Sander's Courage

by Cade Jay Hathaway

  wards, and even California's gas chamber at San Quentin

  Prison. The afternoon sun that finally broke out of the

  clouds cast a yellowish glow across the room. Jannik broke

  the heavy silence. "Do you like music, Helle?" he asked.

  "Yes I do. What kind do you think I should listen

  to?"

  "What kind do you like?" Jannik responded.

  "Pick what you think I would like to hear."

  Jannik delivered his answer in two seconds. He

  spoke as he dropped his head backwards onto the top

  edge of the couch. "You like same as me. You like my

  favorite music, Helle."

  Thinking that he was suggesting her tastes ran

  like those of a typical adolescent boy, she shook her head

  no and laughed. "I don't think so, Jan. I don't listen to that

  stuff at all."

  "Huh. I would have thought that you liked opera,"

  Jannik said, continuing to bounce the back of his head

  against the soft fabric. "Opera is my most favorite thing to

  come into my ears. Well, that and the voices of my family."

  Helle swiftly looked up from her note pad, never

  trying to conceal her shock. She lived for opera, and was a

  season ticket holder in three different Danish towns, and

  one in Germany.

  "How did you know I love opera?" Helle began.

  "Nobody here knows, and I don't have any opera stickers

  on my car."

  "You're smart," Jannik reasoned.

  "So..."

  "Only smart people like opera. I'm smart. So when

  you asked me what kind of music I thought you would

  like, I picked opera."

  "That's very kind of you to say," Helle smiled.

  "It's only the truth." Jannik slumped lower on the

  sofa. "No big mystery."

  Helle scooted her chair to face perpendicular to the

  sofa. Jannik's leg was restless, thumping to an internal

  rhythm. "How about you get a little more comfortable and

  lie back on the sofa," Helle offered.

  "My shoes are on and they shouldn't be on here,"

  he countered.

  "We'll solve that," she said, dropping a folded

  throw blanket on the spot where she estimated his feet

  would land. "There!"

  Jannik took advantage and plopped on the cushion.

  "It's like in the movies. We didn't do this before. We sat

  across from the desk."

  "When you came to the clinic with your brother?"

  she asked.

  "Yeps yep!" Jannik said. "We had to sit in front of

  the desk."

  "Well here you don't," Helle chuckled. "They ever

  give you an I.Q. test?" she continued. "I don't see anything

  here about it."

  "At the school they did." Jannik answered.

  "Do you remember the number?"

  "One-seventy I think; something like that, anyway."

  "Oh, I don't think it's the right number. I'll put in a

  request and find out."

  "No, that's the number. They told me I can skip to

  gymnasium or college if I want. But I didn't want that,"

  Jannik explained.

  "May I ask why?"

  "Because I want to go to school with all of my

  friends."

  They had talked for about half an hour on

  numerous, mundane subjects. Then Helle switched gears.

  "How does listening to opera make you feel?"

  "Like I can be and do anything," Jannik replied.

  "And why is that?"

  "Because if somebody can use their voice, in

  another language that I don't understand, and make me

  feel things I never felt before, then I know anything is

  possible," Jannik explained.

  "So what do you want to be?"

  "The best Jannik Hansen there is. I want to not say

  things that make my sister angry, or make Johnnie sad."

  "I see. And why have you said things that have

  hurt others; things that hurt the people you love most, and

  who clearly love you?" Helle asked.

  Jannik thought hard and offered the best answer

  that he could. "I don't know why. That's why I'm here."

  "You're an overachiever. Do you know what that

  is?" Helle asked him.

  "Yeah. It means I like to do so many things and

  there's not enough hours in the day," he said.

  "Close. It means that you always try the very best

  with all of the many things that you do."

  "Is that bad? To try my best?"

  "No! Of course not. But let me ask you something.

  When you try your best, and everybody thinks it's

  amazing, are you sometimes very, very disappointed?"

  Jannik lowered his head and then made a thumbs up with

  his right hand. "That's an overachiever. That's someone

  different than someone who just tries their best, right?"

  Jannik nodded his head.

  They talked for an hour about a number of subjects.

  To Jannik it all appeared random. Helle would ask him

  about school, then she'd talk about his home life. She

  wondered about nightmares, dreams, fear, and what he

  thought his place in the world is. He was open and honest

  with his feelings, but felt that he had already considered

  the different reasons for why things are, so at least at this

  first session, he thought no progress had been made.

  Then she said they'd close the session with some

  word association. Fun, Jannik thought. I'll amaze her with

  my knowledge of vocabulary!

  "Okay, Jannik. I'll say a word; you say what you

  think with another word, okay? And remember: Words,

  not sentences," Helle informed him. "Here we go!"

  Peace... Joy

  Fear... Lonely

  Lie... Sleep

  Garden... Mama

  Discipline... Yell

  Religion... Dumb

  Blood... Red

  Family... Love

  Boat... Ferry

  Sleep... No!

  King... Jack

  Sex... Fucking

  Football... Boring

  Suicide... Pokey

  Sander... Love

  Ingrid... Sweet

  Johnnie... Hero

  Weak... Me

  Strength... Mama

  Injustice... Russia

  Anger... Hate

  Death... Dark

  Admire... Brothers

  Coward... Russia

  War... Russia

  "And last, Jannik: Wisdom..." Pop. Uh, my dad.

  "Great! You did very well. Just a couple of

  questions, what is pokey?" Helle wondered.

  "He's my brother, Sander. It's what we call him,"

  Jannik replied.

  "Oh, I get it. It's his nickname."

  "Yes."

  "Do you have a nickname?" she asked.

  "I have three that I know about; maybe people call

  me things behind my back that I don't know."

  "What are the three, and who named them for

  you?"

  "My family calls me cowboy. My grandpa started it

  and everybody in my family calls me this. Johnnie named

  me Cracker Jack because I always ask if he will bring them

  to me from the store, and Pokey calls me Spiderman

  because I drive him up the walls."

  "Then shouldn't he be named Spiderman, since he's

  the one who climbs the walls?" Helle commented.

  "Maybe, but I was the only one
who wore the

  Spiderman pajamas, so maybe that's why."

  "How long have you been masturbating?"

  "Whoa! That's changing the subject very fast!"

  Jannik laughed.

  "Does that question make you a little bit

  uncomfortable?" Helle asked.

  "No. Uh... Shall I answer?"

  "Sure."

  "Since I am ten years."

  "And now you're eleven?"

  "Twelve. Soon to be thirteen. And yes, I am an

  expert! I'm an overachieving masturbator!" he chuckled.

  Helle did her best not to join in the laughter.

  "Do you ejaculate yet?"

  "Oh, yes. for almost a year."

  "How do you feel about that?" Helle asked. "Are

  you embarrassed or regretful at all when you ejaculate?"

  "No. I'm just taking my friend down there on a test

  drive for someday when I am Casanova!"

  "You know who Casanova is?" Helle smiled.

  "Of course! I love opera, remember?"

  "Ah! Yes, of course! So what kind of thoughts or

  fantasies do you have when you masturbate?"

  "Well, aren't they supposed to be private?" Jannik

  asked.

  "Absolutely! You only discuss what you wish to

  discuss. That's the rule here, okay?" Jannik nodded. It was

  really the only question he had balked at.

  "Well, maybe we save that one if that's okay,"

  Jannik said. "Can you tell me about all of the words

  that you asked me? Did I pass the test?"

  "I can't today because I have to go over them, but I

  promise that we will."

  "I'm just kind of interested is all. It's Freudian,

  right? The test?" Jannik asked her.

  "Yes, how did you know that?" Helle asked. Jannik

  replied by smiling and tapping his temple. "You are a

  smart one, I'll give you that," she smiled.

  They spoke a

  little more, changing gears from session talk, to general

  chit chat. A nice way to bring the visit to a close.

  "I've really enjoyed getting to know you, Jannik,"

  Helle told him. "What did you think?"

  "You're very nice," he replied. "I hope what you

  discover can help me. Because I'm tired of how things are

  right now, you know?" She smiled and nodded her head.

  "Well, that's it for us for today; do you think you could ask

  your brother to come in for a few minutes?" Helle asked.

  Jannik hopped up from the sofa and scurried to the

  door. He turned and gave Helle a smile before

  disappearing down the hall and into the waiting room. In

  moments, Sander knocked on her door frame.

  "You wish to see me?" Sander asked.

  "I do! Can we have a little talk about Jannik?"

  "Yes, of course. May I bring Johnnie?"

  "Best we keep it family only," she said. Sander

  agreed and went to fetch me. We entered her office and sat

  on the sofa together.

  "So Johnnie, Helle says family only in here, so I had

  to come get you. Helle, you've met Johnnie earlier," Sander

  plainly said.

  "Yes, of course." She didn't push it any further. I

  was included in all of it from this point forward, which

  really saved time because Sander just would have told me

  every detail anyway.

  "I don't have to tell you that Jannik is a very

  unusual boy," Helle began. We nodded. "I don't know that

  I've ever met anyone like him."

  "That's a good thing, yes?" Sander asked.

  "In his case it is. He's off-the-charts-smart, and his

  challenge is that he's a logical thinker. And when

  something as illogical as what happened to him in Russia

  becomes a reality, he has no way to process the emotions

  that surround all of it."

  I asked her if she could give us a specific example,

  and she referred to the word association test she'd just

  administered.

  "There were some key moments that gave me

  exact clarity as to what he's feeling," Helle said. "Some

  things of note were how he responded to words about the

  family," she continued. "That young man absolutely

  idolizes the both of you, and I'm not prepared to offer an

  opinion on whether it's just a healthy respect, or something

  that we need to watch."

  "What did he say?" Sander asked.

  Turning to her notes, she found and read the

  results.

  "When I said 'wisdom' he responded with 'dad'; I

  said 'garden' and he said 'mama'; 'Ingrid' was 'sweet'; and

  when I said 'Johnnie' the answer was 'hero'. Then I said

  'Sander' and he said, 'Love'..."

  "He loves me, I know. And that can't be bad,"

  Sander said.

  "Oh, of course not. That love is what's ultimately

  going to get him through all of this. But I did give him the

  word 'suicide' and he said 'Pokey'."

  "Oh. Huh." Sander felt a stab when she told him

  that.

  "What it means in this case is that he refuses to

  equate your attempt with you specifically. So he used a

  substitute word that still allowed him to remain within the

  realm of truth—that kid is not a liar, this I promise you—

  yet avoid connecting you directly to the incident. I think

  we start there," Helle concluded.

  "How should we be when we're with him?" I

  asked Helle.

  "As usual," she replied. "What I would ask is that

  you watch him closely, and be aware of anything that's not

  right."

  "Such as?"

  "This is where you have the advantage of knowing

  him so well. You'll know. You saw some things and now

  we're here. Watch for similar, and if you ever feel the need,

  I'm writing my mobile phone number here on the back of

  my card. I don't care if it's night, day, or weekend. If you

  need anything, pick up the phone," Helle said.

  "We really thank you. You don't know how much,"

  Sander said. We all shook hands and collected Jannik at

  the waiting room aquarium.

  "Look! These two angelfish are married," Jannik

  said. "Just like you and Johnnie will be someday."

  "I bet you've named all the fish and are trying to

  figure out a way to take their fish house home with you!"

  Sander teased.

  "Nopes! If I wanted one, you'd get me my own," he

  said. "This I know." And we were in the elevator and soon

  headed for the carpark. "Just like I know that we're having

  pizzas for dinner tonight," Jannik casually mentioned.

  Chapter 17

  orben spent the afternoon playing with the cats,

  using a lamp cord to entice them into a warrior

  T state. They each tried to best the other as they

  competed for the new human's attention and approval.

  There could only be one winner!

  He noticed an antique photograph on the fireplace

  hearth that depicted a Danish count and his small hunting

  party. He wondered what the significance of the picture

  was to Sander and Johnnie, then he saw that they were

  standing by the front door of the very house that he was

  sitting in.

  The count was in his late seventies, the hunters—

  likely his sons or sons-in-law—stood erect and solemn.


  There were two boys—he guessed they were the dog

  handlers—who were not much older than Sander's

  brother, and there were the dogs.

  They were real people once. They lived and played

  and loved and fought by the fireplace that now held this

  monochromatic blink in time. And they were all gone.

  Every last one of them.

  He imagined that the two boys were inseparable,

  and that they loved those dogs as much as the house's

  current family revered the cats that he now played with.

  He also thought that, like him, they must have

  imagined that death was only an abstract finality best dealt

  with on another day. On the day of the photograph there

  was hunting to be done. Recreation that would become

  their supper. And now they were gone. Their time expired.

  And surely by now they had been dead for at least twice

  the time that they were alive. And the dogs? Well, at best

  they would have died no more than five years after the

  photo was snapped. So what was it all for?

  And now Torben was staring at his own mortality

  square in the face. How pathetic, he thought, that he had

  lost so much self respect—not to mention the respect of his

  own family—that he would look up his old friend and lay

  his considerable baggage upon his doorstep.

  He had expected—actually had hoped in a way—

  that Sander would slam the door on his face and threaten

  to call the cops if he didn't leave. That would have made it

  easier to execute his original plan, which was to just

  extinguish himself. He would have done it in a way that

  wouldn't involve loss of blood because he didn't want to

  put any Good Samaritans or emergency responders at risk.

  He even planned to pin a big sign to his shirt warning that

  he had AIDS. Sander and his boyfriend changed that plan.

  So here he was, playing with cats and asking

  himself how he'd let all of this happen to him. He felt

  solely and completely responsible for everything that had

  happened in his life, beginning with the day he chose to

  betray the best friend he had ever known. He did it to

  appear popular.

  He did it to demonstrate his machismo; no one

  would ever call him a fag. And if he could make the first

  strike, and set Sander up before he knew Torben's plan,

  there's no way anybody would believe the truth. And just

  what was the truth?

  The truth was this: Torben Petersen was completely

  and totally in love with Sander Lars Hansen. He wanted to