Chapter Fifteen - Tyler
Sitting down on the sofa in Dr. Eldridge’s shrink-house, it strikes me that the place looks brighter. It’s always been nice and warm and inviting, but it just seems cheerier somehow.
“Did you paint in here?” I ask.
She presses her lips together in a moment of consideration, the way people do when you’ve managed to make them question for a fraction of a second something they already know to be fact. Then she shakes her head and says, “No.”
“Huh.” I nod, looking around. “Seems sunnier.”
She puts on one of her kind, sweet, Dr. Eldridge smiles and says, “You shaved.”
“Oh. Yeah. Well, I didn’t, actually. Rodney’s the name of the guy who shaved me, but yeah. The beard came off.”
She nods a little. “How’s it feel?”
“Uh, good. Weird. Good and weird.” I decide not to tell her that when my skin touches Maddie’s mouth or pussy or asshole that it feels like getting my very first teenage blowjob over and over again every time. That moment of, “How is this a feeling that I haven’t ever had before?” I mean, the doc’s cool and all, but I don’t need to be telling her all about my oral fixation.
“So,” she says. “What’s going on? In your message you said you think you’re cured?”
“Oh, yeah. I mean, that was... y’know, that was kind of a joke. You got that it was a joke, right?”
“No, I just figured I’m that good at my job.”
She’s so fucking awesome.
“Ha! Yeah. Well, I mean you are, but... I just wanted to get together one last time to say thank you for everything.”
Maybe I’m misreading it, but there’s something I flag as sadness flashing across her face.
“Are you going somewhere?” she asks.
“Um, yeah. I mean, eventually. But just for right now I’m going to kind of just... be. Just wherever I am. With Maddie.” I can feel myself smiling. I probably look like a dope. I don’t care.
She gets a tiny smile too, but only around the corners of her eyes. “So that’s working out?”
“Yeah. Yeah. It is.”
She lifts her eyebrows. “OK. Great.”
“Hey,” I tell her, “I’m as fucking surprised as anybody. But it is. It’s great. She’s amazing.”
“I’m so glad. And she’s OK? I mean I heard about the fire at Pete’s Strip Club.”
“Oh, you did?”
“I did. Pete’s Strip Club, off the Strip. Where Maddie was stripping.”
“Ha! You remember that. She’s... She’s fine. Thanks.”
“The owner, Pete? He passed away in the fire?”
I take a deep breath and let it out on the word, “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry. Did you know him?”
“Uh... little bit. Yeah.”
“I am sorry. Did they find out what happened?”
Jesus. I didn’t anticipate this. And I want to tell her the truth. I really do. I want to tell her all of it. I don’t know why, I just do. But I’m not sure exactly how elastic the boundaries of our patient confidentiality are, so I say, “Electrical.”
She considers this, then says, “And so coming out of that, and particularly with what you had just gone through together, you and Maddie are still...?”
“Oh. Oh. Yeah, I get what you’re saying, but it’s not co-dependent or, like, born out of guilt or trauma or anything fucked up like that.”
“OK. And just so you know, I didn’t presume that it was.”
“No, I know, but I just felt like I should say it.”
“K. And how do you feel? Having said it?”
That’s my favorite thing about Doc Eldridge. She doesn’t just let me get away with shit. She’s always challenging me to figure out why I’m doing or saying something. I mean, I should be clear...I like it now. It also had the ability to drive me crazy for a while. But, in the place I am at the moment, I kinda dig it.
“Uh...” I think. “How do I feel? I feel like I’m not talking bullshit. Like this is all what I really, truly, deeply believe.”
“Well, great then. Because that’s kind of the part that matters.”
“Yeah. Ain’t it just?”
I make a tight-lipped smile and nod my head for a good ten seconds. She tilts her head forward, smiles back, raises her eyebrows and asks, “What else?”
“Oh. We went to Scotty’s grave. Or, I mean, I went for the first time. But we went together.”
“Her brother.”
“Yeah.”
“And? How was it?”
“Um...” My inclination is to say, “good,” or “hard,” or, “hard but good,” or some other version of that shit. And while any of it would be true, it’s also inadequate. “It was... a start,” I say. “I mean, I have lots of feelings about it, but the truth is it just felt like a pretty good start.”
The smile on her face now is maybe the most genuine I’ve ever seen from her. “Good,” she says. “And what comes next?”
“You mean like, in general or...?”
“Whichever.” She shrugs.
“Well, um, long-term... You remember me telling you about Nadir?”
“Your friend who died?”
“Yeah. I told you about what he had wanted to do whenever we got paid for the thing we invented?”
“Remind me?”
“Just... good shit. Like friggin’ Mother Teresa shit. Like philanthropy and stuff. Notably, he wanted to build schools for girls in Afghanistan.”
She nods yet again. “That’s noble.”
“Yeah, no shit. So I think that’s what we’re gonna do. Me and Maddie. Go help do the work Nadir would’ve wanted. I’m gonna try to find his family first. See if they need anything. But then, yeah... doing good deeds and whatnot.”
“Well, that’s wonderful. And Maddie is excited about this too?”
“Yeah. Yeah, she is. That’s the thing. We’re kind of in exactly the same place. Well, not exactly, we’re two different people. I can’t know exactly where anyone else is in their own head, right?”
She laughs a little and looks pleased, like you do with a kid who’s been staring at the same goddamn math problem for a really long time and finally figures out that two plus two equals four. Then she says, “Right.”
“Right. But we’re in similar places, I think, in terms of what we want out of our lives. And I think both of us feel like helping other people is a not-asshole way to spend the next however long. I mean, we’re lucky as fuck, and I’m not sure either one of us feels like we deserve how lucky we are. So maybe this will make us feel a little better about everything. Which is still just kind of another way of being selfish, I guess. But, y’know. Baby steps.”
She laughs again. “Will that be dangerous? Building schools, especially for girls, in Afghanistan?”
“Probably. I can’t imagine ever doing anything that’s not hugely unnecessarily dangerous, but y’know, you can take the boy out of the battle-zone, but...” She looks a little concerned. “I’m kidding! I’m joking! But, I mean, yeah, of course, it’s gonna be crazy dangerous. But if the government wants to keep using the tech Nadir and I invented, they’ll have to give us some cover or whatever. I mean, we’re not just gonna charge in there blindly without both being properly prepared and with all the backup we need and so forth.” Not again. Tried that. Shit doesn’t work great. “So it’s all gonna be above board and thoughtful and... Don’t worry. I’ll be OK.” I say the last bit because she looks genuinely concerned.
“I’m not worried,” she suggests.
“Awww, c’mon, Doc. You know you love me the best. I’m your favorite client. Don’t lie. You’d be all busted up if something bad happened. You can admit it.” I lean in, smile, nudge my elbow in her direction, and wink.
She rests her cheek on her hand. “What else?”
“Oh, I dunno. Nothing really.”
“Any plans for New Year’s?” she asks.
Huh. That’s right. New Year’s Eve is tomorrow. With everything we’ve been through and been dealing with, I don’t think either of us have taken the chance to even think much at all about “celebrating.” This new year doesn’t feel like that. Even though there is obviously a lot to celebrate when you get right down to it. But it feels more like turning a page. A quiet turn. A gentle pivoting. As opposed to some cataclysmic new ending or new beginning. Yeah. We’ve definitely had enough of those.
Although I do keep getting those texts saying, “Big plans for the New Year?” Somebody’s definitely trying to get me excited to go to whatever party or shindig they’re promoting. I am still tempted to text back STOP, but I’m restraining myself. They won’t lure me in. Fucking telemarketers.
“No,” I say. “No plans. Not really.” Then I remember. “Oh. There is one thing, kinda.”
“What’s that?”
“Um, well, not for tomorrow night or whatever, but later today. I’m, uh, I’m sitting down with my dad for the first time since I was eighteen.”
Dr. Eldridge is too good at her job to betray her composure, but she does take an elongated breath before saying, “Really?”
“Yeah. Yep. Yes, indeed.”
“How’d that come to pass?”
“Fuckin’ destiny, I suppose.”
“What does that mean?”
“Means I ran into him by accident and then after that, the guy came looking for me. So, I figure that something’s trying to say we should hook up, so we are.”
“Where are you meeting?”
“Frank’s. You know Frank’s?”
She nods. “And...”
“And what? And how do I feel about it and whatever?” She nods again. “Not sure. Curious, I suppose.”
“Sure. About what exactly?”
I take a moment to contemplate about what exactly. Because I’m not even completely sure I know. “Oh, I guess more than anything, I wanna see if I even still know the guy anymore. I mean, shit, like, he was one way for a long time, and then my mom died, and he became this totally other, really horrible fucking way, and that’s how I remember him, but that’s not happening now, right?”
She doesn’t say anything, just keeps watching me.
“I mean, fuck, Doc, look at me just in the time you’ve known me. Do I seem like the same guy?”
“Yes. But the same guy with perhaps an evolving worldview.”
So fuckin’ literal.
“OK, sure. But I suppose I feel like if I can see that kind of thing happening in myself, isn’t it possible that it could happen in my dad? And maybe if some of the guy I remember, who I liked, is still there, then maybe we can... I dunno. I’m just curious. OK? That’s all.”
I cross my arms and feel my shoulders rising a little to my ears. I’m not sure why I feel defensive. Or maybe I do. I think it’s because she’s asking me to explain in words a feeling that might be inexplicable. Which is not her fault. It’s her job. But it’s making my throat itch.
“I think it’s great that you’re going to see your dad,” she says. Then adds, “If that’s what you want.”
“It is.” I tell her. “It is what I want.” I think.
“Can I give you a suggestion?”
That’s weird. She’s never offered me a suggestion before. She’ll make, like, observations, and offer “thoughts,” but she’s never come right out before and given me advice.
“Uh... sure.”
“Or maybe just a tool you can choose to use if you feel it might serve you at all.”
“OK.”
“If possible, see if you can distance yourself from the interaction.”
“I don’t... What does that mean?”
She swallows and starts again. “If you can, try to step outside yourself and engage with your dad on two levels. The first level being the you that’s sitting there talking with him, and the second level being that of a reporter.”
“So... you want me to encourage a split personality? Because that seems like a real step backwards, Doc. No offense.”
She closes her eyes and takes a breath. “I know it sounds weird and may not even be something that you’re able to do, but if you can, allow yourself to be an observer who’s chronicling the interaction. Who’s assembling notes for reportage to you later.”
“Oooo-kay,” I say.
“I know, I know, it sounds weird. But look at it this way: Our brains are usually doing two things at once anyway, yes? Being present where we are, but at the same time, most of us are thinking a hundred other thoughts simultaneously.”
“No idea what you’re talking about.”
She takes the most indiscernible of moments to acknowledge my wittiness and then goes on.
“So, all I’m suggesting is that you take that companion track that’s running in your brain and put it to use. Allow yourself the opportunity to observe and report on everything that goes on with your dad. I’m just trying to give you a chance to be there and at the same time have a clinical remove from the environment so that your emotions – good or bad – don’t overtake the moment. Thus the reporter metaphor.”
I get what she’s saying. It’s not a terrible idea. I’m just worried that I might not be able to pull it off. “Should I wear a little reporter hat and carry a steno pad? Because I feel like that would really complete the look.”
“It’s just a suggestion. If it doesn’t feel useful, feel free to disregard.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be a dick.”
She smiles a genuine and authentic, toothy grin. “You weren’t.”
I take a moment to consider what she’s telling me. “Reporter, huh?”
“A way of seeing the events as separate from the feelings about the events.”
I blow my lips out. “Yeah. That makes... it’s not stupid.”
“I hope not. I try to give my favorite clients the not-stupid suggestions.”
For real. The greatest. I may just keep in touch with her anyway, even though I’m cured and shit. She’s rad.
“What if I brought Maddie with me?” I ask.
“Um... I mean, if you’d like to bring her, I mean, sure. Were you not going to?”
“Nah. I mean, my dad knows her from before and I’d have to explain and—”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“I wouldn’t?”
“Tyler.” She leans in a fraction of an inch. “Of all the things I know about you, one of them is that you are not a person who does things because they have to.”
She allows that to land and I don’t bother to pick it up. Neither does she. We both just let it sit there.
“I may bring her with me,” I finally say.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I mean, she’s a part of my life now. Again. Now and again, I guess. So, if we’re gonna...whatever, I’d like to start now. I suppose. Also, if I get distracted and forget to take notes or whatever, she can be my backup. Maybe I’ll see if she’ll wear like a little pencil skirt and glasses and put her hair in a bun and stuff. Because that’ll make it all easier no matter what. So that’ll be good.”
Dr. Eldridge gestures with her hands in a, “you do you, boo,” manner. (I know that’s not her intention, but it’s the effect.) “OK,” she says. “Anything else then that you want to talk about?”
I take a second in this moment to reflect on how far and how fast things have gone for me since Maddie came back into my life. Since we came back into each other’s lives. I know the doc would hasten to point out that Maddie’s not responsible for what’s happened in my life in these last couple of months and that if I’m sitting in a better place in the world it’s owed to me and my work on me above all. And she’d argue the same for Maddie. And she’d be right, of course.
But still...
Doctor Eldridge can’t argue against the fact that in order to start our own, individual races, we all need a trigger. An impetus. An inspiration. Something that kicks us in the ass and compels us to change, or to discover ourselves in a new way, or to want to even try. And if the starting pistol comes in the form of another person, so be it.
Some people find a hobby, like rock climbing or skydiving. Some people take up painting or sculpture. Some people find religion. Whatever. Maddie and I found each other. And inside of the other we found the missing parts of ourselves. And it shouldn’t be weird that that’s where we were hiding. We were part of each other’s evolution as people from way before now. We are in each other’s DNA.
“No,” I say. “No. Honestly, I think I’m... good. Like, actually OK. You remember back when you said that you thought I created stuff that would keep me in conflict? You know, so that I would always have something to fight against?”
“I do.”
“Well, I don’t feel like I wanna do that anymore. I mean, I know there’ll still be times when I’ll have to fight. Let’s just face facts, that’s the way the world is.”
“It can be.”
“Yeah. It can. But what I suppose I’ve decided is that that shit is hard enough. It doesn’t need my help. So I’m done fighting just for the sake of fighting.”
She eyes me and then cocks her head and says, “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
After a long, long, long moment she says, “Do you feel like you won?”
I take a few beats to think about what that implies. What it means to win. The cost of winning. The price of being a victor. If your hand is raised in triumph, someone else’s is lowered in defeat. Do I want to be a vanquisher? Do I want to be triumphant? Do I even want to win?
At what cost, victory?
So. Considering all that, I choose my words carefully when I finally answer.
“No,” I say, slowly. “But I guess... I feel like I didn’t lose.”