by N. K. Smith
I shrugged, but was thankful that he wasn’t focusing on making connections between Cash’s life and my own. Though our backgrounds were similar, he never indicated that his older brother ever asked him to...
“I-I-I don’t wwwwant to t-talk about it anymore.”
“You don’t want to talk about music?”
“No.”
He paused and I lowered my gaze to focus on his feet.
“Let’s talk about how you were feeling at Dr. Dalton’s house. Your note indicated that you were contemplating whether or not you wanted to exist anymore.”
My chest felt tight now and I wished we were still talking about music.
“What pushed you to that point and do you still feel that way?”
I knew he wanted me to say that I was happy to be alive and I had no desire whatsoever to be dead, but I couldn’t say it. I didn’t know if I’d ever actually pursue the end of my life, but there was still a part of me that felt like it would be better if I wasn’t around to trouble everyone.
If my father was right about who I was, the world would be better off. And if he was wrong, who was around that would care? Wherever my mom and brother were, there was a chance I would be able to be with them again. It didn’t matter if I was angry with them in this world; I still wanted to see them again. My mother loved me, and despite feeling strange about the things that happened with Joseph, he had loved me, too.
I wanted to be loved like that again.
I wanted someone to understand.
“I-I-I don’t know.”
His eyes narrowed. “You don’t know?”
I shook my head in response, keeping my eyes lowered to avoid seeing what had to be a disappointed or frustrated expression.
“You strike me as a thinker, Elliott; probably ‘overthinker’ is more accurate. I find it hard to believe that you haven’t thought about why you didn’t, or don’t, want to live, and what has driven you to this point.”
I could see that he wanted something. I realized that he would continue in this vein until I gave him something. “I hhhurt Sophie. She’s n-not w-with me anymore.”
“Do you equate the breakup with her to the abandonment you feel from everyone else who has held an elevated place in your life? Are you concerned that other people in your life will leave you, too?”
The tension was back and I felt a little sick. I used to think it was Sophie who pushed me away in the hope I’d leave, and perhaps she did, but in the end it was me who pushed her away. She left me alone like they all did and at some point, Jane would forget about me. Stephen might stick around, but my wickedness would penetrate his compassion and turn him cold, too.
I was finished speaking for the day. I was looking forward to some time alone. John never spoke. He never even looked in my direction.
It was comforting.
Before the end of our session, Dr. Emmanuel gave me a small smile. “I hope you have a good day, Elliott.”
“Follow me,” Dr. Emmanuel said. He was outside of his office waiting for me, even though it wasn’t my day to see him.
The break in the routine caught me off guard and I wanted to plant my feet, but I had no other choice but to do as he asked as he began to walk. I felt anxious. The nervousness vibrated through my body, causing my heart to flutter and my breathing to become difficult.
He stopped in front of a door. I had never been down this corridor before. The unfamiliarity of it all added to my apprehension.
His hand moved to the knob as he inserted a key and twisted it. He opened the door and flicked on the lights, then entered and turned around to wait for me.
It took me a full minute to work up enough courage to follow him. When I finally got into the room, I saw that it was filled with instruments.
My hands fisted. I didn’t want anything to do with music right now.
“My sister is a rocket scientist.”
I must have looked at him strangely. I was wondering if he was being serious or if he was just using the hyperbole to illustrate that his sister was smart.
“No, really, she works for NASA, but what she really loves is playing the cello. Beyond listening, I’m not really musical.”
He walked to where the cello stood next to the piano along with other stringed instruments.
“Have you played the cello before?”
I shook my head.
“Do you think you could?”
I had no doubt that I could figure it out fairly easily, so I nodded.
“Do you want to try?”
I shook my head.
“Why are you avoiding music?”
I took a deep breath and considered telling him that I wasn’t avoiding music, but he’d see the lie right away. I considered saying “I don’t know,” but he was a therapist and they were trained not to accept that as an answer. Besides, I wasn’t sure myself.
“It d-d-d-doesn’t fffffeel r-r-right.” It was the simplest and most honest answer I could come up with.
He sat down at the piano and just watched me as I stood. I fidgeted under his gaze and wondered what he wanted me to do.
“Tell me what it felt like to be handed an instrument for the first time.”
I guessed this was where we were having our session, so I found a folding chair and settled in. “C-c-confusing.”
“Why?”
“B-b-because my fffffather ssssssaid m-m-music was vvvvvvvain.”
“Do you ever wonder why Dr. Dalton gave you a guitar? Do you think he knew about your father’s rules?”
I had no idea what people knew of my father’s rules. I guess I’d always assumed everything was in some file. When I was questioned by the police after what happened with Joseph, I didn’t give many answers. It was mainly Bible-quoting nonsense. I could recall how everyone looked at me oddly.
“I d-don’t know. Mmmmaybe.”
“I would like to talk about Joseph.”
My hands tightened on my thighs. I was here for therapy. I was here because I chose to be here, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear his name or to think about anything associated with him.
“O-o-o-o-okay.”
“In your letter, you express a few times how many conflicting and confusing thoughts and feelings you have for your brother. You mentioned that you wished he’d beaten you like your father instead of hurting you the way he did. Why is that?”
It wasn’t the first time I noticed that Dr. Emmanuel wouldn’t say the words I wasn’t ready to hear. Both of us generalized about what happened, using words like “hurting,” instead of “molesting.” I was thankful that he wasn’t pushing too hard. I didn’t want to think about the definitions.
“Those acts,” I began, my voice steady and strong at first, “th-that hhhhappen b-b-b-between t-two p-p-p-people ssssssshould b-be...” I struggled to find the right word, something I could say easily. I ran my hand through my hair and then repeated the action, tugging it a little. Getting lost in the slight pain made it easier to handle the discussion. “Intimate.”
I shook my head because it wasn’t what I wanted to say exactly.
“What happened between the two of you wasn’t intimate?”
Sighing, I continued shaking my head. “That’s n-nnnnot w-w-what I mmmmeant.” What happened with Joseph was intimate, too intimate.
“What did he make you do, Elliott?”
My whole body was tense and I shivered. My whole self was alight with chemicals sent from my brain. I felt numb. I shook.
I was silent.
My mouth opened and closed as my eyes focused on how Dr. Emmanuel’s hand rested on the lid of the piano.
I wished I could see the familiar black and white of the keys.
I had to control my rising panic.
I was here to
get better.
Regardless if it was with Sophie, I wanted to be a healthier person who could have sustainable relationships.
My breathing slowed.
Dr. Emmanuel’s index finger rose about a centimeter off the black lid and then pressed down.
“I... dddddon’t.. hhhhhave wwwwwwords.”
I heard him inhale and I was drawn to his face. He was looking at me, so I immediately returned my focus to his hand.
“Yes, you do. It’s just easier for you to say that you don’t. Your speech impediment is an easy crutch to fall back on when things are difficult to deal with.”
His statement made me angry. My hands fisted again.
“The rest of the world has to push through painful topics and use their voice to express what they’re feeling. I understand it’s not comfortable for you to talk, but I want you to know that I can see through your rationale.”
He paused and I flicked my eyes back up to his face. His voice seemed to hold some kind of emotion. He was usually passively indifferent.
Dr. Emmanuel’s expression was hard as he regarded me. I wasn’t used to that and I felt even more uncomfortable.
His hands folded in his lap. “We don’t ever delve into who I am as a person, and rightly so, but there’s something about me that you need to know. I don’t waste my time, Elliott. If you’re unwilling to even broach issues, I’m not a hundred percent sure there’s much point in even continuing.”
All the anger that I’d just felt melted into fear; not that I would be hurt physically, but that he would give up on me.
“You’re at an inpatient mental health treatment center. You made that decision and yet here you sit, unwilling to get messy with the dirty details of your past.”
I slammed my fist down on my thigh.
“Did you just need a vacation from the comfortable existence Dr. Dalton has provided you? Did you just need someone to tell you when to eat, when to sleep, when to think? A sterile environment free of all the choices you feel you shouldn’t have to make; someplace away from music and books and art which tie you to the world beyond your father’s house?”
His lips pulled together as if he was considering what he’d just said and then he nodded. “I can see the comforting appeal of that for you, but don’t waste my time, okay? There are people here who not only want to get better, but they’re worse off than you. I won’t bore you by telling you how tight my schedule is, or how exclusive and expensive this facility is, but if you just need a vacation from your life, I think you should try Baja or one of the islands off the coast of Florida.”
He leaned forward and I could almost feel his eyes drilling into mine. “Don’t waste my time.”
Dr. Emmanuel sat there for close to a minute while I struggled to do something, anything, but when he rose from the piano bench, I rushed to say something. I didn’t know what it would be, but I didn’t want him to leave. I didn’t want to continue my life the way it had been.
“Hhhhhe m-m-made me touch him.”
My chest tightened and I felt sick, but Dr. Emmanuel sat back down. His hands folded once more, but moved to cover his mouth, his index fingers straight and pointing to God like the steeple of a church. He was waiting for more.
“I d-d-d-didn’t wwwwwant to.”
Silence and then my voice was barely there and I almost couldn’t hear it over my raspy breathing. “He t-t-t-t-touched mmmmmme.”
“Is that as far as it went?”
Again, my body shook and I felt horribly sick. An aching numbness was creeping up my body, beginning in my toes. If it reached my heart, I thought I would die.
I tried to answer, but my mouth just kept making unrecognizable sounds.
“The night your father was bent on purifying you-” He seemed to know there were many nights like that, so he clarified. “The night he killed your brother, what pushed him to do that?”
Again I couldn’t speak. It wasn’t like I was trying to get out of anything, even though I didn’t want to answer. I would’ve if my body would let me.
“Did he walk in on your brother doing these things to you in his room?”
The numbness was in my knees and still creeping. “Mmmmmmmy r-r-r-r-r-rrrrrrrrrrroom,” I heard myself say.
Now there was a tingling numbness in the crown of my head that was spreading downward to meet its mate, but that almost made it easier to speak.
After a moment, Dr. Emmanuel’s said, “Beyond touching, was there sexual penetration?”
What he said sickened me.
Both from the top and the bottom, my heart was seized by the cold. My rigid body folded and I hugged my chest to my legs and hoped that this would be it. I hoped I would die just from this conversation. I certainly felt like I could.
His voice was soft. “You feel ashamed, but the shame is not your own. That was not one of the choices you made. It was a decision belonging to someone else, Elliott. It affected you, but it wasn’t your own.”
I felt desperate to sink my teeth into something, but my hands were locked around my knees. Dr. Emmanuel didn’t understand. Joseph never hurt me by force. He asked me to do those things and I did.
I was doubled over and I had nothing to bite to help me through, so I found myself talking. “He p-p-pulled mmmme b-b-by my hhhhhair and ch-ch-choked me wwwwwwhile he lllllooked at JJJJJJ-JJJJJJoseph. He d-didn’t have t-t-t-t-time to get the sssssssstrap, so he t-t-ook off his b-b-b-belt and used that. Then his fffffists.”
“What did Joseph do?”
My heart thumped hard and loud in my chest.
“He yelled. I d-d-d-don’t kn-know hhhhhow mmmmmy fffffather... w-w-w-why hhhhhe let me g-g-go and p-punished JJJJJJ... I c-c-c-couldn’t ffffffocus on him, b-but then mmmmy fffffffffffather sat on his chest and k-k-kept hhhhitting his fffface, b-but I c-c-couldn’t gggget up t-t-to hhhhhhelp him.”
“Even after what Joseph had done to you, you wanted to help him?”
“I d-d-didn’t w-w-want hhhhim to g-g-get p-punished. I d-didn’t wwwant him to d-die.”
“Tell me what your father did to purify you after that.”
What I’d said would have to be enough because I didn’t want to talk about that. I didn’t know where the energy or strength came from, but I stood up and found the cello. I sat down with it between my legs, holding the bow in my right hand.
I wanted to bite my hand and taste the blood.
With a few cursory strokes of the bow against the strings, I listened to the sounds and within short minutes, played a selection from Bach, followed by Vivaldi. At first, my timing was off, but once I figured out how long it took to drag the bow across the strings to achieve the sound I needed, I made the adjustments and then played the pieces flawlessly. Dr. Emmanuel just sat and listened.
At the end of the extended session, Dr. Emmanuel walked me to the lunchroom where a cupcake awaited me. There was no candle on it, but Dr. Emmanuel said, “Happy birthday, Elliott.”
I walked purposefully through the halls with Stephen beside me. He was a safe distance away so if I needed him, I could reach out and grab his arm, but if I didn’t, he was far enough away that he would never accidentally touch me.
We were together in the music room and while I normally would feel frightened about being alone in a room with a man, I felt comfortable today. My sessions with Dr. Emmanuel had shown me that not everyone was interested in hurting me, and I knew that it was the same for Stephen.
I brought him in here because I wanted to show him what I could do with the new instrument. He’d never heard me play the cello before, and I felt like it was important that he knew. He was responsible for giving me music and I felt like this might be an appropriate thank you.
He sat in a chair by the percussion instruments and his eyes were bright as he watched me.
I was nerv
ous, but I played well. I played like the recordings I’d memorized.
When I finished, I could barely look at him, but what he said drew my eyes as close to his as I could bring them.
“You have such talent. I hope you know how proud I am of you. You’ve come so far in such a short time. I know that I’m not the one who has given you the tools to heal, but I want you to know how delighted I am to see the little boy under the table grow into himself. You amaze me.”
He paused and I thought he was finished, but then he said, “I want you to know that I love everything that you are. You’re such a beautiful human being, capable of such great things.”
I set the bow across my lap and struggled against all of the emotion that bubbled and burst inside of me.
I wanted to be his son.
I couldn’t help it when the silent tears that slipped down my cheeks turned into outright weeping. I couldn’t help it at all, even though I desperately didn’t want to show him.
I was thankful when he stayed in his seat and didn’t try to physically comfort me.
His words were more meaningful anyway.
“I love you, Elliott.”
“What do you think about visiting Chicago?”
I stopped breathing for a second, but forced myself to recover quickly. I had been successfully stopping attacks before they took hold since coming into the hospital.
“W-what?”
“There are times when one needs to confront the past head-on physically in order to push through it. It can be cathartic.” The doctor took his glasses off and regarded me thoughtfully. “I’m not saying it has to be today or tomorrow, but perhaps you could consider going back to that place, that ‘dark house’ as you called it, and see if your perspective has changed.”
I didn’t want to go to Chicago and I certainly had no desire to go to that dark house. Even the thought of it seemed too much to bear. “I-I-I-I...”
I shook my head when I found that words failed me. Moving to the piano, I automatically began to press the keys. I didn’t even know what I was playing until I forced myself to focus on it. It was Liszt.