Tiptoe Through the True Bits

In my next session with Dr. Gould, I drew a blackbird. It took up two whole pages of my notebook and took me most of the hour to finish as he would occasionally fire a question at me and I would look up and nod or shrug before focussing my attention back to my drawing.

It was pretty perfect, and I admired it proudly as I turned to show Dr. Gould what I had drawn. It felt a little juvenile, having to fight for his approval for every drawing I did; kind of like a kid coming home from school and showing their parents what they made in art class and insisting that it be hung on the fridge.

“That’s very nice,” Dr. Gould said, nodding enthusiastically as he made some more notes. I watched his eyebrows as they jumped up and down on his head like fat black caterpillars and I wanted to laugh at them but I couldn’t bring myself to do so. I didn’t want him to see me laughing, anyway. I’m far too stubborn to let him think this crazy shit he pulls with me is working.

“And, why the blackbird?” he asked casually, glancing up at me.

I smiled and shook my head at him. Nice try.

He laughed a little. “You can write it down, if you want,” he told me.

I took my notepad back and turned to a clean page, scribbling three very distinct words down before I turned the book to him and presented the words smugly.

You tell me.

He let out another short laugh and closed his own notebook. “Okay, I will. I think you drew the blackbird because birds are beautiful and they are free. And obviously you want to be free. You want to be free to make your own decisions in life so that you don’t have to spend every other day in a stuffy office with an old geezer like me. Am I right?”

I exhaled with a faint smile and shrugged. Maybe he was right. I mean, he was the shrink. My aunt wasn’t paying him to be my art teacher, was she?

“I also think,” he added hesitantly, “that you want to be free from yourself. You’ve imprisoned yourself in silence but I know that you want to talk, really.”

I looked up at him with furrowed brows. Did I?

“Yes, you do,” he smiled. “And I promise you that you will.”

I scoffed a little and began to pack away my things because our hour was almost up.

I could tell that I was exasperating Dr. Gould. Maybe I am crazy like they all think.

As usual, Dr. Gould came out with me to make my next appointment, and as usual I saw Gerard in the waiting room and smiled at him.

But this time, he got up as Dr. Gould was talking to his secretary (her name was Sheila, evidently) and came over to me. He gave me a hug. A short, awkward hug, but it was probably the closest human contact I had been exposed to in months.

I’m not sure who was more surprised about this development; me, Gerard or Dr. Gould. But as Gerard pulled away, he was blushing and laughing a little to himself.

“Sorry,” he said to me, glancing up at Dr. Gould, who was giving the two of us a very peculiar look indeed.

I smiled and hoped he could tell that it meant don’t worry about it.

“Do you two know each other?” Dr. Gould asked incredulously. “Thanks, Sheila.” He took a card from Sheila’s manicured, wrinkly hand and passed it straight on to me, still looking slightly confused.

“Not really,” Gerard replied with a shrug.

Finally, the doctor’s face turned up into a smile and he put his hand on Gerard’s shoulder to turn away from me, whispering some things to him and nodding as he replied. I turned to leave but Gerard called me back. Dr. Gould was smirking.

“Elise, would you like to join me in my session?” Gerard asked nervously. He had this look on face that seemed to be begging with me and even though it seemed like a really weird idea, I found myself nodding and following the two of them back into the office.

I barely knew anything about Gerard. I didn’t even know why he was committed to this shrink like I was. Obviously there was something wrong with him. But it was hard to imagine what it might be. Stress, possibly?

He seemed like such a normal guy. He wore jeans and t-shirts and sneakers, like a normal person. He talked like a normal person. He seemed to care for his hygiene like a normal person. He didn’t talk to himself or twitch uncontrollably or constantly refer to “them” whilst looking up to the skies. This seemed to eliminate most mental disorders I could think of.

But then, I guess I’m not the doctor here.

It felt strange, invading on Gerard’s session. I always thought these sessions were supposed to be confidential and all that shit. They were highly personal and I wondered why this man that I barely even knew had openly invited me to join him.

But I sat down on the second, less comfortable chair anyway, as Gerard flopped down into the big squishy leather number beside me. He glanced over to me with a smile before turning back to Dr. Gould, who was beaming at the two of us.

“Well,” he began, “I must admit, this is a huge turning point for both of you.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, but I saw Gerard smile out of the corner of my eye. I still had my suspicions about their ulterior motives. But I pushed it aside and gave them the benefit of the doubt. It seemed unlikely that they would team together to trick me into speaking. That seemed far too sinister and mean. Plus, it would be breaking the patient-doctor confidentiality. The Hippocratic Oath, and all that bullshit. I wasn’t sure if that applied to shrinks, though. Surely it must. Maybe even more so.

“Okay,” Dr. Gould breathed with a smile, gesturing towards Gerard. “Tell me about your encounter with Elise yesterday.” He then gave me a little smile and turned back to Gerard. Obviously he knew he wasn’t going to get any more out of me.

“Well, we met by chance at the grocery store,” Gerard spoke, smiling slightly at me. “Elise was in front of me in the queue to pay. I knew it was her straight away because I recognised her hair.” He blushed a little as he said this. “But I didn’t say anything at first because I didn’t want her to think I was a creepy stalker.”

I gave him a reassuring smile and gazed down at my feet. Dr. Gould let out a short laugh.

“Anyway, she was kind of in a daze,” Gerard continued, his voice a little shaky like he was afraid I would be mad at him for saying something like that. Which I might have been, if it hadn’t been true. “So after she paid she turned and bumped into me.”

Dr. Gould nodded and scribbled again his notebook. He was always scribbling, that man; I’d be surprised if he didn’t have carpel tunnel or something. “And then what?” he urged.

“Well, I said hello,” Gerard smiled faintly. “Because I recognised her from your office. But Elise didn’t reply.”

They were talking about me like I wasn’t even in the room, but I wasn’t especially angry about this. I was curious. I wanted to know why I was here and why I was being mentioned at all. It was all very interesting and strange.

Surely Dr. Gould of all people knew the danger of letting me become invisible in this room. But I figured this was just another of his mind games. He was the master of trickery.

“And what did you think when Elise didn’t say hello to you?”

I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees, eager to hear his response.

He glanced nervously at me and smiled again. “I, um, I thought it was a little odd,” he admitted with a shrug. “But then I asked if she ever spoke and she shook her head.”

Dr. Gould leaned forward at this point, too. Clearly things were about to get interesting up in here.

“And did you have any idea why?”

Gerard sighed. “I thought at first that she was just shy. But then I thought maybe it was something more than that, but I couldn’t figure it out.” He sounded exasperated.

Dr. Gould smiled and clapped his hands together. “I like this,” he announced. “I have spent a few hours with each of you and I believe the root of both of your problems stems from low self-esteem.” Gerard opened his mouth to speak but Dr. Gould hushed him. “You both need a friend. So I am not going to prescribe you pills, or experimental therapy. I am going to prescribe you a friendship and meet with each of you twice a week; once alone and once together.”

I blinked up at him in confusion and I could see Gerard doing the same. Could he really force people to become friends? Was that in his jurisdiction?

He sighed a little. “I’m a medical professional,” he said. “And I truly believe that this will be infinitely more beneficial to the both of you than any drug I could give you. So exchange cell numbers now.” He stared at us for a second and then gestured for us both to obey him.

I wrote my number on the back page of my new notebook and ripped it out, handing it over to Gerard with a tentative smile. He used the back of a receipt in his coat pocket and I held it in my hand carefully.

“Excellent. Elise, Gerard will be in contact in approximately one hour,” he said, standing to see me out of his office, “but we must have our session first. Now get home before your aunt starts to worry.” He shooed me out into the waiting room with a grin and closed the door behind me. Kind of rude, really.

Before my aunt started to worry? Ha. She probably wouldn’t even be fucking home. She’d be at the office, where she always is, and she’d have sent her son away to his grandparents’. I felt sorry for his grandparents, being stuck with that little fucker at all hours, but at least it kept him out of my sight and I could have the house to myself.

And oh, how accurate I was. I entered a silent house, trudged upstairs to my room and when there, I stared long and hard at the guitar in the corner.

The guitar had been my mothers, and with the exception of me, was her most prized possession. And also, like me, it was one of the few possessions that didn’t perish in the fire. This guitar had only survived due to the expensive fire-proof case my mother religiously kept it locked inside, and I had only survived due to Becky Sanding’s birthday sleepover.

With my hands shaking a little, I fingered the neck of it. It was still beautiful and shiny and it smelt like varnish, even after months without use or attention. The guitar’s name was Jennifer. Jennifer was the only feminine object in our house. Once as a child I had asked my mother why everything else was given a boy’s name except Jennifer, and she had smiled and kissed my forehead and told me that Jennifer was far too pretty to be a boy. Jennifer made beautiful sounds that a smelly old boy could never produce.

As I picked the guitar up now and quietly began to tune her, I finally realised what my mother had meant. I had never played Jennifer before. I had barely been allowed to touch her because she was so precious to my mother. She had owned Jennifer for such a long time, before I can even remember, and in an odd way, I felt like maybe my mom’s spirit would live on through Jennifer every time I played her. I just wanted to make sure I was doing it right. I can’t even tell you how long I spent tuning that thing. It must have taken well over half an hour until I got her absolutely perfect. I had become a little rusty with my musical skills over the months.

I wished above all else that my extensive and beautiful plectrum collection had not melted into one huge slab of molten plastic. I wished that I could have reached underneath my bed and pulled out a familiar shoebox and agonised over picking the prettiest pick I could find in order to do Jennifer and my parents justice. But, alas, my fingers would have to suffice this time.

I began to play my favourite song of all time; the song that I used to be frequently told was written about me. And I mouthed the words along.

Oh Elise, it doesn’t matter what you say...

My mother named me after an old friend she had had, who sadly passed away shortly before my birth. This was a woman who had stood beside my parents throughout numerous tragedies, and every time had given them the strength to carry on trying, encouraging hope and promoting fate. I was told that she died of cancer when my mother was 7 months pregnant with me, and that all Elise could articulate in her final words to my mother was an expression of gladness that her dreams of a family were finally coming true.

From what I have heard, I’d have liked Elise a lot, and I feel somewhat honoured to share a name with her.

When I was around 15, The Cure released the song A Letter to Elise, and my mother used to sing it to me as she was cooking or cleaning around me, and I would smile and hum softly along. My mother had a wonderful voice. I longed for the sweet notes of her to fill my senses as I drifted into consciousness, realising that the last nine weeks had all been part of a horrific and realistic dream. I would nuzzle into her and tell her all about it and she would kiss my forehead and tell me I was crazy to dream up something as horrible as that.

But this dream was unfortunately reality. Everything was upside-down and backwards.

I just had to hope that everything would work out in the end.

There’s nothing else I can really do at all.

I strummed to a close and let a wide smile break out across my face, just as my phone began to vibrate in my pocket. Carefully, I placed Jennifer back on her stand and whipped my cellphone out.

The irony of a mute even owning a cellphone is not lost on me. But fortunately nobody ever wants to communicate with me. I got the occasional text from my aunt asking me to pick something up from the store on my way home from school, and that was really the extent of my requirements. Until now, of course.

Giddily, I scanned the obnoxious little screen.

Dr. Gould is making me send this. He is watching me right now to make sure I do. How awkward is this? Do you want to meet up tomorrow for coffee, or something? I’m afraid if we don’t that he will beat us. G x

I let a tiny, raspy little laugh erupt from me and immediately began to reply.

I know, weird or what. I’d love to meet you tomorrow and I will apologise in advance for my boring silence. Makes it that little bit harder to make friends. Where/when were you thinking? E x

I thought signing my name off the way he did made me seem kind of cool. Cool or weird, could be either. Who cares. He was obligated to be my friend. I didn’t really need him to think I was cool.

My reply came sooner than I expected, and I found myself actually excited about what Gerard had to say. I felt like a schoolgirl with a crush; heck, I was a schoolgirl with a crush. But if we were going to be forced into a friendship, there is no way he could ever know that. No. Way.

Well if necessary I can always text you across the table. Starbucks in Belleville, 1.30? G x

I giggled silently again and twirled my hair around my fingers as I thought of something equally witty to reply with.

Sounds perfect. See you tomorrow :) E x

Okay, so I couldn’t think of anything witty, so sue me. When in doubt, resort to emoticons, right?

See you tomorrow :) G x