The Blind. A.F. Brady

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СКАЧАТЬ Lucas and I want to turn back and run into the arms of man, but Lucas will leave me and I can’t have that. But I need to see this guy again. When will we be able to do this? This is a mission and I must accomplish it, and I will have him no matter what it takes. His name is AJ. I don’t even know what it stands for.

NOVEMBER 18TH, 12:03 P.M.

      David and I are sitting in his office, avoiding the world, eating our lunches. He usually brings something in, and I end up stealing half of it, or we go to one of the sandwich shops down the street. There’s a halal truck on the corner, and today we both got chicken over rice. We usually eat when the patients get their lunch, whether we’re hungry or not—that way we’re less likely to have visitors or intruders.

      “Did you see Julie in the meeting this morning?” I ask, plastic fork between my teeth.

      “Yeah, I saw her. Why? What’d she do?”

      “She was doing her makeup in a Chanel compact at the fucking conference table.”

      “Is that a big deal?”

      “She works in a mental institution. Why does she care so much about how she looks? It’s pathetic.”

      David laughs at me. “You really hate her, huh?”

      “I don’t hate anybody. I just think she’s incredibly silly and she doesn’t belong here. She should be working at Bloomingdale’s.”

      “You ever sat in on any of her groups?”

      “No, have you?” David rarely engages in Julie shit-talking and gossip with me, because he’s mature and above it all, so I love when he descends to my level.

      “Yeah, I was at the one that your patient stormed out of. The new guy, big dude.”

      “Richard? The thing with the beets?”

      “Ha!” David opens his mouth to laugh and a single grain of rice flies past me and sticks to the window. “Yeah,” he says, wiping his lips, “she was trying to delicately explain that some foods can change the color or consistency of pee and poop, and he just bolted. I think she wanted to get the message across that people panic when their shit turns red, thinking it’s blood, so she was trying to preemptively quell the anxiety.”

      “Sure, which would make sense if anyone ever had beets here. What an idiot! Such a princess. I told you she shouldn’t be here.”

      “Yeah, Rachel asked me to keep an eye on her because she’s been racking up complaints.”

      “Really? How wonderful! Maybe Typhlos will give me an early Christmas present and fire her!” I joyfully scoop another forkful of chicken into my mouth.

      “Yeah, don’t hold your breath. How is the new guy, by the way? Last we talked you were getting nowhere.”

      “I’m still getting fucking nowhere. It’s confusing. He’s so high functioning, seems to be completely normal, so what is he doing here? Why is he in treatment?”

      “What’s his diagnosis?”

      “Oh, right. Like there’s a diagnosis in his chart. That would be too easy.”

      “Do you think he’s diagnosable?”

      “If I were to slap something on him, like for insurance purposes, I’d say adjustment disorder. And that’s a stretch. There’s got to be something that I’m completely missing. It’s too weird for this guy to be admitted to a mental institution. Aside from being uncooperative and stubborn, he seems normal.”

      “You want me to meet with him? See if I can figure something out?” David is always incredibly helpful, always willing to go the extra mile for me.

      “No, thanks. But keep an eye out if you notice anything.” David smiles his sweet, protective smile at me and clumsily pats my knee with his free hand. I try to examine his thoughts as he turns toward the window; I’m looking for a place inside him where I could fit.

NOVEMBER 22ND, 11:06 A.M.

      Although we haven’t made progress with his file, it seems that Richard is getting more comfortable with me. He may even be developing a foundation of trust. He’s speaking now, not about anything relevant to his mental health, but he’s saying words out loud. He tells me about books he’s read, or ones he’s heard of that he hasn’t had a chance to pick up yet. I tell him about what’s happened in the music industry, and he’s never happy to hear it. Today is another session with us just warming up to each other.

      “You have a cell phone?” he asks me. He hasn’t shaved this morning, and I can see the prickles of a pale beard poking out of his fat pores.

      “Yes, I have a personal phone. Why do you ask?” I’ve got my legs crossed and I’ve twisted my chair to face him. We usually sit this way, even if the sessions are uncommunicative. It’s a therapeutic technique. People are uncomfortable with silences, so often if a therapist faces a patient like they’re talking, the patient will feel obligated to fill the silence.

      “That was a shock to me. I was away when those things came out. Now even the homeless people have them.”

      “You were in prison when cell phones became popular?” This is the first time he has acknowledged his incarceration to me, and I want to draw more information out of him.

      “We didn’t even have personal computers. Now everyone has a supercomputer in their pocket.”

      “Did you have computers available to you in prison?”

      “Well, the phones are even more advanced than the computers now.” He’s not going to engage on this with me.

      “It’s true. They really do make communication much easier.” Hint.

      “Not just communication—everything. It’s got a camera now, the internet, the emails. You can read books on those things! It used to be you had to have a whole suitcase worth of stuff to have everything that these phones have now. And they’re this big.” He holds out his wide palm to indicate the size of today’s cell phones.

      “A miracle of technology.”

      Richard shakes his head in wonder and returns his attention to his newspapers. Maybe I can draw him further out of his shell if I tell him that I addressed the issue with Devon and his shit jacket.

      “Before you disengage completely, I wanted to let you know that I looked into the issues you were having with Devon.”

      “Oh?” He raises his eyebrows in anticipation.

      “I put in a request with his counselor to take up the issues that you conveyed to me, including the hygiene problem and the disruptive behavior in groups. It has since been addressed with Devon personally, and I hope you will show some patience and tolerance as he adjusts.”

      “Well. Thank you.”

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