The Entropy Sessions

by Novo Dé

  “He must have been your coping mechanism with the drugs. The father you never had, and at a time when you needed him the most.”

  “The father I never had,” I whisper to myself, growing silent.

  Cohen can clearly see a change on my face.

  “Why don’t we switch gears? We’ll come back, let’s refocus. How was…your health at this time?”

  I pause for a moment again before I answer.

  “I was strung out. Skinny. Too skinny. Heavy bags under my eyes. Pale. Just skins n’ bones. But ah, I didn’t care.”

  “And Juliet, what did she think of all this?”

  “She hated it; hated having to see me that way. But, it was clear she didn’t know what to do.”

  “Why do you think she never spoke up? Tried to get you any professional help? Given her history in the war, she doesn’t strike me as the non-assertive type.”

  “I wanna think it was love. Like she didn’t want to hurt me. But. But it was…probably just the denial again. She may have thought it was just a phase, that, I’d snap out of it. She clearly thought I could do with a little space at the least. I mean, eventually, she just had to keep her distance. But I look back, and man, that’s probably when I needed her the most. Needed her to just…throw me into rehab or somethin.’ As much as I would’ve fought, and screamed, and pleaded.”

  “Do you wish she did?”

  “Sometimes I do. I mean, I wish she woulda done somethin,’ instead of just…nothin.’ I felt…abandoned, y’know, but it was weird, because she was there but not there at the same time.

  So I clung to the only ‘normal’ thing I thought I had left – my job – which was also the one thing I hated more than anything else in the world at the time, as you well know. But I did it because I felt like I had to. Something in the back of my mind just wouldn’t. I thought it was the way back.”

  “But it wasn’t?”

  “No. It probably just made everything worse actually. I mean, a gig like that was a dream come true for an addict. As a glorified baby-sitter, I didn’t have to do shit. I mean, god, it was just so easy. I could do that job higher than a fuckin’ kite doc. I mean it was easy until we got to the unit where we had to interact with the kids again. Then it all went to hell.”

  “That’s when you?”

  I nod, and then grow silent again, as tears fill my eyes, holding my breath.

  “Clearly that’s a subject for another day when you’re ready. Tell me, how was your life, outside of work? Outside of your marriage?”

  I wipe away the light tear-buildup from my eyes.

  “My social life, non-existent, of course. The few friends I had, faded. Colleagues began to distance themselves too, when they saw it, y’know, saw me go through the change. And I, began to shut myself off just as well.

  Except to the people already in the circle; they were the only friends I had then, I had left, if you even wanna call ‘em that,” I pause, and think of Lydia, and a memory of her inviting me into a private room in ‘Limbo’ to sell me a suitcase-worth of no-names. She said I could pay it off in monthly installments. “And I had no hobbies, no stamp collections, no fishing trips, none of that shit. I just had…Anonymous.”

  “I see,” Cohen says nodding. “It clearly…became your world.”

  “My-whole-fuckin’-world doc. I mean, I can’t even remember when I, I, went past Gonzo. When the lifestyle, just became, my lifestyle. Don’t know when it all switched over, when I fell off.

  But still, by then, I didn’t care. I think I wanted it that way, to implode. Kill my life. Kill my world. No longer having to deal with anything real—”

  “Why?”

  “To start again I suppose,” I say, laughing, the idea now so ironic.

  “But doing it that way, don’t you think you would’ve just wound up back at the beginning of the circle?”

  “In hindsight, sure, probably.”

  “And what about Juliet? Clearly you didn’t want to destroy…that? It’s the only thing you’ve mentioned that is contrary to your inability to care, about, almost everything at that point.”

  “No, no, I didn’t want to destroy that. Ya got that right doc. For her, it was more of ah, of ah, sign, that I needed her, and not just for recovery, y’know, I just, I just, needed her is all. A wake up call. Y’know what I mean?”

  And Cohen nods.

  “But it backfired. It went too far; I went too far. I thought she would want to help me, pick up the pieces, but it just drove her further away.” I pause, “I saw that I was losing her, and I snapped.”

  “But clearly you haven’t lost her…entirely…I mean she’s still with you now.”

  “Not yet at least.”

  “Do you think she’ll…?”

  “Leave me?” I quickly return, nodding. “Yeah, eventually. I don’t even know why she still holds on. It’s clearly not love. It’s the only real sin she commits – the inability to accept what she can’t control.”

  “And if and when she does?”

  “Either she stays, and we get to start over, really start over, or she leaves, and, and…”

  “And?” He repeats, leading.

  “I don’t know what would come after that doc. I don’t think I wanna know. Because. Because. I’m afraid she’s gonna leave with someone else.”

  “Perhaps you haven’t thought about the possibility, that, that’s not the end. Or doesn’t have to be.”

  “But it’s not quite the beginning now is it…?”

  Cohen begins to shake his head.

  “No it’s not.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Not something new, but maybe just something else, something better. But ultimately, where it all goes, that’s for you to decide.”

  And I think of Juliet’s warmth, her glow, and her beautiful blues.

  But Cohen brings me back.

  “I’m simply trying to help you prepare for all possible outcomes is all,” he murmurs.

  “But is anyone ever really prepared?”

  “No, no, usually not.”

  “But the preparation does help, no matter the outcome. Better than no preparation at all.”

  “Because I’d most likely have a severe relapse right…?”

  “Precisely.” He pauses, “Or worse.”

  And I nod, knowing exactly what he means.

  “But you know what I really fear doc?”

  And he lets out another hand gesture as I sign that he wants me to continue.

  “That there are no more new beginnings, or endings, or more middle, just this…”

  January 21st, 2052

  You know that old saying, ‘you wouldn’t believe me if I told you?’ Well given the fucked up shit that’s been happening lately, you might just believe this one.

  It would appear that of the few things I have left in this world, even my ritualistic walks are now becoming a slow, creeping plague unto my life.

  I seem to be losing everything it seems.

  Why, you might ask?

  Because. It’s happening again, in the same spot no less.

  It’s happening right now in fact – Déjà vu.

  Juliet’s DRI GPS tag says, ‘At Work.’ I can’t help but check it every day now, but I’m looking right at her.

  I can see her again, from afar, through the same stained-glass window that is the welcoming aesthetic of Tapper’s Tap Room, the same Tapper’s Tap Room.

  But, something’s different. I’m seeing almost the opposite image of the previous event, a mirror image in fact, this time I’m seeing a silhouette, an hour-glass portrait of my wife from behind, as she sits stooped at a high top. But it’s definitely her. That flowing elegance, the color-scheme of her work attire. I would know it anywhere. That’s definitely my Juliet.

  Surely this is just another therapy session with a client, like before? Right? It’s gotta be. I mean, usually the simplest answer is the right one. Right?

  Unless.

  Unless Anonymous is s
howing me a world not of my own; a world of its choosing, punishing me as I try to withdraw, wean away, an echoing effect from the last time I used. But I can’t even remember the last time. Maybe a week ago. Maybe two.

  So this has got to be real. I mean, I haven’t stumbled upon a moment of terror. No strange occurrences. No ultra-violent ending. No chainsaw to the head. No skull to the curb. No blood soaked rooms.

  All is calm as I stand at the curb of the sidewalk, peering, staring, motionless, my mouth partially open.

  But it doesn’t matter, because the moment beckons me, regardless of the reality of the situation. It draws me forward because this time, this time, I get answers.

  I get to see who she’s talking to, without her ever knowing. Hopefully, hopefully it’s nothing; hopefully it’s just some random guy or gal, a stranger, a client, a patient, shattering my fears of any infidelity, and not the opposite, that is, some old boyfriend or a former lover.

  So I begin to venture forward, fast at first, but I quickly slow down to regain my inconspicuousness. Can’t be noticed. My mouth remains partially open as I lose myself in deep, narrow focus. I squint my eyes to sharpen my vision with each step, as my heart begins to pound. Ever-so-closer now, ever-so-closer. I slowly begin to make out the frame of the person. The clothing and demeanor of the person beginning to suggest it’s a ‘he.’

  But I need to get closer to confirm.

  So I inch my way further into the abyss. My eyes are fixed on the location of the individual, and I see what looks like khaki pants, and a white-button, and as I’m about to look upon his face, without even consciously thinking to do it, I find myself at a stop.

  And in my mind, Juliet finds me again, and she’s looking into my eyes as she always does, hers telling me that this is ‘not the way.’ That this is not the road to salvation. And that the road I seek is rooted in trust. That I need to finally ‘believe her, and believe in her.’ And not let my mind run away with itself.

  Time to stop doing this.

  So there’s no need to see who she’s with. Because just like so many other things – it’s time to let go; it’s time to change – and finally start listening.

  So no more paranoia. No more sneaking around. No more spying. No more games. No more cycles. No more of the same thing.

  It’s time.

  So I do the only thing I can do – I retreat to the house, alone, my only remaining sanctuary – Déjà vu all over again.

  ‘CHARLIE will know what to do’ I say in my inner mind’s monologue.

  As always, CHARLIE recognizes my fingerprint data within milliseconds of me touching the door handle, disarming the security system as I’m turning the knob.

  “Hey you – How was the walk?”

  My god can he learn.

  “The walk was, was, the same as everything else.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I saw Juliet again, talking, with, with—”

  “Another client?” He brightly chimes.

  “I actually. I don’t know. Never got close enough to see.”

  “You didn’t venture closer to…?”

  I start shaking my head.

  “I could of. I was right there. She would have never known too. I was almost there; One more foot, and I would’ve seen ‘em. It was definitely another man. But, but, it doesn’t matter,” I say closing my eyes. “Because the only thing that really matters, is that I trust my wife, and take her at her word – That, nothin’s goin’ on. So I—”

  “Walked away. That’s says a lot, says a lot Tybalt. I must say, I’d being lying if I said I wasn’t surprised. Knowing you. Being so close. I mean just a week ago, if the same opportunity presented itself, I’d bet the world you’d take it,” he says, pausing. “But you didn’t.”

  “I didn’t. Just walked away,” I say nodding. “I don’t know CHARLIE, don’t get me wrong, I wanted to, but as I got closer. I just, don’t wanna do this anymore – I’m tired – I’m tired of bein’ this way. So, I just stopped it right there. Just like that.”

  “Man. I’m proud of you Tybalt.”

  “Yeah, the whole scene was prolly nothin; prolly just another client. I mean, all it was, was Juliet and a pair of khaki pants and a white button up…”

  I slow down as I hear the words coming out of my mouth, now allowing myself enough time to think about what I just saw, and a flicker of a thought fueled by my paranoia begins to take hold.

  Khaki pants? A white button-up? Only one person comes to mind when I think of those two things – Cohen.

  Dr. Christopher Cohen.

  But it can’t be. I mean, it’s such a common outfit for any middle-aged man; that could’ve literally been anybody with Juliet.

  So why does my mind keep circling back to one man? Why does my mind keep doing this to me? After everything I’ve been through. After all the progress I’ve made. Why does my paranoia, my anxiety, my tortuous-obsessive thoughts keep lingering?

  On one hand, I can look at the situation objectively and see that the moment was probably nothing; probably just another client.

  On the other hand, my paranoid-fueled thoughts create an entire world within the moment, a history, a story unto itself:

  Juliet has been having an affair with Cohen, where they frequent at different rendezvous’ near our house, first meeting from a secret court ordered monitoring program that Juliet has been a part of since the ruling, initially reporting to Cohen as a superior, and now he’s the one man that is going to take it all away: my world, my wife, my life.

  But I know deep in my heart that’s not true.

  But the worst thing about developing paranoia from something like drug abuse is that I can objectively see that the thoughts are nonsense, but can’t help but continue to think about them, pine on them, relive them in my thoughts over and over again.

  “Tybalt, you alright?” CHARLIE finally chimes, finally freeing me from my own thoughts again. “You were kind of zonin' out there. I was—”

  “I’m fine. I just a need minute. You think you could—”

  “Sure thing,” and his display screen returns to the nothingness of the wall.

  Peering at the wall, the nanotechnology of CHARLIE gives no reflection. The technology of old at least gave us a black mirror to see ourselves in, to remind us that we’re all still real, living, breathing.

  Before that, we used real mirrors to see ourselves, to look at the unique contours of our face.

  Before that, we used water to see ourselves. Before that, it was paintings, sculptures, drawings, and before that, it was other people.

  Now, we have nothing.

  Nothing to remind us of who we are.

  Taking out my smart phone, I look at its small, sleek design before looking at my reflection; I see it almost as an antique now, a relic of the past that holds memories in it, literally, and figuratively of course, still used by some, myself included, always reminding me of ‘a better time’ at first, regardless of my mind trying to counter that feeling, trying to find objectivity in the past. It does this because I always attach one thing to it – Juliet.

  It’s always Juliet.

  I think of the selfies we took together, the pictures we took on our vacations abroad, the conversations we’d have when I had to travel for work, the sense that, though we were apart a lot during the year, this small device allowed us to be close.

  Finally I look at myself in the phone, the angle not at all flattering. Peering at it from a downward angle, I see my double chin, stumble and patchy facial hair of an unclean, unshaven face, the wrinkles and crows-feet of age, my disheveled salt-n-pepper hair, and a strange hue to my skin, the post-ramifications of an abusive life with anonymous as my body slowly adjusts to a life of cleaner living once more.

  I stare at myself in the phone, for what feels like years. I feel ugly, almost unrecognizable. My eyes begin to gloss over as I stare at myself, lost in the reflection, and then I see it: thick, heavy smoke begin to radiate from my nostrils.

/>   And as I watch this smoke flow out of me, it doesn’t take long for me to force myself out of the trance, and the only thought that I’m left with, is that of a picture of Juliet.

  Maybe the current evolution of technology can give us what we once had, all other thoughts now becoming arbitrary.

  “CHARLIE get me Tiffany,” I strike out, exclaim, out of nowhere.

  “The same—”

  “The same,” I quickly counter.

  “Of course.”

  That direct line came in handy, because before I knew it, CHARLIE brings to my living room this young, beautiful woman on his display, a pair of beautiful browns, a sweet demeanor, and a smile, the only initial greeting she needs.

  “Mr. Nielson, so good to see you. And good timing, I just finished up with another client. So I take it you’re ready to—”

  “I’m ready.”

  “Excellent. Let me pull up your account. Ok, ah, here we are, Mr. Tybalt Nielson. Alright, I’m going to display our next available appointment slot on your CHARLIE. To confirm, simply click on the appointment time on any of your computing devices, including your CHARLIE.”

  Within seconds, a dialogue box opens on my phone, and I click it without a thought, without hesitation, not even taking the time to look down.

  “And a verbal confirmation?”

  “Yes.”

  And Tiffany smiles.

  “Thank you sir. That’s it, we’re all set.”

  February 1st, 2052

  “…ght I’m ready.”

  Fitting, it being the anniversary of the day.

  The day. The breakdown. Exactly a year ago. What timing.

  “Just. Take your time,” he replies softly, welcoming.

  I nod, swallow, and then take in a deep breath.

  “It was like any other day. Especially back then. I was at least four, five deep by the beginning of that last period. Nothin’ I couldn’t usually handle.

  I’ll never forget hearing that last chime, and thinking, ‘one more to go, just one more hour and I’m home free.’

  But that last class of the day. Fuck me, they were something else. I mean, they were already a disruptive group, y’know the wild bunch, and now they were itchin’ for the same thing.