“I’ll get my insurance card in the car – and make a call.”
I looked toward AJ’s room and then back at Chris.
“Again, I’m really sorry about this.”
“You did us a favor. Stopped her from going who-know’s-where with who-know’s-who,” Chris said.
“AJ was going to the movies, with a straight-edge, nice guy.”
“Well, sneaking out is just another bad decision,” Chris said as she eyed a car inching up the driveway. “We would’ve given her permission to go if she did this the right way, y’know?”
“Yeah, I hear you.”
“Must be her date,” Chris said.
“Well, I’ll tell him AJ’s not coming out tonight,” I said opening the door.
“Thanks, Alicia.”
I left the house and made my way down the long driveway. As I approached the car, the driver made the headlights go from full to bright. The sudden harshness flooded my sight, blinding me like a flash from a too-close camera. I shielded my eyes with my forearm and tried to blink away the glaring afterimage. It took a few seconds until I was able to see again.
Annoyed, I continued moving forward, but the headlights darkened completely, and the car started crawling in reverse.
I’m so not in the mood for this, I thought to myself.
I extended both of my arms into the air, fingers expanded, and shook my hands. The universal gesture for wait up.
But instead, the car revved its engine, beamed the lights on—and to full brightness again. Then it screeched away and peeled down the street.
“Dumb, stupid teenager,” I said as I caught a whiff of the burning rubber.
Session Five
Wednesday, June 14th
“
Had a terrible dream last night,” Luke said starting the session.
“I’m not surprised given these last few sessions. We unlocked some deeply powerful and scary things,” I replied.
Dream work was a powerful tool in psychoanalysis, where unconscious fears, desires, and emotions make themselves known.
I waited for Luke to settle into resting on the couch before continuing.
“So, what was this dream about?” I asked, grabbing my notebook to take it down word for word.
“A bear.”
“Go on.”
“So, this bear was chasing me. No matter where I went, it found me.” Luke paused, clasping his fingers against his chest and closed his eyes. “I was running in like this decrepit forest. Where all the trees were cut down. Branches, tree limbs, and leaves were everywhere. Anyway, I kept running and running. But couldn’t get away from the bear. I hid, hoping it wouldn’t find me. But it did.”
I scribbled, trying to keep up with him.
“The bear was freakin’ huge. Had these sharp claws. There was no way for me to get away. And I knew it. Then it started tearing into my skin.”
Luke opened his eyes, swallowing hard.
“How does it end?”
“With the bear attacking me.”
I nodded and looked at my notes. I read the dream once and then studied it again. After a while, I gathered my associations. “So, what do you think this dream's about?
“You got me,” Luke said, hiking his shoulders.
Drawing out dreams can seem like a daunting task. With encouragement, patients can sometimes deepen their insight.
“You’re a writer. Use your imagination.”
“Well...I’m being hunted. That's pretty obvious.”
“Keep going.”
“And I’m trapped.”
“What else comes to mind?”
“I dunno. It’s violent, I guess.”
I nodded. “And terrifying”
“Yeah. It was scary.”
“And when you tried to hide, it didn’t help.”
Luke nodded, chewing his lower lip.
“Tell me where you feel hunted? Where you feel chased?”
Luke stared off, saying nothing.
“What about a place you can’t hide?” I asked.
“I guess...here,” he finally said. “I know the more I hide, the more panicked I become.”
“Mmhmm.”
Luke took in a few long, quiet breaths.
“What do you think the bear symbolizes?”
“I’ll tell you what my first thought was. But don't laugh,” he said.
“Go on.”
“The Three Bears.”
I widened my eyes.
“Y’know, the mother bear. The father bear. The baby. The fucking porridge. What the hell is porridge, anyway?”
“Boiled oats, I think. Let’s stay with the bears though.”
“Okay.”
“Who or what comes to mind when you imagine The Three Bears?”
“My mother,” Luke said plainly.
“How’s your mother the bear?” I asked.
“She had these long fake nails. I forget what you call them.”
“Acrylics.”
“Yeah. Acrylics. Whenever she’d scream or yell, all I saw was this.” Luke held out his hands, with his fingers extended, and flailed them about wildly.
“Like huge claws,” I said recognizing the symbolism. “What about your father? Could he be a bear?”
“Yeah, he can. Especially lately.”
“How do you mean?”
“He’s pissed I’m dragging my feet about my mother’s estate. Not wanting to go to the reading of the will. Shit like that. It’s not a stretch to see his yelling as growling.”
“Why do you think you’re so reluctant?”
“I can find out what’s been left, or most likely not left to me, without hearing it read in front of everyone. So why should I have to go?”
“So you experience pain if you go or if you don’t go.”
“Exactly. I’ll get chewed out either way.”
“Tearing into your skin. Cornered. Like in your dream.”
“Yeah.”
“What about here, with me? Could I be the bear trying to get to you?”
Luke said nothing.
“Our work here is like cutting down trees,” I said. “Pressing you to talk about Donald Gallin. Cutting down your defenses?”
“I don’t feel like you’re a bear, pressing me. But I do feel anxious. It’s me. My shit. Not you.”
“So, we could throw you being the bear into the mix,” I said, taking another analytical perspective.
“Like this Gallin thing chasing me?”
“Yes.”
Luke moved into a quiet reverie.
“What about the word itself?”
“Which word?”
“Bear,” I said.
“To endure something difficult.”
“What else comes to mind?”
“I can’t remember. Does the baby bear find the porridge just right?”
“No. Goldilocks finds the baby’s porridge just right.”
“Yeah. That’s right. The father’s was too hot. The mother’s too cold.”
I nodded. “What does porridge and enduring something difficult have to do with each other?”
“I dunno—maybe because things were never just right at home.”
“Tell me what you mean.”
“Every time I’d look for some kind of comfort or understanding from my parents, I’d end up wishing I never tried in the first place.”
“Love and affection were difficult to find.”
“Yeah.”
“Sounds like you regretted looking for those things from your mother and father.”
“Uh-huh.”
“In your life story, the baby bear in you was burdened with loss,” I interpreted. “Your absent father. Enduring the coldness from your mother.”
“Not a happy ending.”
I said nothing now and waited for him to continue.
“It’s kinda weird I had a dream of a bear,” he fina
lly said.
“Why?”
“I didn’t think of it before, but it’s definitely relevant.”
“What is?” I asked, inching forward in my seat.
“Every Friday in the first grade, we were allowed to bring a toy to school. For show and tell. Boys brought in action figures like He-man. Skeletor. The girls brought stuffed animals. Cabbage Patch Kids.”
I nodded, encouraging him to continue.
“One Friday we brought in teddy bears. It had something to do with going to Teddy Roosevelt’s—a field trip to his summer house.”
“Sagamore Hill. Yes, that’s not far from the office here.”
“Anyway, I had to go to the Headmaster because I ruined a few of the bears.”
“How did you ruin them?”
Without hearing me, he spoke again. “My mother had to come and pick me up because I wasn’t allowed to go on the field trip.”
“How did you ruin them?” I repeated a little louder.
Luke’s eyes were closed now. He didn’t answer me again. He was faraway, transfixed in a moment in time.
“I was suspended for a week. Oh man, my parents were furious. I remember, my mother hit me.”
“What happened to the bears, Luke?”
He blinked heavily, clearing away the traumatic haze. As Luke floated back into the session, his hands tightened into bloodless fists.
“I cut their heads off with scissors.”
Notes
Luke brings in dream, begins session thinking of the fairytale “The Three Bears.” Worked dream analysis fairly well, with only a little help. Patient is very insightful. Intelligent.
Transference: Still positive, but unconscious portions of his dream suggest his connection to me could be fearful. Will explore further.
Counter-transference: Positive, but guarded. I didn’t feel discomfort or worry this session, but still have concerns. I’m filled with a sense of uncertainty.
Relevant issues: “The Three Bears” is a story about privacy and the consequences of breaking boundaries. Just realizing some of the different endings of the story:
- Goldilocks gets scared out of the house by the bears.
- She gets attacked by the bears.
- She gets killed and devoured on the spot.
Other things from this dream could be used to help understand the trajectory of treatment.
Is Luke like Goldilocks?
Would he run from his own psychic house?
Is he saying he might end treatment abruptly because he’s scared? Like Goldilocks, could I be terrified by what else I might find as sessions go on?
Is Luke the bear and I’m in danger?
What are the consequences of breaking boundaries here in psychoanalysis?
There’s much to think about here and I need to carefully sift through all of the data from this session.
Diagnosis: Panic Disorder. Narcissistic Personality Disorder with Malignant Narcissism or Antisocial Personality Disorder.
Prognosis: Still guarded.
Wednesday Night
M
usic was playing off in the distance as I closed Luke’s file. I followed the sounds to the window, opened it, and looked down.
The restaurant next door was having a party, which thinned the thoughts of bears, tearing skin, and danger. The music was rhythmic and lively. It floated here and there—and then away on the night’s breeze.
I saw couples dancing on the lanai and watched their bodies move together and apart to the Latin beat. I touched my wedding ring and was suddenly filled with thoughts of Ryan. I wished he was here, if even just for a minute.
To comfort me.
To hold me.
To help me make sense of the uncertainties I felt.
I buttoned up the office and made my way to the parking lot.
“Hey Doc,” Steve shouted from the security kiosk. “Got some info on that license you wanted.”
“So fast?”
“Called in a few favors. No big deal.”
Steve pulled out a printed sheet of paper from a folder on the shelf in the kiosk.
Got six hits on a 2010 Cadillac with New York State tags. Two are local. One’s a livery company in Manhattan, and the other’s a Diane Franklin in Queens County. These ring a bell, Doc?”
“No. Nothing.”
“You said the car was in your driveway a few times.”
“That’s right.”
“Y’know, The Muttontown Club is just down the road from you. Lots of events there, especially now in the summer.”
I thought for a moment, nodding as I realized what Steve was implying. “You think the car’s from the limo company. And it misses the road out, turns around in my driveway, and moves on.”
“All those private roads by you. Easy to get lost.” Steve placed his hand on my shoulder. “Remember the time I followed you home after the Saab needed a jump?”
I nodded.
“Never told you this, but as I left, I got lost and ended up in the back roads there for a while before I found my way back to 107.”
“Really?” I laughed.
“Yup.” Steve gave me the sheet with the license listings. “I don’t think it’s anything more than that, Doc. But if you see it again, call me.”
“I feel better, so thank you so much for this.”
“Happy to help, Doc. Safe travels home,” Steve said as I got into the car.
Instead of heading home, I took the Northern State Parkway East to the Round Swamp Road exit, and coiled around the slow curves towards Huntington. I climbed the hill at Jericho Turnpike and veered left onto Oakwood Road. I’d taken this route so many times in the last few years. I could make the drive with my eyes closed.
There weren’t any gates at The Huntington Rural Cemetery. Quite frankly, if you didn’t have a loved one buried there, you probably wouldn’t even know the place existed. It was tucked away from the tree-lined street, with mile-high hemlocks and walls of greenery.
I rolled into the entrance and parked next to the row of graves where Ryan was buried. Then I grabbed a blanket from the trunk of the car. The moon was full and beamed brightly above me, lighting my way.
Standing there, I leveled my eyes on the marble headstone. The rocks and shells I left were still there—as they always were, untouched by the elements or visitors. I pulled a peach colored Whelk shell from my pocket and set it alongside the others.
“Found this at Tobay Beach.”
The grass beneath my feet was soft, and the air was warm, so I put the blanket down, sat down, and kicked off my shoes. The memories came slow at first, and then all too many at once competing for my attention. It wasn’t long before a warm flow of tears streamed down my face.
I visited with Ryan for a little over an hour. When I got home, I fixed Elvis his dinner and heated up some leftovers for myself. Afterwards, I took a bath—hoping the long, hot soak might quiet my mind.
It didn’t.
I dressed for bed and made Elvis sleep next to me. I was grateful he chose to stay and not run off to his own bed. He slept soundly, purring at first and then falling into a deep sleep. But I tossed and turned all night.
The morning came before sleep did.
Session Six
Friday, June 16th
“
I’ve been angry before. Done things to get back at people, but not like this,” Luke said.
“What else have you done?” I asked.
“Well, when I was eight, I locked Eleanor, our nanny, in the wine cellar. On purpose. She was there almost four hours before my parents found her.”
“Why'd you do that to Eleanor?”
“Sometimes things got knocked over when she cleaned around the house. She blamed me a lot. My parents got really pissed at me for being careless and shit. So the next time she had to go down in the cellar, I shut the door and locked the door behind her.”
“So no one kne
w you locked her in?”
“No. To this day, it remains a family story everyone laughs at. But I laugh for an entirely different reason.”
Although Luke presented these facts in a casual way, I was taken aback by this story. This was remarkable hostility for an eight-year-old.
“Did she continue to blame you for her mistakes?”
“Yeah, but it didn’t bother me as much. I just did other things to get even.”
“Like what?”
“Put bugs in her bed. Moved things around so she couldn’t find them. Whenever she was cruel to me, I gave it back. She didn’t know, though.”
“You liked fooling her?”
“Yeah.”
“When else did you do things like this?”
“When my dad didn’t take my side on things, there’d be days he’d forget to put on the parking brake in his car. Y’know, it’d roll down the hill.”
“You’d arrange for that to happen.”
“Yes.”
Luke talking about cars made my mind think about the Cadillac again.
“You said your dad has a car collection.”
“Yup. Fifteen cars. Sixteen, if he gets the DeLorean.”
“What kinds of cars are in his collection?”
“Muscle cars from the fifties and sixties. I never got to drive them or anything.”
“How come?”
“My dad’s not a good sharer.”
“What’s your dad’s everyday car?”
“He doesn’t really have an everyday car,” Luke said coolly. “He likes to rotate from his collection.”
“I see.”
“He’s cruising around in his fifty-seven El Dorado this week, I think.”
Once again, I had no reason to link Luke to the Cadillac, but it was again in my mind.
“How did revenge play out with your mother?”
“I’d take jewelry. Or her keys. Liked seeing her get bent out of shape.” Luke stopped. “I used to pee in her drinks when she wasn’t looking. Throw dirt in what she cooked sometimes.”
It was easy for me to be silent as I was factoring in so much at that moment. I listened to Luke; his voice was steady, no sense of shame or discomfort about doing these things. It was as though the stories weren’t significant to him. They weren’t red flags.
The Ninth Session Page 8
