Jolting upright, I was still gripped within the lucid dreamscape imagery of a moment ago. Dashing to the bathroom, my body began to ungulate and vomit out, as if trying to rid itself of the horrible conclusion just witnessed. Clasping tightly to prescription capsules of anti-depressants and feverishly ingested them, I was well on my to a dependency relapse that I thought I had conquered so long ago.
Relocating out to the center of the living room, I lowered myself to the wooden hard floor and sat in silence. With the aid of comfort of the overhead light, I breathed myself back into mental clarity and with it came the sole vision of her face, the woman’s face that was becoming the common reoccurring haunting image of insistence.
Sitting in delirium and like that of a frightened child, my arms ached as I squeezed my knees tight against my frail framed body, as if trying to hold in place the last semblance of stability. Like mimicking the rhythmic waves within a migrating tide line, with every slow inhale the body drifted back followed by an exhale having the body settled forwards, oscillating indecisively between the desires to further expose the trauma or to further move away from it. The once indistinguishable nightmarish vision that had returned was forcing itself back upon me with extreme clarity as if demanding a certain completion.
With an abrupt end, all mental chatter ceased as I slowly raised my head from my knees. Emanating from the outside yard, came that familiar high-pitched, repetitive squeaking sound that within a breath’s time, had me crawling to get a view of the outside yard area. Cautiously lifting my line of sight, I spied over the windows edge and through the hanging foliage and looked upon the silhouette of Frank who sat motionless within the moving tree swing. As if propelled by an outside force, Frank floated endlessly in the pre-dawn hours, swaying to a rhythm not of his own making.
My eyes glazed over in further sadness at the lonely scene. But I also knew that there was something deeper, some mystery withheld by Frank that had yet to expose itself to me. Returning back to the center of the room, it occurred to me that while our minds seemingly remained separate from one another's thoughts, we were both now connected somehow, moving in unison along a shared path to self-discovery. Like two prisoners waiting patiently for some word or sign to be set free, it seemed for the time being, we were both willingly condemned to dwell in silence within our own invisible cages.
The room remained empty of any other patients except that of Mr. T, who sat as he always did, at the furthest corner of the room with his fore head pressed against the window. It was at that exact same spot that he decided was his safe place from the first day he was admitted. That was twelve years ago. Before that he had been moved around the nation from clinic to clinic seemingly tossed around as no one could reach him. The fear he instilled in people was certainly not due to his stature, for he was that of a medium build, draped over with a well-worn body of age sixty-eight. It wasn’t even his monstrously stone cold, intimidating look that remained hidden behind an untamed mess of both head and facial gray and black long hair. It had all to do with his history told by other war vets who had been there with him, a history that according to witness was one of a mild mannered man who transformed the fears of the brutal slaughter of war, into his own passion for killing.
It was the legendary confrontation located at the highlands of Dak To that created this human war machine who was said, did not spare a life whether man, woman or child. To Mr. T, if it wasn’t white, it was dead. After completing his single tour of duty in Vietnam, he returned back to California where he was admitted into numerous facilities for rehabilitation for severe PTSD. Upon escaping from one facility, he almost died from a bullet wound he received from domestic altercation and was arrested for breaking and entering assault. Pleading insanity, he then became a case study that kept him from doing time in the state penitentiary and instead kept him locked up in various mental institutions around the nation.
Stepping up to the table, I offered up a calm opening gesture of good morning and introduced myself. This was then followed by asking him if I could have a seat and with no reaction as expected, I sat to the side and across from him, at spot that on the daily bases of our meeting together, would not change. Although this was just our first meeting together, it was imperative to keep the exact approach to the patient the same as to not instill discomfort or fear.
It was just after breakfast and while most patience preferred to eat at cafeteria, Mr. T was served at the same spot on the daily. The reasons for this, was because he did not like to be amongst the others, but also because even though served, it was expected that he would decline the food being offered. Looking down at the breakfast tray that remained untouched next to him, the subdued nature of the room suddenly changed as Mr. T began grabbing robotic-ally with one bare hand at his morning food. With four swipes from the tray to his mouth, he wildly consumed while leaving a trail of eggs littered across the table and up along his face. Abruptly pushing away at the mess created, it became evident that as quick as the burst of energy started, it ended and room again retained its previous deadened feel.
Lifting myself slowly from the chair and following it with a quick clean up, I turned towards the door, that’s when I heard it.
“Thank you for coming Peter”.
Frozen, I stood with my back to him but slowed only briefly so as to not give any impression of surprise. He spoke in hushed voice that was barely discernible though I knew I heard it. With a slight and slow movement, I turned my head so as to be able to discern if he had anything more to say, while also illustrating acknowledgment of his communication.
“You are welcome Mr. T”.
Leaving the room, I reveled in what just became one of the most significant moments of my carrier. The seemingly misdirected breakthrough was more a major victory for everyone and instantly buoyed my otherwise sullen state.
Off work and just arriving at the house, I stepped into the open garage to see if Frank was around. His painter’s chair remained empty with the canvas streaked with fresh mark of bright red paint across the center of it. Other colors were spread throughout the canvas surface but all seemed void of any real meaning or definition.
“No use in staring at it to long, it might give you a head ache”.
Emerging up from that homes downstairs cellar space, Frank arrived chuckling to himself and appearing in good mood. Dressed casually in a blue short-sleeved shirt and jeans to match, on his feet wore white shoes that looked fresh from the box.
“Well you are looking great Frank. You got a hot date lined up”?
Stepping over to his paints, he went about spending a moment cleaning up while his shy radiant smile lingered on.
“Thought it might be a good time to go out catch a meal, its one of those special days today and the only thing we need is for you to drive”.
Behind the wheel of Franks pride and joy, I could feel the glow emanating from Frank’s smile as his beautifully restored machine of forty plus years, glided through the evening traffic on Broadway. Upon arrival at the restaurant, a group of admirers quickly gathered around the Ford, elevating further the glow of the evening. Though only momentary, Frank’s sudden popularity carried on and into the dimly lit restaurant that looked to be getting under way for another night of business. The air was already flavored with the scent of grilled steak.
Relaxing comfortably and void of verbal exchange, we sipped from our beer mugs, while soaking in a Willie Nelson song that set in motion a drifting rhythm for the young staff members to work by. Soon to follow, and with a rising of his drink, Frank broke into conversation.
“So I am officially retired today. I have called it quits for good”.
Reclining back and dropping his shoulders, while wearing a childish grin, Frank’s eyes found a fixed area afar and soon glazed over as he reminisced the years gone by. Though he still was considered an employee at a real-estate company in town, it was apparent, to me anyway, that for almost the entire time I had been living within the house, his activity at the office had slowed to a stop.
“So Frank, how long where you in the business of selling house’s”?
Pulling his eyes back around, he stared deep into the well of his glass before taking another hit of his beer.
“I guess around thirty years. Was building contractor before that, but an accident on site took care of that”.
Patting his large open hand upon his right knee and shaking his head, Frank stayed fixed for a time looking at his leg that no longer supported his full weight. Taking another swallow of beer, his mood dimmed as he kept the memories close.
“And well after a time, I decided it would be best if I got out of the house to inter-act abit, the market seemed ripe, people began to move into the area so I thought what the hell, get into selling homes”.
Just then an attractive young waitress stepped up to take our order and while although being a gentleman, I could see Frank’s eyes had found a fondness for her beauty.
“So did you ever merry Frank”?
In a sudden scurry of senses ensued while trying to find his words, it was apparent that the topic was one he found little comfort in.
“Truth is, there was only one, but we will have another time to discuss this”.
Appearing nervous, Frank’s eyes shifted from me to his beer and back again. The smile on his face faded out as the unwanted memories lingered to close to the surface.
“I am sorry Frank, I didn’t mean to pry”?
Shaking his head from side to side, he too was evidently still dealing with an old emotional wound that had yet to be healed.
“Well you are still young at heart, I am sure there are a few out there that would love to enjoy the golden years together with you”.
Trying to lighten the mood, Frank solemnly looked up and shook his head again.
“Peter boy, there was only one and there will only ever be one”.
Holding one trembling hand out, Frank paused while gathering his words.
“Listen, like I have stated before, life has its own way of letting us know that though we think we are in total control of our own destinies, in reality, we have very little control at all. And by that I mean, the script is already written”.
For a brief moment, Frank and I sat staring into each other’s eyes, both ingesting the statement and how its relevance applied to our lives both individually, but more so collectively. Was our coming together part of a greater known script, and if so, why was it put into place. It seemed as though the signs being given were being presented in a much quicker fashion now, and as my intuition battled for prominence over fear, I was sure some great revelations were soon at hand.
In the comfortable confines of my down stairs dwelling, I sat alone and in silence holding gently the last bridge of understanding left between Grace and I. Tearing at the envelope, the contents of a single key fell to the table along with a note that with closer inspection had a written home address upon the surface of it. Pulling at the last of the contents, I unfolded two sheets of stationary. Both decorated with butterflies and both written with beautiful cursive that was easy on the eyes.
“Hi Gracie, Sorry for being out of touch as I am finding having a child is full time job. The little guy is getting quite active and is on the verge of walking. Clarence has been over time and again, helping with the little rascal…as you know, the family has been friends for so long though it seems as this year has gone on, I think he is having feelings for me again. That same boyish grin is showing its self and well, though awkward, I know all is going to be o.k. Bobby knows I am in good hands. Do you have any new updated mail from John? I must say I am abit depressed as I have still not received any letters from Bobby and I can’t understand why as the office at the V.A. mentioned he still alive and well. I suppose all we can do is hang in there for his eventual return. As time permits, I will try and get the bus over to see you. Be well for now… - Sis”
Out of a seemingly involuntary act and under pure dose of adrenaline, I rose suddenly to my feet while beads of sweat began to form over my head and hands. Moments of pacing around the room while staring out in blind wonderment, the written revelation had me sadly stunned for the reason that it now appeared that Grace indeed was withholding this information all along. Information she said that needed to be shared in person. Standing quietly while absorbing the new information, I quickly resorted to the next hand written letter. Hi Grace,
“I am feeling so ashamed and frustrated that we have to exist in the manor for the time being. All because mother would have a nervous breakdown knowing I am with child. This home, while wonderful, is just not the same without you and Bobby around. I know it makes little difference now, but I have made the preparations for the name change once the child is born. I just hope Bobby and John will be home soon thereafter and we can have the wedding day of all wedding days. Sorry to bring all this upon you…please when you find the time on the week end, if you can just spare some time from the clinic, come give us a visit”. Sis
Lying down for the night and with all the disconnected unknowns and uncertainties still swirling around in my mind, I at least felt a small step of forward understanding had been made as a portion of what I came to find, for however small, was now being revealed. Closing my eyes, I again let the warmth of the room take me adrift and within a moment, I was gone.
“The reveling is upon you now”.
Remaining still and with my eyes closed, I took notice of the thin reality of separation from that of the sleep state towards the continuing expansion of the waking state. Not so much caught off guard by the personalized messaging itself, nor by the clarity of the voice that delivered it, What was making these incidents particularly interesting to me was that they were being delivered at a time somewhere between deep sleep and just to the other side of the line of being consciously awake. The zone or that small space divided between the two realities that provided a corridor for conscious interaction.
With my mind in whirlwind of thoughts, I was heading out for the clinic and blindly reached over to where I thought I had left my keys the night before, only to find them not there. At a complete loss and now in a rush, I raced around plotting over the entire living space till it was apparent that I needed to call a cab. While waiting out my ride, I reasoned that all tangible realities were now beginning to merge and meld and fold over one another to the point where dislocations were starting to set in. My sanity was being tested by a collusion of forces both seen and unseen. Sitting to my self for a moment before heading into my time with Mr. T, I was feeling weak with emotional fatigue.
Holding a focus to one corner of my mind in attempt to tame my wondering thoughts, I ingested a few very deep breaths when Tom suddenly emerged and took a seat while holding a bright face of intrigue.
“I heard you might have made a friend”?
Now, with a quick change of expression, Tom’s appearance shifted and instead looked upon me with sympathetic eyes. Without asking, he could see things within my life and head where still very much unsettled. His previous comment was in reference to the breakthrough I made a day ago with Mr. T. Pausing in momentary silence, Tom; shed a brief smile before opening up again.
“Look Pete, why don’t you have a long weekend off? You look to need the catch up”.
Sitting back I knew he was right and I knew exactly where I would be going. I promised him I would be on my way right after my scheduled session with Mr. T. The session started with an air of anticipation. The fact, according to the records, that he had opened up for the first time ever, was so emotionally welcoming for me, not only for my own thought process at this given time, but from a clinical point of view. I knew something in him had decided it was time to change, a time to communicate to the outside world. Why he decided to do this on my watch was unknown at this point, but what was certain was that a great victory was unfolding
Pulling out my notepad, I had a surge for a new approach and it was directly related to what I had just experienced. Referring to one of four screening questions pertaining to victims suffering from PTS or post traumatic stress syndrome, while it went without saying that he was a sufferer, I wanted to attempt to voyage into his sleep time experiences and find, if anything, what his dreams were telling him. I was overly eager, as my breathing faltered slightly and looking up to meet his deadened eyes, he sensed it.
Pausing for a moment longer, I just began to speak when Mr. T exploded in sudden rage, flipping over the table and pinning me with his weight over the top of it. Now just inches from his face and covered by his loose greasy hair, he leaned in close while pressing deep onto me to the point where his left and my right eye were almost touching. A slow and methodical voice crawled out and whispered into my ear.
“You are not the problem, but you are going to help me get to the man who is”.
Grabbed and pulled to the ground beside me by two security guards, Mr. T. continued his pressing look my way as I removed myself from under the table.
“Together Peter…together we will preserver”.
Sitting against the wall as he was pulled up and away out of the room, I was quickly approached by co-worker Sharon followed by Tom. Both helped me to my feet while I
