Other Shoes, Other Feet

by David Howells

Third Time the Charm

  In the cramped waiting area, Abigail watched from the corner of her eye how Charles held Joyce in a loving, supportive embrace. Joyce had a haunted look in her eyes, almost fearful, like she suspected an impending diagnosis that would seal her doom, or at least force her into some mental hospital ‘for her own good, and the safety of her husband’. Abigail had read the information received yesterday and understood that Doctor Grossman had called both spouses for some reassurance and guidance time. She had seen no billed time show up in the day-sheets for those calls. She scratched her head and wondered if maybe her boss had some spendthrift evil twin that had snuck in and taken his place for the afternoon.

  Grossman stuck his head out the door and asked her, “Abigail? Our phone contract comes due next month. Do a quick analysis on which carrier has the best rates, will you? That’ll be good office management experience for you. Do a spread sheet, while you’re at it. Ah, the Baxters, you’re early. Hang on a minute, finishing up on office stats for the accountant.”

  Nope. That was the real Dr. Grossman.

  The interchange perked up Joyce’s attention. She hungered for any distraction. “So, Dr. Grossman is economically minded?”

  For everything there is a season. “No, Joyce. He’s a tight-fisted penny-pincher with dead moths in his wallet.”

  Joyce cracked a smile, Charles did to, while his eyes conveyed his gratitude.

  “I went to his home last month to deliver some old patient files he requested. All his lights are those energy savers, and all rated forty watts or less.

  Joyce’s smile was broader, and a hand went up to her mouth to hide her snickering.

  Abigail was on a role, and it was doing her some good as well. “I heard someone say that the Doctor has a four-hole rule. That’s how many are found in any sock or pair of underwear before it’s pitched for a new pair.”

  Half a minute later, Dr. Goodman poked his head out the door, wondering what all the caterwauling was about. When Abigail said she had just told a few funny stories to perk up Joyce and Charles’s mood, the Doctor nodded in approval. “That’s very holistic of you, Abigail. Let’s get started, come on in.”

  Charles was helping a giggling Joyce keep her feet steady, but couldn’t resist joining in on the fun. Just loud enough to be heard by Abigail and Joyce, he said, “You mean, four hole-istic.”

  It took the good Doctor a bit to get things calmed down, and was miffed that no one would tell him what was so all-blasted funny. It had to be about him, he was sure. But what could possibly be so funny about him? He sighed. Even Freud admitted that he didn’t understand women. But Charles wasn’t a woman, was he?

  “Charles and Joyce, I’m glad you enjoyed your comedy club out there. If a joke about me allows us to proceed in a better frame of mind, then keep up the good work. We’re going to try the next step in relaxed concentration. Hypnotism has so many bad impressions about it, with people assuming we who practice it get a titter out of making people cluck like chickens. Trouble is, some people do just that. Personally, I feel that’s as wrong as using a child’s coffin on stage for knock-knock jokes. But that’s me.

  “I have never and will never tell someone to do something that, had they been fully alert and in control, they would not have willingly done. These sessions will be tape recorded and, if you wish, you will be afforded a copy for your own records. I hope that will reassure you. Trust me. If I step over the line of professionalism, then I put my license at risk and my malpractice insurance will send me hate mail.

  “Now, do you have any questions before we begin?”

  Joyce slowly raised her hand. The look on her face showed her question was not an easy one.

  “Doctor…Doctor Grossman, after what happened Wednesday night, and what happened when I was stopped by the police from attacking my husband…” Joyce sobbed a half dozen times before she could get the rest out. Charles took her closer hand into both of his own. “Sorry, sorry. What I am afraid of is, if we trigger whatever it is inside of me that blows up, what’s to stop me from harming someone here?”

  In all the Doctor’s years, no one had ever asked that before. It was almost amusing how blind to that potential he had been during his career’s life. He thought of all the actors who had played Tarzan on television, though Johnny Weissmuller was the main actor that came to mind, having a chimpanzee for a costar. Those animals were hideously strong and, had one taken a mind to, it would have taken little effort to pull Tarzan’s arm out of its socket. To his awareness, this little fact was never communicated to any of those actors.

  “Joyce, that was a most considerate question on your part. You’re the first to ever bring it to mind. You are quite an impressive spirit, to my mind. Tell me, what is it that would make you more comfortable about this process?”

  Joyce looked around, then pointed to her husband’s belt, and ended with a simple direction that Charles immediately bent down to accomplish. Feeding it through the slats of the chair, Charles snaked his belt around Joyce’s waist and then fastened the ends together behind the chair. Joyce was now chair bound, and her fears eased. Charles thought about volunteering to do the same in the name of sharing Joyce’s facing her fears, but he couldn’t do it. He passed it off that Dr. Goodman’s belt would probably not be long enough, but that wasn’t the real story. He knew it, but there wasn’t time to explore it. Maybe later.

  “Now, both of you, close your eyes. Listen to my voice and let it lead you on. I will take you on safe pathways and you will always feel calm, in control, relaxed, at peace.” This process continued until both clients had achieved a light hypnotic trance. This was a fortunate event, for so many people had differing abilities to enter a trance. It was yet another peculiarity to attach to this couple. He thought, “Add it to the pile.”

  Dr. Grossman led both his clients back into their lives, year by year, looking for any event that might signify the smoking gun he was searching for, or rather smoking double barrel shotgun, since the event(s) had happened to both of them. He managed to get both to age two and, other than that Charles’ potty training was a little more stressful than Joyce’s, the well remained mostly dry.

  The Doctor looked at Abigail, nodded, took a breath, and continued.

  “George and Joyce, you are both two years old. You are about to continue your journeys back in time. Whatever you see, whatever you hear, you will always know that what you witness took place a long time ago and no long has any power over you. Nothing you see will harm you. It is all another time, another place, and you were different people. You will have no fear, no anger, but you will see and understand and, in time, come to accept. This process will help bring your spirits to a greater peace. When you are ready to continue the journey, you will raise your right index finger for a moment, then set it down.”

  Five seconds later, Charles’ finger rose and fell. Almost a minute later, Joyce’s did as well.

  “Very well, very good. Hear my voice. I am your guide. You are able to speak to me for I am at your side, though you cannot see me. Those images you witness will not be able to see you, you will be invisible to all you see, but you will see all. If for some reason you have to return to your present consciousness, you need only say ‘tinkertoy’, and you will wake up calm and at peace in your chair once more. You will now both journey back in time to the life you lived before this one. You will journey to when, in that time, you two knew each other, and it will be a happier time, but also one important to you two. Three, two, one, now, you are in your previous lifetime. When you are ready, tell me what you see.”