Looking at Adam motionless in his chair, it was difficult to say what exactly was taking place inside of him. Most likely the butterfly metaphor was complete nonsense. But for now it was the most optimistic way Dr. Agopian had found for looking at the situation.
“Dr. Agopian? Excuse me, Dr. Agopian?”
His eyes popped open, and for a moment, his heart raced at the thought that it had been Adam saying his name. But it was Miss Ferguson, standing at the door.
“Sorry to disturb you, but your wife called the nurses’ station to find out if you’re still joining her for dinner, or if you’re having ‘date night’ with Adam Sheppard instead?”
Dr. Agopian took out his cell phone. Three missed calls. “Could you please tell her that I’m on my way?”
“Call her yourself, Romeo. I’ve got Adam to look after.” She walked over and patted Adam on the forearm. “What do you say we move over to the solarium for a while, now that those drama therapy queens are done with all their yellin’ and screamin’?”
“Do you want my help moving him?” Dr. Agopian asked.
“No, no. You go be a loving husband. I got newbie Ken to help.” Ken, a new orderly at the hospital, followed Miss Ferguson into the room and together they got Adam to his feet.
Looking back from the doorway, Dr. Agopian felt an unusual twinge of doubt. Perhaps Adam really was a cuckoo clock, broken beyond repair. And perhaps Dr. Agopian had been irresponsible by choosing not to give Adam electroshock therapy, or by not increasing his course of lithium. Perhaps.
The view of the coast from the solarium looked much the same as it did from Adam’s room. The only noticeable difference was the foreground: more parking lot, less lawn and wind-twisted cypress trees. But Adam had little concern with the lower portion of the view. His attention had to remain out there, beyond this hospital, beyond the fog, beyond the horizon.
Nine months had passed since he had come to realize that to struggle outwardly was useless. His countless attachments were simply too deeply rooted. His only hope was to become still, to give in to the tension of his chains, to relax into their burrowed hooks, and slowly turn inward. That was where he had discovered the doorway through which he could slip unnoticed and make his way back to the cliffs. That distant horizon was where she had come from, and so that was where Adam searched patiently, day in and day out, waiting for his heavenly guide to appear once more.
The compassionate Dr. Agopian had been right about Adam. He was not locked up in some immobilizing depression. He was not insane. What he was attempting to do, however, was beyond insanity. Like Sisyphus with his boulder, Adam started each day focusing on one thing and one thing only: seeing Beatrice’s face again. Over and over, his efforts began anew, working to reduce the distance between their two worlds. And over these nine months, he had perhaps moved an inch closer, perhaps two. Closer to Beatrice, but also to the cliff’s edge.
It was around seven that evening when the sun broke through the low sea fog, bathing the solarium in a glow of warm light. Although Ken the new orderly had done an honorable job facing Adam toward the ocean, he had failed to observe Miss Ferguson’s second rule of chair placement: angling Adam to avoid seeing his own reflection in the oversize glass windows. Miss Ferguson had been right about this, as what Adam saw reflected back at him now was enough to pull his attention back into this room. He saw himself. The simple truth of what he had become. A hunched man-child, eyes lost in lunacy, dreaming that life could be something more than it had turned out to be.
Before this vision could completely consume him, though, a sudden glint of reflected light drew his attention to someone sitting in a chair a few yards behind him. Not Miss Ferguson, who Adam could hear at the nurses’ station talking to Ken. Perhaps another patient? Adam strained to look more closely at the reflection and noticed that this person’s jacket was covered with dozens of small circles, each reflecting sunlight that pecked annoyingly at Adam’s eyes. And then the apparition began to glide toward him.
In the reflected light of the window, Adam saw a wheelchair pull to a stop at his side.
“Hey there, brother,” a familiar voice greeted him. Michael was there, looking back at him through the reflection in the glass with a hint of a smile in his eyes.
Adam did not respond, but as Michael’s eyes shifted their focus out to the coastline beyond the trees, Adam’s did as well. And for the next 20 minutes, the two men sat quietly watching the sun go down.
“You just keep on digging, brother,” Adam heard Michael say in his hoarse whisper. The wavering orange ball touched the line of the horizon and slowly began to slip from Adam’s world into hers. “You got to go all the ways down ’til you reach the center of the mothafuckin’ earth. That’s where the shift happens. That’s where down becomes up. But you ain’t never gonna go up until you first go down. All the way down.”
The two men continued to watch the sun sink below the horizon. And then it was gone, and with it Michael’s reflection.
CHAPTER 32
WHERE DOWN BECOMES UP
It happened on Tuesday.
Tuesday was movie night at the Presidio House. After dinner, interested and able patients gathered with the aid of the orderlies in the solarium, where a film played on the big-screen TV. Movie selections varied from animated films to black-and-white classics, with the occasional nature documentary thrown in. On this particular Tuesday, Walt Disney’s Fantasia was on the docket.
Early on in his stay at the Presidio House, Adam was included in movie night, but after Dr. Agopian arranged for him to take meals in his room, he no longer attended. Regardless, Miss Ferguson still checked in to tell Adam what was showing, whether she had seen it or not, whether she liked it or not, and finally she’d add, “So what do you think, handsome, shall we make it a date?” Adam never responded, and Miss Ferguson never took it personally.
As Fantasia began to play, Adam was just finishing up his dinner. A little while later, Sam, one of the nighttime caretakers, came by to help wash Adam up and put him in bed. Sam didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary that evening; Adam seemed no different than he had on the numerous other times Sam had put him down for the night.
“Okay, my man, sweet dreams.”
The lights clicked off. The door shut. And for some time, Adam lay awake, listening to the distant strains of music coming from down the hall. First there was Bach, bold and dramatic, followed by Tchaikovsky, his “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” lightly plucking along. Then came “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice,” with Mickey Mouse, the giant book of spells, the wand, and the hat. And as a legend of enchanted broomsticks began to wreak havoc on poor Mickey and the castle, Adam at last closed his eyes.
What lies beyond the stars?
The voice woke Adam, or at least that’s what he thought at first. His mind was suddenly alert, and he was aware he had been sleeping, but when Adam opened his eyes, he found he was not in his bed anymore. He was in Mendocino, out on the bluff at night. In the distance, he could make out the hazy streetlights along Main Street. A gust of wind rippled across the tall, yellow grass, and as it reached him, Adam looked down and saw his light blue hospital garments fluttering silently against his body.
Turning toward the ocean, he could see he was not far from the spot on the cliffs where, for nine months, he had imagined himself standing. Without thinking he walked a little farther and took up his designated position. He looked down the craggy coastline to his left, then to his right, and then gazed down at his bare feet, only a few inches from the edge. Taking in a deep breath of salty ocean air, he looked out toward the horizon, that delicate divide between heaven and earth. This was more than a dream. He was here. Fully present. He could feel the wind on his skin, the weight of his body, and the cold, wet rocks underfoot.
The story of Adam Sheppard flickered vaguely in the background of his mind, the tale of an average man born in the 1970s, who spent his life in front of a computer screen; a man who never quite fit in, yet never rea
lly stood out; a not so extraordinary version of a social outcast, an outsider, the kind that seemed less and less needed in the homogenized world. That life was the dream now, quickly dissolving into the endless folds of time.
Adam caught the sharp scent of horsemint in the air, and he realized he was no longer alone. She was standing at his side, looking out at the horizon with him. Her hand slipped naturally into his, and immediately he felt hot wax binding them together. He wanted to turn and face her, not just sense her in the corner of his eye, but see her fully. But when he tried to turn, he found he could not. Something deep within him was still locked in place.
She gently released his hand and, without warning, stepped forward off the edge of the cliff. She did not fall but kept walking out through the air toward the horizon, each step relaxed and confident. Adam watched as she moved away from him, and he knew this was it. This was the moment he had been preparing for. His final chance to break through.
He stepped right to the very edge of the cliff, and then, just as Beatrice had done, stepped off. But instead of continuing forward, Adam fell . . .
Down, down. Ten thousand fishing lines with their barbed hooks ripping from his earthly body without mercy . . .
Down past the shock of cold water and into the earth itself . . .
Down through the outer crust of history, through the rise and fall of civilizations . . .
Down past the mantle of evolution, from the dawn of humanity and back through the animal kingdom and all the way back to the embryonic stages of organic life itself . . .
Down past the roaring furnace of the earth’s outer core, through the inconceivably pressurized inner core, and into the very center of the earth . . .
It was there that Adam fell, into that singularity where the laws of physics are no longer irreversible. To a place where down becomes up . . .
The sun had dipped behind the redwoods, but patches of sunlight still dappled the upper half of the schoolhouse. Here on the merry-go-round on the far side of the yard, the boy was now in complete shade. Since waking he had followed his grandmother’s advice and had waited patiently for someone to come and find him. But he was getting tired again. Watching the day’s last sunlight dance on the side of the school, along with the rhythmic purr of cicadas, made his eyelids heavy.
He was about to lay his head back down and go to sleep when he noticed a man standing by the corner of the schoolhouse, next to the water fountain. The boy thought that perhaps he was lost. He looked like it. And he was wearing funny blue pajamas, which didn’t look nearly warm enough. The man slowly walked across the yard toward the boy.
It’s a good thing I stayed on the merry-go-round, the boy thought. If this man turns out to be a bad guy, at least it will provide me with some protection.
But as the man moved closer, the boy could see there was nothing to be afraid of. He had the face of a good guy. He even looked familiar, though the boy wasn’t sure where he could have met him before.
The man in the blue pajamas stopped a few feet in front of the merry-go-round, and for a long while, he just looked at the boy, unable to speak.
“Hello,” the boy finally said, breaking the silence.
The man tried to respond, but the word caught in his throat. His eyes were wet.
“I was sleeping,” the boy continued. “For a really long time.”
“I know,” the man in pajamas said. “I’ve been looking for you.”
The boy considered the man’s face again. It was familiar, no doubt about it. “How did you find me?”
The man took a moment to consider the question, and then he smiled, but just slightly. “You’re a friend of Beatrice’s. She led me here.”
This made the boy smile too. There was no doubt now. This man was a good guy if he knew Beatrice.
“Do you know where she is now?” the boy asked hopefully.
“I’m not sure,” said the man in pajamas. “But I think maybe together we can find her. Do you want to help me look?”
This seemed like a good idea to the boy. He knew that finding Beatrice was something he was good at.
And so the man in the blue pajamas helped the boy off the merry-go-round where he had been sleeping and waiting for so long, and together they began their journey.
Up from the center of the earth.
CHAPTER 33
TIME TO START FLYING
Dr. Agopian was just biting into the non-gluten-free brownie his blessedly devilish wife had snuck into his lunch bag when he heard a commotion out in the hall. It sounded as if someone was running toward his office. Reluctantly setting the brownie down, he got up to have a look, but as he reached the door, it violently swung open.
“Miss Ferguson! What’s wrong? What is it?”
“Ad . . . Ad . . . Ad,” she sputtered. The last time Miss Ferguson ran at full speed was 30 years ago to catch a bus out of Glasgow.
“Catch your breath and tell me what’s happened.”
Miss Ferguson leaned onto Dr. Agopian’s outstretched forearms for a moment before finally she blurted out, “It’s Adam. Adam Sheppard.”
Less than five minutes earlier, Miss Ferguson had strolled into Adam’s room, as she had done practically every morning for the past nine months. “Rise and shine, handsome.” She set Adam’s morning medications and breakfast tray down on the bedside table, and then went to open the curtains and let in the morning light. Turning around with a cheerful smile, she realized that Adam was not in his bed.
The second shock came when she saw him lying on the floor next to the bed. The third came as she began to make sense of what it was he was doing down there. He was stretching. But what finally sent Miss Ferguson tearing down the hallway toward Dr. Agopian’s office was the moment when Adam Sheppard looked up at her and whispered in a voice hoarse from disuse, “Good morning . . . Miss Ferguson. You look . . . bonny today.”
His own heart now pounding, Dr. Agopian reached Adam’s door and looked in. At first nothing seemed out of the ordinary. There was Adam, sitting in his chair by the window, stoically gazing out at the coast, same as always. But as Dr. Agopian moved into the room, goose bumps formed along his forearms. This man by the window, who only yesterday was no more than a zombie, now exuded such an overwhelming sense of wakefulness that Dr. Agopian could feel it just looking at his back.
Cautiously approaching him, Dr. Agopian took in Adam’s face. His forehead, which had once displayed a permanently furrowed brow, was now as smooth and tranquil as a pool of water. His gaze had also relaxed. His eyes, no longer painfully fixated on some distant point, had opened up, widened, and now seemed to be taking in everything around him at once.
Slowly Adam turned to face Dr. Agopian.
“Hello, Adam.” The tremor in Dr. Agopian’s voice betrayed his emotions. “I’m your doctor. My name is David Agopian.”
Adam said nothing at first; he simply stared up at Dr. Agopian, taking him in. It was a moment the doctor would remember for the rest of his life.
“Yes,” Adam finally said, his voice still rusty. “Yes.”
Dr. Agopian broke into a huge smile. With that single word, Adam had conveyed everything. Yes, Adam was fully aware of who Dr. Agopian was; yes, he was conscious of all that had transpired between them in the past nine months; yes, everything Dr. Agopian had done for Adam had been right; and finally, yes, Adam was grateful for all of it.
The two men spent the rest of the day together. There was so much to talk about, so much Dr. Agopian wanted to learn, but he did his best to keep the conversation light, the questions basic. “How is your stomach doing?” “Is there anyone you want us to contact?” “Would you like anything to drink, something hot maybe? Tea?”
There were many long breaks between questions, during which they sat together in silence. However, it never felt uncomfortable, like one of those holes in a conversation most people rush to fill with words. The silences between Dr. Agopian and Adam were already full of an unspoken language they had forged together o
ver the past months.
After lunch Adam asked to go outside. Together doctor and patient strolled the grounds of the Presidio House. Miss Ferguson, along with several other curious staff members, gaped from the windows, watching in amazement as the pair walked around the parking lot, past the admin building, and all the way down to the bottom of the hospital property, to the row of old cypress trees Adam had been looking out at for so very long.
Adam spent awhile touching the trees, feeling their thick trunks and their gnarled branches. Watching Adam, Dr. Agopian thought he appeared like both a curious child and an old sage, completely engaged in the world around him, yet utterly detached.
Before returning to the hospital, Adam sat down beneath one of the larger trees to rest. Dr. Agopian was standing up on the lawn a few yards away, not wanting to intrude on the moment, but when he saw Adam looking directly at him, Dr. Agopian understood it as an invitation to come over. Adam had something to say.
Dr. Agopian sat down next to Adam. After a moment Adam began to speak, more easily this time. “There was something my therapist used to always say to me. His name was Dr. Mendelson.”
“Yes.” Dr. Agopian nodded. “I met with him once. Briefly.”
“Dr. M. would tell me we’re all the same. People. Everyone thinks they’ve got big problems, but the truth is, we’re never really as bad off as we imagine we are, and at the same time, things will just never be as good as we want them to be. And that’s okay. We’re only human.”
“Sounds like Freud.” Dr. Agopian smiled.
There was a long pause while Adam looked up at the great cypress above them, its branches reaching out like arms and fingers stretching for the sky.
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