Ch. 4: Puppy Love and Uncle Joe's Farm

Chapter Four: Puppy Love, and Uncle Joe’s Farm

Time seems to be flowing differently now. It is not measured in seconds, minutes, hours, or even days. It is counted in periods of sleep, feedings, and medication. Is it a reaction to the stronger drugs they now have me on? It would seem that my reaction toward the good Dr. Carl has justified them in raising the dosages.

Once again I find myself imprisoned to the chair by chains. They feel as if they are a bit heavier and of a slightly higher grade than the previous chains. There is not as much play between my hands and the floor. The doctor’s table seems to be further back toward the wall. Dr. Carl must feel he needs the extra room for safety. I smile at his fallacy. There is no safety in space.

At the most it has to be at least a month since our last little gathering instead of the usual two weeks. I must have given them such a terrible fright. That was so mean of me and I feel really ashamed. I have been punished for my outburst. What little excursions out of my room were cut out completely. Meals have been lessened in quantity and warmth. Do I deserve such treatment? Perhaps.

The door opens and the doctor’s enter. They appear poised and relaxed, if a little nervous. Still, I can smell the rancid stink of fear on them and my heart rate slows. I become calm. They sit quickly, ready for the business at hand. Dr. Sisken smiles at me with a slight nod. It would seem that it is almost time too real in my fish.

I clear my throat. “Before we begin today, I would like to apologize for my outburst at our last meeting. Sometimes my emotions have greater control over me than I would like.”

I speak to them softly. Loud enough that they can hear me, but soft enough that they have to listen.

Dr. Carl shifts nervously in his chair fumbling at his neck as if his tie is too tight. He is uncomfortable to be around me and inside it makes me smile. I want to see him die at my hands. Everyone else sits at the table noncommital except for Drs. Clark and Sisken. Dr. Clark huffs with unacceptance and Dr. Sisken is smiling with a warmth to her eyes.

I notice my hands are rubbing against themselves. So I stop. Then I start to vigorously run my hands over my knees. I freeze with the sudden realization that I am nervous. Could it be because of the smiling good doctor? Could I be afraid to once more lose control? Or is it Ariana’s voice in the back of my head? This is something to consider.

Dr. Lee steeples his hands before him and I am surprised to see that he is the instigator of today’s proceedings. Sighing with deep patronizing compassion, he begins.

“Mr. Ward, before we begin today I would like to say that, while we may not understand fully how hard it has been for you to talk about previous events in your life, we do greatly appreciate the difficulty in doing so. There is water and coffee on the way if you would like to wait until they arrive that would be quite all right.”

Opening up to them with a weak smile, I nod slowly. I have to be careful to maintain control. We do not need a repeat of our last moments together. Before you mistake this as kindness I do not mean the attacked of Dr. Carl, I mean my losing control of my emotions. I am in control of what happens here and no one else.

“The abuse continued up until we moved away just before I turned five. My parents never had an inkling of what was occurring under their very noses. My parents who beat me when I cried at the thought of being watched by my abuser. They decided to move some twenty miles away, so that I would be able to go to, what they considered, a better school system.”

“When school started I knew that I was different. While the other kids were sticking gum in each others
hair and snacking on crayons dipped in paste, I was watching them. It made me angry. While I was reading through letter book, after letter book and daydreaming, my classmates were struggling to circle the right objects that begin with the letter f and learning that T was for tooth.”

“I began to experience events more than once. I would dream of things only to have them happen a few days later. When I was older, I came to understand that these instances of ‘Deja Vu’ were actually life changing events. You are being shown what will happen, but if you change these things in the slightest then your preordained life will be sent down a divergent path.”

The door opens and a cart is wheeled in, as Dr. Lee stated with my beverages. The timing could not have been more perfect. It will give them the opportunity to consider the profound statement I have thrust upon them.

Taking a moment I carefully fill a cup with coffee and sip it slowly. It is sweeter than the last time. There is also an underlying bitterness that I can’t place. Perhaps the coffee is old, or more likely they have added more sugar to hide the taste of the drug they hope will keep me more docile. Once more, something to consider.

“Around this time the beatings given to my mother in private were now visited upon me. She started to walk around with a complacent look on her face. I didn’t blame her though, she was just happy to no longer be on the receiving end. Some part of me was glad to be taking the abuse so she would not have to. Does that make any sense to you?”

“The house we moved to was just down the street from my mother’s parents. They lived with five of my mother ten brothers and sisters. As the first grandchild, I was always welcome to visit. My grandfather would bring me little bags of candy every day and sit me on his lap while I told him the events of my day, real or imagined.”

I take the last sip of my coffee and refill the cup with water. Asa always I watch them as I sip.

“Just after my sixth birthday my grandmother was diagnosed with inoperable cancer. Over a matter of months she wasted away to a pale shadow of herself. Every day I would sit at her bedside, ever the doting grandson, and keep her company. In the end she rarely recognized me and more often than not she would call be one of her son’s names. Upon occasion she would even call me by her brother’s name or even on one occasion my grandfather’s. She was in a great deal of pain and most of the time she cried and screamed for God to let it all end and stop the pain.”

“She screamed right up until the moment before she died. At that last moment she smiled, nodded, said ok and drifted off into death. It was a nice warm summer day, just as she liked, when she died. The air smelled of honeysuckle and the dog would not stop whining. I loved my grandmother.”

Drying my eyes with the back of my hand I sip my water and continue. Ah, memories.

“Six months later my grandfather was diagnosed with the same cancer that took my grandmother. Everyone said he died more from a broken heart than cancer. Thinking back on it I agree, he was never the same after Gram died.”

“On the night he died he sat me on his lap and we talked for what seemed like an eternity. The illness didn’t change his appearance as it did my grandmother’s. Every day he wore the same white pants and white shirt. His shoes were still impeccably shined As he smoked his Camels his lips held a faint bluish tint. Every so often he would cough up clumps of slime that was colored a blackish red. “

“That night he spoke of childhood and his life. He spoke of his love for family and of how much he truly missed my Gram. He spoke of how much he loved me. Sometimes I think he was the only one whoever did. He kissed the top of my head, squeezed my knee and sent me home.”

“They found him the next morning sitting in his favorite chair. A Camel in one hand, Zippo in the other and a content smile on his face.”

Suddenly the cup in my hand seems too heavy and it is hard to see. I seem far away as I watch my hand place the cup on the table.

“I remember coming home from school to find my mother sitting at the kitchen table calmly staring off. I changed clothes quickly and told her I was going to see Pappy. She held out a hand to me and called me over. When I reached her, she backhanded me to the floor busting my lip. Then she told me to go to my room with tears in her eyes. I still loved my mother.”

“The next morning when I woke up I found my uncle sleeping at the foot of my bed. During the night he had gotten into an argument with one of his older brothers. He fled the drunken rage by placing a dresser before his bedroom door and fleeing out the window. His jaw was blackened and his clothes were in tatters. When he opened his eyes, he told me that Pappy had died.”

“The funny thing is I remember everything leading up to the deaths of my grandparents, I don’t remember the funerals themselves. They are a blank slate. Although I would spend hours at their graves talking to them and watching the dogwood bloom, I could never remember their funerals. That bothers me sometimes.”

Again, mine eyes have moistened over. The sight of the doctor’s before me clears and I can see that I have touched them. This can be used to my advantage. Buried within every fallacy are kernels of the truth. My mouth opens to ask for a moment and I find that I cannot speak. My head drops to stare at my hands as I try hard to swallow the growing lump of sadness in my throat.

“Is everything all right?” Dr. Sisken’s sweet voice flows to me.

Nodding slowly I look up. “Yes.” And I offer a smile.

“Since there were no children my own age around where we lived, my father in an act of strange compassion, bought me a puppy. It was a floppy eared Spaniel mix. We did everything together. He was my first real friend. One day he was gone and my father said that he took him to Uncle Joe’s farm because he needed him there. I never saw him again.”

“My uncle was ten years older than and he became my only friend. We used use Lego’s and Lincoln Logs to make towns for our matchbox cars. We would use Monopoly money to play cops and robbers. Just kid stuff, but it was fun. Then he met the woman who would become his wife and I was pushed to the wayside. They married at nineteen and died on their honeymoon. The brakes on the car gave out and they flipped six times.”

I think it is time for more water. I have given them enough to think about for the moment. The water is cold like my heart. Each face before me tells a different story. Sadness, distrust, weariness, pity, and fear.

“Right around then a young girl moved just up the road. While I can no longer remember her face when I do think of her I see the blond hair and the big smile. Her name was Cathy and it was nice to have someone my age to play with. Well, she was a year younger, but who was I to complain. We spent a lot of time in the wood playing and making a fort. It was our own Bridge to Terabithia. Just about every day we would go down to the little pier and fish.”

“She was the first girl I kissed and I took to calling her my girlfriend. My father just said it was puppy love and it would pass. You know, because he always had such nice things to say he had to say that. Of course, we also played games of you show me yours. We played doctor once, but she didn’t like it so we never played again.”

This water is so good. It’s nice and cold. I love the dramatic pause. It’s so dramatic.

“One morning I awakened late and rushed down to the pier. When I arrived, Cathy was no where to be seen. For a while I sat there thinking that maybe she too was running late. I grew tired of waiting and started toward her house. Her mother told me that she had left with her little fishing pole quite some time ago. And she had not seen her. After checking our fort and finding it empty her father was called. Then the police were called and other parents were called.”

“The search party was huge. They went through the woods and nearby fields. Her fishing gear was found that night and her body was found a week later in the water near the pier.”

Looking at the ceiling tears ride my cheeks in torrents. There is an aching in my stomach that is slowly filling my throat. Could this finally be real pain and anguish I am feeling? I did not expect for these revelations to bother me quite so much. Although, I must admit there will be a benefit drawn from my reactions, and it will make the truth all the more shocking. So, perhaps this is a good thing.

“I was sitting on the pier holding her mother’s hand when they brought up her body. She was wrapped in a fishing net and her skin held a blue translucent quality to it, in places it was dimpled from the pressure of the netting. The contrasting reactions of her parents were almost startling. While her mother maintained an almost stoic misery, her father was howling as if his very soul was being ripped away. Perhaps it was. Still I sat there receiving more comfort than I was giving.”

“The funeral was held on a rainy Saturday afternoon. She was buried in a white coffin, which probably cost what he first year in college would have. Even the grey dimness of the day could not dull the angelic aura around her coffin. I sat there throughout the events with a cold detachment. My parents chose not to come so I went with Cathy’s parents. As everyone started to leave, I moved to the grave side and stared into it.”

“A hand rested on my shoulder and it was followed by her father’s mournful voice telling me that she was in a better place now with God to watch over her. While he led me away, I nodded solemnly as I thought that she was in a better place because she was dead and that was it. There is no heaven, no hell, no God, no Satan. There is just an end to life and you take your place at the bottom of the food chain.”

I fill my glass again and take a second to relax. The water is still nice and cold. Just like my heart.

“After the funeral I became sullen and withdrawn. In the course of a year I had lost my grandparents, my uncle, my puppy love girlfriend, and my dog. In an attempt to help me my parents decided to send me to a psychiatrist. For years I went to him and there was no real difference in my outward attitude. Inward, I became more introspective and observant of other people and their reactions.”

“W-w-w-what did you come to obs-s-s-erve in other people?” Dr. Effers asks clicking his pipe against his teeth.

The other doctors look slowly from him to me. What are they expecting my reaction to be? I wonder.

“Inherently people are lemmings. They are liars and betrayers of trust. Almost every spoken word is an exaggeration of the truth. People are more worried about the perceptions others have of them then being true to themselves. We enter this world alone spending our entire existence being left alone by others, only to die alone and frightened by the sudden lack of brilliant light.”

“Mr. Ward.” Dr. Clark begins with a croak, “You mentioned that you went to a psychiatrist for a number of years. Would you by chance remember his name?”

I swallow my water in one quick gulp.

“His name was Peter Anson. I think that will be enough for today. I would like to be returned to my room now.”

As I wait patiently for them to leave, I can hear my father talking to my mother about Cathy’s death. He is saying that I guess she is on Uncle Joe’s farm too. He is laughing. Cathy was dead. My dog was dead.

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