WASHINGTON, D.C.
“Why do you blame yourself for what happened to your daughter, Robert?”
“I didn’t act fast enough and get her out of that place.”
“But you say that your instincts kicked in and that you tried to get her to leave.”
“I didn’t try hard enough.”
Visions of that horrific day when the crazed young Arab woman detonated the bomb and blew away Brixton’s daughter along with a dozen others flooded him. He sat across from Dr. John Bradford Fowler in the psychologist’s client room, rigid in the tan leather armchair, determined not to go on a rant about terrorists and how he’d like to personally kill them all.
“Your friend Flo is concerned about you,” Fowler said.
“Yeah, I know, but she doesn’t have to be.”
“She cares.”
“Flo’s good people.”
“Have you ever discussed getting married?”
This shift in topic brought Brixton up short.
“I only ask,” Fowler said, “because she’s someone you can lean on while you work out your feelings about your daughter. As you say, she’s ‘good people.’”
“I’ll never work out my feelings,” Brixton said.
“You can if you want to and work at it.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“True, but the reason you’re here is to accomplish just that, to work out your feelings so that they don’t paralyze you. How is your work going? The last time you sat here you said that the tragedy with your daughter got in the way of it.”
Brixton shrugged. “I’ve got a few assignments.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Robert. Work is therapeutic.”
“That’s what Flo says.”
Fowler continued to probe Brixton’s inner feelings for the duration of the forty-five-minute session. Toward the end he said, “It might be helpful if you wrote down your feelings, committed them to paper.”
Brixton guffawed. “Why? I’m no writer.”
“Just a suggestion. Putting our feelings on paper sometimes helps clarify them. Think about it. I’d also like you to consider how your daughter would feel if she knew that her death was negatively impacting your life. I think she’d want you to go forward as a tribute to her.”
What Fowler had said made sense, and Brixton had thought the same thing on many occasions. He left after making another appointment. As he walked down the street to where he’d parked his car he had the same sensation as the last time he’d come from a session. He felt better and walked with a lighter step.
What was going on here?