IA_Initiate

by John Darryl Winston

  As he waited patiently for his therapist to enter, he looked at all of the pictures on the walls in the cozy office—something he did weekly. Some of the pictures were actually paintings. They must be famous psychiatrists, he surmised. He always told himself he would ask Dr. Hornbuckle when she came in, but he always seemed to forget.

  Naz didn’t care much for his first therapist. To Naz he was a mean old man who always insisted on calling Naz by his given name, even though Naz made it clear he didn’t like it. He talked only about serious things that Naz wasn’t interested in discussing, like the voices, sleepwalking, and his mother’s death. He hated going to therapy back then.

  But he liked Dr. Hornbuckle because they always talked about whatever he wanted to talk about. She told him she had a son just about his age and once brought one of her son’s video games to a session, and they played the whole hour. Naz also thought she was pretty and looked forward to seeing her every Friday after school. Dr. Hornbuckle was the closest thing Naz had to a mother now, and he told her almost everything.

  He was trying to decide whether or not to tell her about the voices. Up until a few days ago, it had been two months since he had heard them. Before that, when he had heard the voices, he kept it to himself. He originally told Dr. Hornbuckle it had been almost a year since he had heard them. But now they were back. What bothered him most was that he had heard them twice in one day.

  Early in their sessions, Dr. Hornbuckle told Naz that she could prescribe some medication to prevent him from hearing the voices. Meri brought home a book from the library once that said people diagnosed with schizophrenia often exhibited auditory hallucinations and paranoia. To Naz, the word schizophrenia meant crazy, and no one was going to tell him he was crazy— besides he wasn’t about to take any medication. To Naz, drugs were drugs, and they were all bad. From that point on Naz decided he would just stop telling people, even his therapist, that he heard voices. But now, twice in one day, he obsessed, and added to that I might be seeing things. Maybe I do need medication, Naz thought. He pushed the thought out of his mind completely. If there was one thing he knew, it was that the voices only came when he was angry, scared, or excited, all of which he believed were under his control.

  Naz felt divided. One part of him wanted to tell Dr. Hornbuckle, and another part of him thought that he shouldn’t. He decided to play a game. If she asked him about the voices, he would tell her; if she didn't, he would keep it to himself. He figured he’d leave it to chance. She hadn’t asked about the voices in quite a while so he figured the odds were in his favor that she wouldn’t ask this day either.

  The wound on his neck was starting to heal, but it also preoccupied him. This was the first day he forgot to wear a bandage, and it was all he could do to keep from picking at it.

  “Hello, Naz!” Dr. Hornbuckle said as she walked in the office.“I see you’ve made yourself at home.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  DR. GWEN

  DR. GUINEVEREHornbuckle was statuesque, tall, and shapely. She was a middle-aged widow who always wore her hair in a bun and was usually dressed in a casual two-piece pantsuit. She finished off her attire with a pair of running shoes. The running shoes always seemed out of place to Naz, but at the same time they made him feel comfortable with Dr. Hornbuckle. He was comfortable with her from the first day he met her. She also carried a briefcase, which always caught Naz's attention because she never failed to have something in it for him.

  “Good afternoon, Dr. Hornbuckle.” He now became noticeably uncomfortable.

  “Dr. Hornbuckle, huh? Why so formal, Naz? You must have something good to tell me this week.”

  “Sorry, Dr. Gwen. Not really.”

  As she began to sit down in the chair directly across from him, she immediately noticed the wound on his neck. She dropped her briefcase and moved toward him to investigate.

  “Oh, my God! What happened?”

  Naz was already leaning back in the chair, so it made it easier for her to tilt his head further back to see his neck. He had managed to conceal the wound from Miss Tracey all week, which wasn’t difficult, since she paid him and Meri little attention. But he forgot that Dr. Gwen would most assuredly see his wound right away. It didn’t matter. He planned to tell her everything, except about the voices. He actually looked forward to getting it off his chest. Other than the police officer at the scene and Meri, he hadn’t told anybody what happened that day. Naz realized that if he told Dr. Gwen what happened, it would invariably lead her to ask about the voices. He figured the odds were no longer in his favor.

  “Well, I was sort of in a fight … I guess.”

  “Sort of … with who?” she asked,still standing over him and examining his neck.“Let me guess… that Hector Martinez boy, right?”

  “I wasn’t in a fight with Hector.”

  “But it did have something to do with him, didn’t it?” She asked, shaking her head.

  “That is true.”

  “I knew it. I’ve never met the boy, but from all you’ve told me about him, I know he’s trouble.” She finally sat down across from him.“Well, tell me what happened.” She continued shaking her head while she pulled a notepad from the side of her briefcase.

  Naz began to tell Dr. Gwen what happened. He started from the beginning: when he had met Ham that morning on the street. To his surprise he enjoyed telling Dr. Gwen about what happened. It felt like he was telling a great, exciting tale and not one in which he had a role. It felt like a Western again. He didn’t leave out any details, except the voices. For the first time he felt excitement when he thought about what happened. It was exhilarating to him.

  “My goodness!” she said as he finished.“That’s terrible!” Then she paused for a moment and continued.“Yet you seemed to enjoy it … and that worries me because that’s not like you, not at all.”

  She’s right, he thought. What am I thinking? It was the worst thing he had ever experienced, and now he was enjoying his own reenactment of the events. He was embarrassed.“I’m sorry. You’re right. It was terrible… the worst thing I’ve ever been through. But I guess now that it’s over, it doesn’t seem real anymore. There’s no fear… no anger, just excitement.”

  “You don’t have to apologize. What you feel is normal and part of being human. We all have a dark side that we struggle to keep concealed every day. We seek the light, but usually it’s just before being consumed by the darkness. It’s almost like a hero being taken to his limit by a villain. But in the end we always root for the hero.”

  “That’s deep. Are you saying it’s the darkness that makes us who we are … that defines us?”

  “Not exactly, Naz, but don’t be afraid to embrace it … the darkness. It’s an important part of you. Good and evil are two sides of the same coin. How we view and interpret good will always be colored by our emotions, tempered by our own individual perceptions of evil, and based on our experiences.”

  Naz made a gesture with his hand swishing it over the top of his head.“I think you just about lost me, Dr. Gwen,” he said with a laugh.

  “What I’m saying is that I think you’re going to be fine. You have some conscience about what happened, and that tells me you’ll be OK. What about your friend? I assume from your attitude that he’s going to be OK as well.”

  “Yeah, his mom said he’ll be back to school in a few weeks.”

  “Thank goodness for that. Now… I heard you mention fear, anger, and excitement.”

  Uh oh, thought Naz. Here it comes. He knew Dr. Gwen was sharp and wouldn’t miss something so obvious. The sequence of events he had revealed to her brought her to a logical conclusion.

  PART TWO

  DURATION

  In The Past …

  “THANK you. Merci. Thank you,” says Cory as he leans into the microphone, which did not quite extend past the front edge of the podium.

  In response to the continuous standing ovation, Cory begins to smile and nods his head in humble appreciation. With no ces
sation of the applause, Cory raises his arms outstretched from the podium as a signal for the applause to end.

  As the applause finally begins to wane and the audience takes their seats, one voice from the middle of the auditorium calls,“We love you, Dr. Andersen.”

  “I love you too,” says Cory, laughing shyly.

  There is a short silence as Cory, with his head down, gathers himself. Even though this scene is nothing new to him he has never quite grown accustomed to the fuss made over his accomplishments. He is taken aback by the audience’s response. The reception is more than he expected. To him, he was just doing what came naturally, as a bird would take flight.

  As he looks up, his expression is sober.“Again, thank you. You are too kind. Let me start this evening by giving credit where credit is due. You applaud me for all that I am, but I submit to you, here and now, that I am nothing… nothing without the person that stands beside me.” With his open hand, he gestures toward Camille and beckons her to step onto the stage and be recognized.

  She shakes her head, waves him off, and mouths the refusal,“no,” shyly to Cory.

  “Come on, honey,” he says. His hand covers the microphone so the audience won’t hear while he continues to beckon her with his open hand.

  Knowing, as with all things, he will not give up, she concedes and readies herself to walk onto the stage.

  Cory proclaims,“Ladies and gentlemen, my all… my everything… my beautiful wife, Camille.”

  The audience begins to applaud as Camille begrudgingly takes three steps onto the stage, gives a forced smile, and a slight bow, then steps gracefully back into the wings of the stage. She gives Cory a dirty look when she is sure she is out of view of the audience.

  “My friends, I think that little stunt may have landed me a trip to the doghouse tonight,” Cory says, and the audience laughs along.“But there’s more! There is someone else to whom I am also indebted, someone I’ve known for a long time—in fact, as far back as I can remember. You know him by his nom de voyage, the name under which he travels… Cory Anders!”

  He points to the back of the auditorium where there is a resounding boom, resembling the sound of cannon fire. The startled audience turns in surprise to see the auditorium doors opening to reveal none other than Dr. Cornelius Andersen, only he has changed. He sports a cream-colored, long-sleeved, collarless shirt and a matching pair of tailored pants that seem to shimmer under the houselights as he enters the auditorium. The audience responds with gasps and murmurs, as they turn to look back and forth from the stage where Cory has stood mere seconds earlier, to the rear of the auditorium where he now appears dressed in starkly different attire.

  Some begin to clap, but he raises his hand to stop them. As he makes his way toward the stage, he stops and greets a few of his colleagues and friends with a handshake here, a hug there, and a few friendly touches on the shoulder. He even introduces the president of the university. It is not until then that people in the audience begin to wonder how they can hear Cory. He has no microphone and to those close enough to see, there is nothing clipped to his shirt. Yet they can hear him as clear as if he is sitting right next to them in the auditorium. The sound is even better than when he spoke at the microphone on stage.

  “A trick?” asks Cory, as he slowly walks toward the stage.“No… magic? It sounds so much better. And better still, an illusion? Now you see me, now you don’t… the sound of my voice coming from nowhere… everywhere. But you believe just the same, don’t you? Because you see it with your own eyes, hear it with your own ears. Toddlers learn to walk, and later as small children ride bicycles, mainly because they believe. They believe because they have proof, provided by examples: people all around them walking and riding bicycles. Conversely, as they get older they learn limitations: what they can’t do… not based on their potential abilities, but another’s lack of expectations and/or belief system. So, it really boils down to what we believe then. Doesn’t it? The greatest Master taught us, what things soever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them.”

  As he approaches the front of the stage, he lifts his hand and dramatic music begins to play. As he lowers his hand, a large screen slowly comes down from the ceiling over the stage. The screen seems to move as if it is controlled directly by the movements of Cory’s hand. It doesn’t appear to be supported or suspended by anything other than the air itself, and its appearance elicits gasps and murmurs from the audience once more.

  “You have to excuse the theatrics please, but I just love the roar of the crowd, the smell of the greasepaint, and I have a flair for the dramatic,” says Cory.

  Once the screen is in place, he then faces the audience, raises his hands again, and asks,“Do you believe?” He snaps both his fingers, and the lights go out.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE VOICE

  Present Day …

  “WHAT about the voices? Did you hear any during your encounter?” asked Dr. Gwen.

  Naz smiled hesitantly as he shifted in his seat.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t be prescribing any medication today,” she assured him.

  “I did, but not just during the fight, I heard ’emagain at school too.”

  Dr. Gwen suddenly came alive. She sat up in her chair. For the first time in a long time she was genuinely excited, and it confused Naz.“Don’t misunderstand my enthusiasm, Naz. I don’t mean to sound excited that you’ve heard voices again, but understand that if we are to address and hopefully solve these so-called ‘problems’ that you have,then we need specific examples of what they are, and today it seems we have them.”

  “OK,” Naz reluctantly agreed.

  “Do you remember what the voices were saying?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “The voice said, ‘He’s mad. He’s scared,’ and ‘He doesn’t understand us.’ It said, ‘You can’t fight,’ and ‘You better not run.’ It said, ‘U … U … Únete a nosotros …’”

  “Únete a nosotros? The voice said úneta a nosotros?”

  “Well, the voice didn’t say that, but one of the boys did. Do you know what it means?”

  “It’s Spanish for ‘Join us,’Naz, now stay focused. What else did the voices say?”

  “Sorry, Doc. It kept saying, ‘You’re gonna die, oh my God,’ and ‘blood.’ And then it seemed to repeat after me, ‘Somebody call an ambulance.’”

  By now Dr. Gwen had put on her glasses and was writing feverishly in her notebook. When he saw her with the glasses, Naz was distracted, and his thoughts drifted immediately to the drinking fountain and the mysterious girl.

  “Naz!” she said,bringing him back to reality.“What about the second time at school? Tell me about those.”

  Naz paused and then smiled shyly. There was an uncomfortable silence.

  “Was it a girl, Naz?”

  How embarrassing, thought Naz. How could she know that?

  “If you’re wondering how I knew, it’s because we already know that the voices are triggered by emotions … strong emotions. We’ve already dealt with the anger and the fear. Hmmm… let me see. It was the first day of school for an eighth-grade boy with hair starting to grow on his chin. What else could I infer, but an even stronger emotion … love? Besides, you forget, I have a son just about your age.”

  Naz's fingers automatically went up to touch his chin where hair had begun to grow. He didn’t know whether to laugh out loud or ask to be excused to conceal his embarrassment.

  “So, tell me all about it,” she continued with a calming smile.

  Naz told Dr. Gwen about the girl at the drinking fountain and how he stood on guard at the girl’s bathroom and waited for her return. He told her how she appeared from nowhere and disappeared the same way. He also told how he hadn’t been able to find her since. Then he told her about the voices as she continued to write.

  “Naz, could it be that the voices you hear are likely you talking to yourself a
nd that you externalize them as coming from somewhere else?”

  Naz thought back, at the drinking fountain the voice said, “What are you looking at?” He tilted his head and looked puzzled.“I guess… I do hear words that I’m thinking.” As Naz thought further,he added,“But there are times when I hear words that I’m not thinking at all, and the voices are as clear as if someone is actually talking to me. We both keep saying voices, Dr. Gwen, but it’s never voices, plural. There’s only one voice, always the same voice.”

  “What do you hear, Naz? What voice… whose voice?” She continued writing in her notebook.

  “I don’t know. I don’t recognize the voice. I don’t think I’ve heard it before. I can’t explain it,” Naz said as he began to sit up. He was getting louder and noticeably frustrated.“But somehow it is familiar.”

  “Maybe it's from your past, a voice from before you came to live with your mother.” Dr. Gwen had a hunch and habit of never holding back when something came to her.“Your father, Naz, could it be your father’s voice that you hear?”

  “I don’t know!” Naz raised his voice. He was now sitting straight up, holding his head between his hands. He was visibly upset.“I have no memory of him! You know that, Doc! I don’t know what he sounded like or looked like.” Naz stood up and began pacing.“I’ve never even seen a picture of him. No one has ever shown me even a picture of my dad,” he continued, as if just realizing that fact.

  “I think that’s enough for today,” she said, knowing it would calm him.