a woman and I know I need that to keep my shit together.
“Yeah I know, there’s still time. I won’t try anything until I’m all there.” “Good,” she agrees. “Let’s move on. How’s your hygiene been?”
“I’ve showered enough but still don’t brush my teeth nearly as much as I should. I know I have cavities, but I’m nervous about what the dentist will say. So I’m still avoiding making that appointment.”
“Well then you should know what I’m going to tell you your homework is.”
“Yes, work on getting that appointment set and follow through with it.” “That’s right. So have you been telling anyone about what you’ve been doing with Hadley and Matt?”
“Just Ed. He’s like my guy therapist and gets it. I don’t think he tells nobody because I never get those weird stares from his customers when they come in. They just act normal and we wait for them to leave to continue our conversations.”
“That’s good. I’m glad you have someone supportive to talk to outside of me. Sounds like he’s been helping you get through a lot of this?”
“Yeah, he’s been great but I’m careful not to unload too much on him.”
“That’s good, but if you need to unload more remember you can always vent on a voicemail to me or send me an e-mail. I’ve always been good about getting back to you quickly.”
“Yeah, thanks for that. It has been a while though. I think things will be getting better. It’s getting easier to accept and live with now. Still hard because there’s nothing more I can do but easier to live with.”
“Okay. Now we’re going to try an exercise and it may be hard for you.”
“Just great," I thought.
“I want you to close your eyes and imagine people talking about Hadley and Matt. They’re not talking about them negatively but are just chatting about stuff they had done. How does that make you feel?” She hit that spot; she always does. My eyes water, and I begin to cry. I just sit there unable to answer the question. Opening my mouth I try to tell her “sad” but nothing comes out. She reaches out and places her hand on my hand that is resting on my knee. It takes a couple minutes to collect myself.
“It’s okay,” she soothes. “Now remember that can actually happen. If you’re not ready for it I still want you to be spending more time at home until you're ready. Just make sure Ed or someone is stopping by to check in on you, especially if you miss an appointment with me because I’ll be calling so you need to answer your phone. No ignoring it if it’s me, okay?”
“Okay,” I manage. We talk a little more about the events I had this week with Hadley and Matt to get myself back to a happier place but that sadness still lingers and never really went away. Soon the session is over and I say my good-byes and thank you’s to Dr. Schuder. She lets me give her a brief hug and then we part.
Walking out I feel a refreshed sadness and know I have to go do something. I drive around town with the windows down until I come across Maybell’s flower shop. There’s an older lady outside checking out the hostas so I pull in. I browse through there selection outside but see nothing of interest, so I go into the shop.
There’s cacti and bamboo plants all over the place. I thought this was a flower shop. Then I spotted the cold room in the back where all the beauties were hiding. Walking into the chilled section I regret for the first time today not grabbing my coat. A cheerful young girl with an apron approaches and asks if I need any help.
“No thank you, just browsing,” I reply.
I take a deep breath and enjoy the intoxicating smell. It reminds me of women. So gentle to the touch and invigorating. I imagine one breathing on my neck and her sweet scent drifting up to my nostrils. Opening my eyes I stare at the roses. Very cliche, but pretty in all their colors nonetheless. Quickly passing over them I move down the aisle towards more of the wildflower type and come across a bouquet of daisies, Hadley’s favorite. Picking up the bouquet I inspect their liveliness and am satisfied.
Giving one last breath to the frigid air I watch the steam drift away and evaporate then step out of the chilled box into the main store. The young girl is waiting for me behind the register.
“Find everything you were looking for?” she asks.
“Yeah, just these.” I set the bouquet down in front of her. She rings me up and I glance at her name tag, Ashle
y. She gives me my change and and tells me to have a good day.
“Thank you, you too Ashley,” I respond. See seems startled that I knew her name so I point to her name tag and we both laugh. “Have a good one,” I tell her walking away with a wave of my hand.
The truck's still running, oops. Oh well, there’s worse things I could have done. Jumping in the truck I head out towards the horizon for a thirty-minute drive.
There’s a bunch of newer cars and trucks on the highway, but I like my old beater. There’s just something about not having a car payment and being able to spend that money on other things. Getting off the freeway I take a quiet country road for seven miles until I come across a small village. The forest soon envelops me as I shoot passed the small town and into the boondocks.
A couple more miles and I slow down to take an old dirt road through the thickest part of the woods. It’s still sunny out, but everything is shaded green in here.
I turn off the radio as I approach the cemetery. My heart begins to pound in my chest and my throat swells. Parking outside the gates, I pick up the daisies and start my stumble into the grave yard.
I enjoy looking at all the headstones and try to piece families together. I pass a large angel which marks the grave of a little girl who was only four years old when she passed from cancer. Not having that kind of money, I had to settle on basic headstones for my family.
Making my way through, I avoid their section for a while to muster up the willpower to approach. Many of the graves have flowers on them, but there are many which are rotten from not being tended to regularly, lack of visitors. Either they had been long forgotten by their family or were typically just loners like myself.
Then the courage floods me, and I turn around to make my approach. It takes but a few moments to approach the two graves. I lay down the flowers at the first headstone, Dolores Curry, my mother. Laying next to her is Charles Curry, my father. The final dates of the headstones are the same as they both went out together in a t-bone collision on the country road I had just driven. Some young teenagers were flooring it doing over a hundred and ran the one stop sign on the road. My parents had no stop sign and drove the road a hundred times to visit family here when they were taken out.
I take a daisy from my mother’s bouquet and place it on my fathers grave. Giving both of their stones kisses I sit there for a few moments praying for them to give me strength, and then I get up with more tears. Too many tears have been shed by a man my age, but such is life.
Making the walk back to the truck I have a new beat as I have again paid my respects and cleared my head.
Once again jamming, I head back into town and grab some drive-thru fried chicken to eat at home. I get there soon and fill my belly while watching the local baseball game on the telly. Thoughts of the day buzz through my head and I am soon drinking again to slow them down. We’ll work on the cutbacks tomorrow.
The sports program is boring, and I soon begin to tire. I’m sure to save enough of myself to crawl into a real bed tonight and crawl under the cool covers from the open window. Having a thing for always being connected to nature is nice but can sometimes be darn chilly on these October nights. So I grab an extra comforter and throw it on the bed before crawling in because screw closing that fresh window. The blankets warm with my body heat, and I am soon again drifting out.
4
They’re both there, Matt and Hadley, coloring while laying on the floor. Both are filling in the mandalas from the coloring book I got them. Matt is using a variety of blues and yellows like the local football team that he one day wants to play on. Hadley on the other hand is using the rainbow, starting from the inside of the intricate circles slowly working her way out in a kaleidoscope of colors. Watching them, I turn on the radio to some easy listening music.
Hadley begins to get frustrated by the tiny spaces in between the lines so I crawl from the couch onto the floor and lay on my stomach between the two of them. Matt doesn’t really care that he’s going outside the lines a little bit. I look at his paper and he’s more concentrated on getting done and getting the general shape correct.
I pull over the book from across from me and start to flip through the pages looking for the most difficult one. Finding one with tiny lines that I know I can’t even stay in with the crayons we have I decide it’s perfect and tear the page out. The colorless paper is set on the hardwood in front of me and I choose a purple crayon and begin sharpening it; Hadley is watching me closely now.
The shavings are blown off, and I very slowly bring the crayon to the paper. Trying to stay inside the lines Hadley watches as I fail to do so.
“Dad, you're supposed to stay inside the lines,” Hadley points out.
“Yes, you're right. Watch as I fix it,” taking a new color from the box I sharpen it as well and begin on the second ring of the mandala. “Now watch where I went outside the lines,” I take the deeper colored crayon and fill in my mistakes. “See all you need to do is go over it with a darker color,” Hadley immediately searches the crayon box and pulls out a dark blue then begins to fill in her mistakes on the next ring. She smiles and then lifts up her drawing for me to see. “Good job, now let us work on filling in the rest,” she nods and we lay there for about five minutes before Matt jumps up.
“I’m done,” he states showing us the paper with obvious circles just going right through the lines with no cares, but the design itself still made it look decent. Me and Hadley look at each other. I raise my finger to my lips to indicate her to be quiet about going outside the lines and then take my hand back and look at Matt. “Nice,” I tell him.
“Can I go upstairs now and play?” he asks. I sigh a little because I wanted to spend more time with him too but relented and told him he could go up.
“Thanks dad,” he set the paper down on the couch and bolted for his room. Recently he has gotten addicted to one of those new handheld video games and it has been a real battle to keep him off the thing. I’ve just been accepting what I can get from him. The footsteps begin to quiet and then stop as Matt pounces on the bed, and then I go back to concentrating on the picture with Hadley.
We happily lay in silence on the floor next to one another with the soft melodies playing and our crayons strewn before us. Hardly making any progress, I keep watching Hadley work her picture, repeating what I showed her whenever she made a mistake. I just hope she doesn’t choose black and makes a mistake with that because there’s no real way I know of to fix that, but thankfully she likes her rainbow array.
Twenty minutes later and she’s done, while I’m only about a third of the way through. Gleaming I walk her into the kitchen and grab a pair of scissors.
“Go ahead and cut it out. Then we’ll post it on the fridge,” I tell her handing the scissors over, tips towards myself.
Hadley takes her project and sits at the table to begin cutting. Checking the fridge I find nothing. So I open the freezer in search of some kind of real meal for us. I spot some pre-made stir fry I only had to heat up on the stove and snapped it out.
Taking my trusty pan, I dump the contents of the bag into in. The stir fry comes right up to the brim but still fits, barely. Setting the stove to low, I turn my attention back to Hadley and walk over to inspect her progress. She cut out a general circle around the mandala and is now carefully cutting out the dozens of small triangles that make up the corners of her art piece.
Letting her get back to work, I find the wooden spoon and add a little water and butter to the pan to moisten things up a bit. The frozen food is locked into an ice block so the simplicity I had planned for just went down the drain. I hate having to tend to it so often, taking off the thawed morsels and moving them around enough so they don’t burn as the rest thaws out.
Since I have more time now I turn on the oven for some home made garlic bread to go with it. Getting the counter ready I grab a generic loaf of white bread, some butter, and the garlic powder.
“All done daddy,” I turn around as Hadle
y stands up sending little triangles of paper that she had cut all over the floor. Smiling at her I praise how good of a job she did and encouraged her to find a spot on the fridge for it.
While Hadley was rearranging the pictures already on the fridge so that her new creation was front and center, I grabbed the broom and dustpan to take care of the little mess before she noticed. As I dump out the dustpan into the trash Hadley approaches from behind.
“Watcha doing?” she asks.
“Oh nothing, the picture looks great there.”
“Thank you.”
“Can you do me a favor and pick up your scraps from the table? Be careful not to let them fall.”
“Sure,” Hadley goes over to the table and starts picking up the rest of her project. I turn to the counter and begin buttering a sheet full of bread. Finished with her clean up Hadley grabs a chair and brings it over next to me then climbs up.
“Is there anything I can help with?” asks Hadley.
“There is one thing,” I take off the top to the garlic powder and and it to her. “How about you shake the garlic on, just a little bit though.Treat it like salt, if there’s too much one it’ll taste weird and we won’t want to eat it.”
“But I like lots of salt.”
“Then pretend it’s broccoli flakes,” she turns in her nose and very gently begins to tap out the powder onto each slice. Going back to the stove, I again remove the thawed pieces, stirring them about and then force the last large mass of frozenness into smaller pieces so that it cooks quicker. The oven buzzer goes off indicating it’s preheated so I go to check on Hadley’s progress.
She lightly finishes the last piece. “Nicely done,” I tell her and pick up the sheet of garlic bread and garlic powder. She shook so lightly that I quickly put the sheet behind her back and shake on a little more before walking over to the oven.
The garlic bread is now in, and I set the timer to five minutes. I sit down at the table after putting the stove burner to a simmer as the frozen chunks were now dissipated. Hadley pushes her chair back then runs out the back door.
A Father's Dreams Page 4