Chapter 2. Monday: One on One Session

In this chapter we meet Ben Lowe and his habits.

MONDAY

One-on-One Session

 

“Benjamin, why are you here?”

                Even looking down at the space of tile between his socks, Ben can feel that psychiatric gaze. Like a mask of sympathy hiding the cold, rational thought process behind it.

                “You must have some idea. What are your thoughts?”

                These professionals are all the same. They ask questions the way a surgeon cuts through skin and tissue to find a tumor. They’d dig and prod and drain until the objective was met, the vein cauterized, or the tumor removed. Unlike those surgeons, psychiatrists have a façade to maintain. Concern, pity, endearment-all of these, just a part of the act. And this act is too familiar to Ben. It makes him queasy. If scientists were expected to give a s**t about the lab rats, this is how the lab rats would feel.

Dr. Lutz says, “Benjamin, I asked you a question. Why do you think you’re here?”

                Still looking down, Ben shifts in his cushioned chair and says, “To keep you employed.”

                Dr. Lutz sniffs, “Funny,” then stands up from his seat and walks over to a filing cabinet in the corner. With a clanking, metallic rolling sound, he pulls out one the heavy drawers. “Let’s take a look at your file, huh?”

 Ben looks up from the floor. Sitting, Dr. Lutz seemed huge, presidential even. Part of it might have been his big, black leather office chair. Now, standing there in his white collared shirt and vest jacket, rifling through files and labeled dividers, Dr. Lutz is a tiny, tiny man, maybe a full foot shorter than Ben. The top of his balding head barely reaches the bottom edge of the award plaques lining his office wall. Ben’s eyes fall back to the floor, and he starts biting at his nails.

 “Aha.” says Lutz, pulling out a thick manila envelope. “Lowe, comma, Benjamin,” he plops the file down on the center of his desk and, pulling a pair of reading glasses out of his breast pocket, he sits back down.

Ben can’t help but wonder if his feet reach the ground.

Idly, Dr. Lutz makes soft clicking noises with his tongue and starts shifting through Ben’s paperwork. “Okay, let’s see… Born Feb 24^th, 1989, yada, yada, yada, both parents and now residing in Boston, yada, yada…”

                Now, Ben starts taking note of everything on Dr. Lutz’s desk. Particularly, things that can be broken or at least have some weight behind them. If this was going to work, it needed to be dramatic. The first thing that catches his eye is the snow globe. Inside the glass dome is a miniature bust of Miami, with glitter for snow, all resting in the tiny streets between miniature plastic buildings. How often does it snow in Miami?

                “In 2013, you were arrested, drunk, for causing a collision. Says here, you walked into oncoming traffic,” and now, peering over the frame of his glasses, “Three people were injured, trying to avoid you.”

                Along with the snow globe, there’s a stapler, a desk lamp, computer monitor, conference phone, and of course, Ben’s file-but that’d be useless. You can’t throw paper with conviction. When someone is truly enraged, they find whatever will do the most damage. Ben remembers his father working around the house or on the family car. If dear old dad whacked his thumb with a hammer or stubbed a toe, he’d find the heaviest object within reach and send it through the nearest wall. Everything Ben knows about throwing an apeshit tantrum, he learned from his father. Channeling that now, he continues to work at the fingernail on his left thumb with his teeth.

                “Since then, according to the file given to us by your case worker, you’ve been in and out of different institutions, both in-patient and outpatient. You’ve been fired from five jobs in the last two years-all related to drug abuse. Says here ‘Low has shown no concern or the well-being of others or himself.’ You’re prone to self-destructive behavior, substance abuse, and of course, there’s your episode on the 5^th of May.” Lutz pauses and asks, “What was that, three months ago? Four months ago?”

                “Five.”

                “Five months,” Lutz nods, “Benjamin, what can you tell me about May 5^th?”

                Ben shrugs and says, “It’s the celebration of Mexico’s victory in the Battle of Puebla.”

                Lutz closes the manila file and says, “Cinco de Mayo.” And again, not laughing, he says, “Funny.” Sighing through his nose, the man leans back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “So, having heard what’s in your file, you tell me: why are we here? Why has the state of Massachusetts put you in the care and custody of Green Oaks Psychiatric?”     

                On the desk, also, is a picture frame. It’s facing Lutz, so Ben can only guess who’s on it. Probably a wife, maybe a daughter or a son. A doctor and boss of his esteem usually needs to keep something around that proves to his underlings that someone, somewhere finds him possible to love. The same way the worst a*****e bosses all have a mug that says “World’s Best Dad,” or “#1 Husband.” Ben thinks, if it really is a picture of a loved one, he should break it last. For effect.

                Dr. Lutz’s face twists into a caricature of compassion and pity. His forehead is just lines, on top of lines, on top of lines of concern. His mouth is drawn down at the corners, and his eyebrows are so pushed together, they almost touch. These are well-practiced expressions. “Benjamin, really, I think you’re here because you want to be.”

                Ben stops biting his nails and his heart starts to beat faster. If he doesn’t go through with this now, and he doesn’t sell this hard, it’s all for nothing. Five.

                “You’re not here because of your past,” says Lutz putting a hand down on the manila folder.

                Four.

                “You’re not here because of your addiction or your depression.”

                Three.

                “You’re here because you’re ill, Benjamin, and you’re letting this illness victimize you. You can’t live with it anymore and you don’t have the tools to fight back. You feel trapped. Scared. What you need is healing.”

                Two.

Dr. Lutz raises his hands in the air and says, “We just want to help.”

                One.

                Ben stands up, knocking his chair over backward and grabs the snow globe. He slams it down hard on the surface of the desk, destroying an entire city, and it shatters in an explosion of glass shards and glittery water. Then, picking up the computer monitor with both hands, he hurls it into the wall, punching a wide hole through the sheetrock.

                His face getting hot, Ben turns on the doctor, pointing a finger, and says, “F**K YOU.”

                Lutz stands up, and backs up against a nearby bookshelf lined with black and brown leather-bound books. Without panic, he pulls a small yellow radio from his belt and speaks clearly to it, “Harrison, this is Don. Code grey, my office. Code. Grey.”

                Ben can almost hear the staticky voice of someone’s reply, but he’s too deep into his tantrum to make out the words. He grabs the stapler and pitches it into the doctor’s general direction. Lutz moves just enough to be out of the way when it whizzes by and collides with the shelves behind him.

Ben screams, “I f*****g hate this place!” and he picks up the metal desk lamp and starts slamming, slamming, slamming it down against the desk until the bulb is completely gone and the sharp angles of the bent lamp leave deep gouges in the desk’s wooden surface. “I hate you and you’re f*****g help! It’s bullshit! Jesus!  I never asked for it, you slimy prick! I WANT. TO BE LEFT. ALONE.” And now, on his knees, with tears and snot running down over his lips and chin, Benjamin is sobbing, “F**k you, f**k you, f**k you...” beating down weakly on the desk’s wet surface with his fists, as tiny shards of snow globe stick up into his skin.

 The desk is a disaster of ruined paperwork and the pink mix of blood and glitter-water runs down over the sides and puddles onto the tiled floor. Dr. Lutz stands there, stone faced and impassive. Maybe even annoyed. Finally, Ben reaches over to the only object left standing- the picture frame. He pulls back an arm, ready to chuck it across the room, but hesitates. It’s not a picture of his loving wife or adoring children. It’s an autographed picture of beloved Scooby-Doo character, Velma Dinkley.

 After a brief moment of confusion, Ben looks at Dr. Lutz and says, “F**k Scooby-Doo!” and lobs the frame at a wall.

 That’s when Big Charles Harrison bursts in with two other orderlies, all panting and out of breath. For the briefest of moments, they stand there in their maroon scrubs, assessing the situation. Before Ben can react, Harrison moves forward and takes him to the floor like a ragdoll. There’s a sick, wet snapping noise when Ben’s nose hits the floor, and the pain makes his stomach lurch, vomit immediately threatening to make its way up into his mouth. Harrison has him pinned down under one knee, and in the grip of one enormous hand, he’s able to hold both of Ben’s wrists behind his back.

                With the radio still in one hand, Dr. Lutz spreads his arms and gestures at the state of his desk. Angry, he asks “Where the hell were you, Harrison? He destroyed my whole goddamn office.”

                Still wheezing from the run, Harrison says in a calm tone to Ben, “I want to let you up now. Are you done? Can I let you up? Tell me you’re done, man.”

“I-I’m done,” Ben says weakly.

“Alright, come on, nice and easy.” And Harrison pulls Ben to his feet. “Sorry, Dr. Lutz. I was all the way in the kitchen. Barb asked me to help load in stuff from the produce truck and I-“

                Dr. Lutz waves a hand in dismissal. “I don’t want to hear it. Does Barbara sign your checks? Next time, you tell her you’re busy doing what you’re paid to do.”

                Puffy eyed and drained, Ben touches the space between his nose and mouth, and his fingers come away bright red.

                Harrison’s jaw drops, “Oh s**t. Did I do that? Larry, give me your rag, man.”  

                One of the other orderlies reaches into a back pocket and hands over a white handkerchief. Gentle as a lamb, Harrison starts mopping up the blood from Ben’s face.

                “I’m disappointed, Benjamin. Really, I am. When they told me you’d asked for a session with me, I thought you were finally ready for a breakthrough,” says Dr. Lutz.

                Inspecting Ben’s nose, Harrison says, “Doc, I got to get this guy to the clinic.”

                “Take him. Get him cleaned up and let him spend tonight in the quiet room. I think Mr. Lowe needs some time to reflect.” Lutz picks up the shattered remains of his autographed Velma and frowns.

                The other two orderlies leave. Harrison has Ben hold the handkerchief to his face, and placing one heavy arm around his shoulders, starts leading him out of the office.

                “Oh, and Harrison.”

                Ben and the orderly turn back to see Dr. Lutz scribbling in a notepad on the only dry corner of his desk.

                “Make sure the nurses’ station gets this,” he says and offers up a pink note. Harrison takes it between two banana shaped fingers. “It’s a prescription. Sedatives, for our Mr. Lowe here. One before breakfast, one before bed,” and looking placidly into Ben’s eyes, he says, “for his nerves.”

Leaving the wreckage behind, Harrison bends down close to Ben’s ear and says, “Brother, I am so sorry about your nose.”

Ben says, “I’m fine. It’s fine,” and as his mouth forms the words, the pain in his face makes his eyes water. Halfway down the hall, he steals a glance at the little pink paper in Harrison’s gorilla-like hand and behind the gore-soaked handkerchief pressed to his face, Benjamin Lowe smiles.

                Success.

Reviews

[K.L. Ravns]

I was immediately intrigued from the first chapter to read the second. together the stroy line makes no sense at all. I think you need to find someway of connecting them, even if its small and seems insignificant, having these two arcs merge later. A little editing needed and this scene will be top notch. Keep writing,
Raven

[DRP22]

They absolutely do merge. The first half od the book mostly follows Benjamin, with single chapters here and there showing the reader just what these people are capable of. Then, once Ben is free of Green Oaks, he falls in with them. So these storylines merge do around chapter 10.

[Stacy Purvis]

The structure is confusing, but I do love this story. Thank you for sharing.

[DRP22]

Hey, seriously, I am beholden to you for reading all of this through. If you find the time, could you expand a little on the structure flaws? Are you referring to the third-person, present tense, or it more than that?