Chapter 4 Tuesday: Small Group

TUESDAY

Small Group

 

            “Normally, I have clothes on.”

               

In a small, windowless room, the walls are overcrowded with inspirational posters. Ben and nine other patients are circled up in cushioned chairs.

 

Parker, one of the counselors, sits cross-legged with a clipboard on his lap. He says, “Go ahead, Joseph, it’s okay. We’re all just here to talk… and listen.”

 

Joseph is in his late thirties. Tall, thin, droopy faced and balding, he twists and fidgets with the cord of his bathrobe. With his head tilted upward, his eyes search the ceiling and florescent lights as he talks, never quite looking anyone full in the face. His voice is thin and unsure. “Sometimes I don’t have clothes on, though. You know, naked. That always makes it feel worse. Makes it hard to go to asleep.”

 

In the same air of pity and concern that makes Ben’s insides squirm, Parker says, “Dreams can be the culmination of our fears, our subconscious thoughts, sometimes even our desires,” With one finger, he taps the side of his head, “Analyzing those dreams can help us understanding what’s happening up here,” then he places a hand over his chest. “And in here. So in this dream, you’re on your couch?”

 

“Oh. Oh, no. Not my couch. My grandmother’s couch. I’m in her living room, you know, in the house she had before she passed away. I’m just sitting there, watching game shows and petting her Muffin.”

 

“I’m sorry, her�"“

 

“Muffin. That was Grandma’s dog. She was a boston terrier.”

 

Parker’s eyebrows raise with enlightenment, “I see.”

 

“So I’m on this couch, and I’m petting Muffin, and my mother and grandmother are in the kitchen making stew,” and with a serious expression on his face, Joseph looks around at each of them and clarifies, “Beef stew,” then his eyes shift back to the ceiling, “And while I’m petting Muffin, I notice she doesn’t look so good. Her fur is all… sticky. And when I look at my hands, there’s all this blood. But not red like blood, it’s more like… black blood. Then she starts to melt in my lap. Literally. I try to prop her up and keep her together, but she’s just starts to�"like�"like melting cheese, right there on my legs.” At this point, big shining tears are welling up in his eyes and his voice has gotten shaky. “Her eye kind of just falls out and rolls away, and no matter what I do, I can’t keep her together. She just turns to�"to goop.” Then the tears come. Big, wet, glassy tears running down his cheeks. His upper lip curls up and he begins to sob into his hands.

 

And Parker, looking around the room defiantly, is nodding and says to everyone, “Bravery. What Joseph just displayed here today is called bravery.”

 

At this point, the rest of the room is trying not to stare. Trying not to be sucked into the discomfort of the moment, staring down into laps or at the carpet, coughing quietly into a fist�"anything to not be caught staring blatantly at such a grotesque display of vulnerability. We all rubber-neck when we pass a bloody car crash. We all slow just a little bit to see if we can catch a body bag or dismembered passenger. We all look. But we don’t want to be caught looking. Stealing a glance around the room, Benjamin only finds one person not feigning respect. Abelle, with her blue scrub gown and hospital socks, isn’t looking away. Abelle, with her arms wrapped almost an inch thick from wrist to elbow, isn’t feigning courtesy. Abelle, with her long auburn hair and emerald eyes, is just trying not to laugh. Covering her mouth with one hand, she’s barely able to keep her snickering down. Uncomfortably, everyone looks up at her. Joseph, his face bright pink and smeared with tears and snot gives her a look of confusion.

Mostly just disgruntled, Parker turns his full attention to her and says, “Abelle?”

 

Abelle clears her throat and puts her hand down, and in a thick French accent she’s says,  “Hm. I’m sorry. Sorry.” But she’s still fighting that smile, trying desperately to put it away and force a serious face. “Excuse me.”

 

“Abelle, you’ve been here for nearly three weeks now,” says Parker looking down at his clipboard, “and you have yet to share with us. Do you have anything you want to discuss with the group today? Why don’t you start by telling us why you’re here.”

 

Ben rolls his eyes. Why are you here? Always, with that same question.

 

Managing to suppress her mirth, Abelle flattens the scrub gown smooth across her lap. “I am here because I have to be.”

 

Parker taps the pen against in chin thoughtfully. “Mhm. Okay. Well that’s true for most of the patients here at Green Oaks. Can you tell us what happened to your arms? If you’re not comfortable sharing that information, you�"“

 

“I cut them both open with a razor blade.”

 

The abruptness of Abelle’s response makes everyone look down into their laps again, even Joseph. In a place like this, emotional candor becomes tiring very quickly.

 

Putting on his concerned-counselor face, Parker asks, “But why? To what end would you want to do something that visceral�"that violent�"to your own body?”

 

“Well, I was fed up with this dark, dark world. I hated myself because I had no love from my father. Or, maybe I’m so numb, that I just wanted feel something. Hm? Is that what you’re looking for?”

 

Parker is at a loss for words. “Well�"er�"yes, those tend to be typical reasons for self-harm, but uh…” Before the counselor can struggle through the rest of his response, his wristwatch gives off a shrill, beeping alarm. Saved by the bell, thinks Benjamin. “Well! It looks like we’re out of time. We’ll have to discuss this further during another session, Abelle, if that’s okay with you. See you all tomorrow, folks!” Parker gathers his clipboard and briefcase and is out the door before anyone else can stand.

 

Benjamin stands up slowly and stretches. With nowhere else to go, and the next meal being an hour away at least, there isn’t a lot to rush off to. A few of the more participatory patients move to give Joseph, now mopping up his face with tissues, a gentle pat on the back and a “thanks for sharing.” Despite the “no touching” rule, one or two even game give him a hug. Benjamin always suspected that people like that were putting on an act. Blubber now and then, be engaged in the healing process, and maybe they’ll let your life suck outside of an institution as opposed to having it suck in here. Many of these patients were repeat visitors. Admitted. Released. Admitted. Released. These were the people that, despite all their misery, found freedom to be a creature comfort. Sure, they’d end up here again after driving their car through a Wendy’s, or being caught trying to overdose on pain killers, but at least they’d get outside of these walls for a while. All they had to do was play the game. Be healed. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt if I played a long a little, thought Benjamin.

 

“Don’t.” Suddenly, Abelle is standing at his side, with her French accent and her bandaged arms crossed, watching Joseph and his post-emotion admirers.

 

Benjamin turns to look at those bright green eyes. “Don’t what?”

 

“Don’t hug him. Don’t give him a kiss. Don’t pretend. You’re not like them.”

 

Turning back in time to see Joseph blow and snort impressively into another tissue, Benjamin says, “I wasn’t planning on giving him a hug. And what does that mean, ‘like them?’ How am I any different�"“ but when he turns to face her, Abelle is gone.

Reviews

[Stacy Purvis]

If anything, check structure. Perhaps get an editor and edit the structure. The storyline is a hook and catch. Love this story. Thank you for sharing.