Chapter Eighteen
The wind smelled clean, like clean magazines. It smelled like invisible ink. The phone rang.
“I have a collect call from Elijah Timothy Stevens. Will you accept?”
“Yes.”
“Hello, uh … is this the doctor?”
“Yes.”
“I am Elijah Timothy Stevens.”
“Yes?”
“I got one of your business cards the other day and I was wondering if you do phone counseling.”
“If you think it would help.”
“Well, Doc, it can’t hurt now, can it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Uhm … do you take Medicaid?”
“No. It’s only ten bucks an hour.”
“Well, we’ll have to work out something doctor because my problem is that I am broke and … up here in, well … I’m in the Bastille, Doc, if you know what I mean.”
“You’re in jail.”
“Bingo.”
“Well, in that case my services are free for you, Mr. Stevens.”
“Thank you, doctor. Merely accepting my collect call is halfway to a cure.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“Well, that’s all I need for now, Doc. But you take care of yourself and I’ll get back in touch again real soon. Don’t worry. I’ll be thinking about you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stevens.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
When he hung up the phone, he realized that the breeze through the open window was too cold, so he knew that it was one of those seasons. But he was not ready to close it. From then on there was a certain brace at the beginning of each day and a feeling in the middle of the night that he did not have enough protection.
Even turning on the radio was a flirtation with danger because certain songs could come on at any moment that would evoke memories, that would evoke specific associations that no longer needed to be considered. So, he turned it off and went back to a magazine instead. There, surprisingly, was the face that he had once known. The very face that had just been hologrammed into his mind. At first he was attracted to the grayness of the reproduction, but when he found himself unable to skim over it, he knew that there was something on that page for him. This person had won an award. She had accepted it in a white leather skirt, white patent-leather heels, and a white-seethrough chiffon blouse. She was in the newspaper in that clothing. When handed her award, she said, “Thank you to all the dancers I have ever performed with for giving me the physical gratification that has kept me coming back for more.”
Sometimes, thought Doc, it is bad for people to get too much attention because their egos overinflate and they feel a certain immunity from thinking. But when a person is dismissed, it can be a blessing in disguise because then they have to be quiet and count their friends. Only then can you speak to them directly with any realistic hope of investment.
The phone rang.
“Will you accept a collect call from Elijah Timothy Stevens?”
“Yes.”
“Hi, Doc.”
“Hello, Mr. Stevens. Has something happened in the last hour that you need to talk with me?”
“Yes, Doc.”
“That’s fine, Mr. Stevens. I just want to remind you that every patient is limited to three sessions. So this will be your second session. Understand?”
“Understood in practice, but not in theory, doctor. Why only three?”
“Mister, I’m not a martyr. I get what I need out of it by the third session and you can too. What happened?”
“Well, I used to work in a public school, a New York City public school. Do you know what that means, Doc? Can you imagine the guilt involved? It means students coming to school already disoriented instead of getting that way there the way we used to do. It means students who have never been out of their neighborhoods and don’t know what tractor means.”
“Why not?”
“Think, Doc. Think back to when we were kids. All those TV shows about farmers’ daughters and talking horses. Now it’s all domestic dramas. You have to watch every week in order to understand what’s going on. Anyway, it means the kind of school where the principal gets busted for doing crack in the boy’s john. And even worse …”
“What could be worse than that?”
“I was that principal.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Stevens.”
“They flew me up here to Ogdensburg Correctional Facility just south of the Canadian border. They flew us up on this little propeller plane called Air Rikers. They manacled our wrists together and our ankles, doctor. Then they put us on the plane. Do you think I can sell that to The Village Voice? I know this black girl from Yale who works up there. I want to call her and tell her about this big story but I need to charge the call somewhere. Can I charge it to you without using up my third session?”
“Yes.”
“All right then, it’s been good talking to you, Doc. I want you to know that I’m thinking about you and I miss you and I’ll stay in touch and let you know what’s going on. Okay, you be good now. Bye, Doc, love ya.”
“Bye.”
The phone rang.
“Will you accept a collect call from Elijah Timothy Stevens?”
“Yes.”
“This is my last session, right?”
“Right.”
“Okay, then I want to make sure it’s a good one. I want to talk over my future.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“Now, they’ve got two kinds of vocational rehabilitation training programs here. I was wondering which one you think I should take.”
“What is your educational background, Mr. Stevens?”
“I have a master’s in alcoholism counseling. Anyway, which program should I choose?”
“What are the possibilities?”
“Brick laying or office cleaning.”
“Which one feels better to you?”
“Well, in terms of feelings, Doc, I must admit I don’t feel good imagining myself behind an industrial vacuum cleaner. But I don’t think that I have what it takes to commit to becoming a bricklayer. I don’t think I would want to work outside with that freezing cement. So, I guess that going for practicals and not feelings, I should pick office cleaning.”
“Are you comfortable with that decision?”
“No.”
“What is your other option?”
“I guess I have to go back to AA, NA, get back in therapy and confront my fears.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. No, I’m not sure. Yes, I’m sure.”
“Well, that’s our final session, Mr. Stevens. I wish you the best of luck in your life. You seem to be an open person who is really trying.”
“Thank you, Doc. And, Doc, I want you to know that although we can’t be together right now, I will never forget you. I think about you all the time and I don’t want you to ever feel alone. I want you to know that I am thinking of you and I am someone who cares about you, Doc. I care about you. Always know that.”
“I will, Mr. Stevens. Goodbye for now.”
“Goodbye.”
They’d both started laughing before they’d finished hanging up.
The phone rang.
“Will you accept a collect call form Elijah Timothy Stevens?”
“No,” Doc said. “I just can’t. It wouldn’t work out.”