“Skipping and waving.”
“Is he there or is it like a memory.”
“A little of both.”
“What would happen if we took one step outside. Where would you be?”
“Seven, maybe eight.”
“Can you do it. Can you push that far?” He has a tight hold of my hand but he’s not pushing me. "Just one little step."
I grip his hand tighter and we walk forward to the edge of the door. I’m breathing fast now and I start to feel sick. I am shaking. “Eight.” I hug him and cling on as he picks me up. I see Gareth and I’m retching by the time we get back to the chairs.
“Deep breaths,” says Porter.
The images fade. Porter is checking my pulse with one hand while the other is still around me.
“That’s it, relax. Wow, you’re soaked through with sweat. Was it an episode?”
I nod. “Not full.” I manage to say through my panting.
“What anxiety score did we get up to?”
“Eight.” I sit up. “I’ve been a little sick in my mouth. Can we get a drink?”
Porter hugs me. He doesn’t need to ask. “You did so well. I’m so proud of you. Let’s go.”
We go back to the consultation room via a vending machine and he buys me a bar of chocolate. I get some water from the machine.
We sit down in the room and he hands me the chocolate bar. “You earned this.”
He rings through to Dr Black and tells him we’ve finished.
Doctor Black comes right through and Porter explains everything that happened.
“We got outside the front doors and hit an eight. Malachi had a PTSD episode that he pulled out of but it seemed to be stress triggered.”
Dr Black nods. “Good. Well done Malachi – this is excellent progress. How do you feel now?”
“I feel a bit drained. I want to know if it will be worse now I’m coming off my meds. I don’t want you to make me go outside.”
“We’re not going to make you go outside, not for a time and when we do confront that again we’ll make sure you’re well prepared. Now you’re coming off the anxiety medication because it’s dangerous for you to be on it for too long. I am keeping you on the antidepressants and they will help but they’ll take some time to kick in. So we’re not leaving you with nothing but if you’re feeling very negative you have to let us know.
“What we’re going to do is give you some very effective therapy. It’s going to seem a little strange at first because it is a little strange. It’s called EMDR.”
“What does it mean? How does it work? Is it electric shocks?”
“No it’s nothing like that. What you’ll mostly be doing is talking about and thinking about what happened to you. Its full name is eye movement desensitisation and reprocessing and it’s the most effective thing we have for PTSD.”
“Can I do it with Porter?”
“I’m not trained in it,” says Porter. “You’ll be seeing one of the psychologists.”
“I will make sure that Porter is available after every session for you to talk to. Does that make things better?”
I nod. “How does it work?”
“We don’t know how it works,” says Porter. “We know it’s effective for PTSD. So next time when we get to the door it will be a lot easier for you. I promise you there’s no electric shocks or anything like that. It's mostly talking.”
Doctor Black smiles. “You like to know everything don’t you?”
I nod.
He looks back at my notes. “Now I see you have your first supervised visit today. Are you covering that, Porter?”
“I am. Did you not note the name on the paperwork?”
Dr Black looks through my file. “Let me see. Dr Sam Hawnett. The writer! We’ve never had a celebrity here before.”
“Exactly,” says Porter, “I’m not handing that off to Mary. She wouldn’t appreciate it anyhow.”
There’s something that strikes me at this very moment and it’s so clear to me now. It’s something that’s caught up in the air of the room. I don’t even know how to describe it apart from framing it against the opposite.
When I misbehave at home or some decision has to be made about me, my parents tell me the outcome. There’s no discussion about how I feel or what I want to happen. I have no control over anything. Here it’s the opposite. I feel like I’m part of the arrangement, even more, I feel like I’m part of them, part of the team who is looking after me.
“I’m worried about one other thing.”
“What is it?” asks Doctor Black.
“My brother. I keep seeing him when I get anxious. At the hospital before they said something about psychosis. That doesn’t sound good and I am worried.”
“Do, you see him as clearly as you see me?” asks Doctor Black.
“No, he’s hazy. Like a dream against reality.”
“Does seeing him make you feel more anxious or a little better?”
“Neutral. Maybe a little better. Sometimes I feel sad and think I’m missing him. Then I see him and it’s a comfort but I don’t truly remember him and don’t know what I’m missing but my emotions do. That doesn’t make any sense, does it?”
“It makes every sense.” Doctor Black looks down at my paperwork and pauses for a second. “So what I think is that it might be the part of your brain that was damaged all those years ago, starting to exert itself again. I think you might be remembering things in an unfamiliar way. If it’s something that doesn’t bother you and you can cope with, then we shouldn’t worry about it. If you find it comforting then I’d suggest you trust it. Nevertheless, it’s something we shall keep our eyes on.” He gets up. “I’ll leave you two to finish up. Good work today.”
When he’s gone I sit back and relax. I do feel positive. I do feel like I’ve done something that will make things better. Even if that’s only being part of a plan and testing the waters.
“Your appointments schedule will be posted on the board by the meds room,” says Porter. “Keep an eye on it – sometimes things get changed last minute. You’ve got about an hour before lunch. Unless there’s anything else you should go catch up with your friends. I’ll see you after lunch for your visit.” He gives me another hug before I leave and I feel so positive.
Poppy and Alim are in the same spot in the common room as yesterday. I tell them about my morning and before I know it I’m telling them about everything.
“That was you?” asks Alim, when I get to the part about the camp. He says nothing else till I finish the story. I don’t go into details about the abuse though. I don’t feel ready to share that with everyone.
Alim stands up. “Come over here.” He walks over to the computer and sits down at the desk. He runs a search and Sam’s homepage comes up. He clicks the link to his blog and there is our story. No names, no graphic details about the abuse but pictures of Jacob’s battered and burned body, which thinking about makes me distressed, and the picture he took of us in his house with our faces blurred out.
“You need to look at this,” says Alim.
He scrolls down the page to the comments and lets me look through them. There are a lot of homophobic ones that say things like, Those queers and faggots got what was coming to them, which doesn’t bother me as few of them seem to be written by people who can spell. There are quite a few which share the venom of Sam’s article and call for all the leaders of this camp to be imprisoned or even executed. There are others that say we were so brave for breaking out of there. One says, Every gay man and woman should arm themselves with an axe. But the ones which get me, which choke me up, are the ones that ask Sam to pass on their good wishes and offer any help we need and there are thousands of them and they all seem so sincere.
“You have to tell me,” says Alim, “when you swung the axe, I know the article said it was mistiming, but, when it hit, did you mean it?”
I nod. Yes I bloody well meant it.
“You are so my hero!” He kisses me on the forehead.
I sit in the family room and wait for Sam with a certain amount of anxiety. I get the feeling he’s going to be livid because I tried to kill myself, even if he doesn’t show it. When I spoke to him on the phone the call didn’t last very long because I got all choked up. I handed it to Porter and they arranged this visit between them.
I look at the clock and he’s five minutes late. Ten minutes late. Maybe he’s not coming? I stand up when the door opens.
He’s wearing black jeans and a sweater and holding a huge, posh department store bag.
He rushes in and hugs me.
“Sorry about the delay,” says Porter. “Everyone wanted to say hello. I pulled him away as quickly as I could.”
We all sit down.
“How are you feeling?” asks Sam.
“I’m feeling happy. That’s a start I think. I’ve made some friends.”
“That’s good,” says Sam. “I was so worried about you when I got that text. I called your parents and was on the phone when they found you.”
“Sorry,” I say. “I remember hearing the phone going. Thank you. Are you talking to them?”
“No, they don’t want to hear from me. They want me to stay out of your life, which is something I’m not prepared to do. Luckily the people who are looking after you agree with me about things and not with them.”
“What, so my parents can’t decide what I do any more?”
“Not while you’re in our care,” says Porter. “Sam was the first person you wanted to call. Like I wasn’t going to let you see him. Things have been very busy for you and you’re not seeing Mary again till tomorrow. She’ll explain everything then.”
“I saw your article. The responses made me cry.”
“Yeah, that worked well. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you how many people have sent cards. donations and letters for me to pass on to you chaps. Noah has them all at the moment and insists that he’s going to reply to every one.”
“How is he?”
“He had a terrible time, I’m afraid. Just like you. Catherine and I were both fraught. He was inconsolable when we told him what had happened with you. When he got home it didn’t take long for things to heat up with his family. He hit his mum in the face, then got into a fight with his dad and got knocked around quite badly.”
“He’s not still at home?”
“No, he got taken to a care home.”
“Is he getting help?” asks Porter.
“Yes, he’s seeing a councillor. I’m trying to arrange something for him at the moment. It’s all very difficult and tied up with the local authorities up there. We’d have him with us in a heartbeat but it’s not that straightforward. I spoke to him and hour ago. He says you haven’t called.”
I almost say something stupid like, he hasn’t called me, but I know, and have known, that he wouldn’t until he knew I could handle it. “I will call him later. Where is Catherine?”
“She wanted to come but she thought and, as it turned out, so did your team, that it might be better for one of us to come at first.”
“How are Warren and Jacob?”
“They’re good. I’ve got Jacob to see a therapist and he says it’s helping. We’ve fallen into them coming over twice a week for dinner. Well, we've done it twice and it's now scheduled. It’s been lovely.”
That makes me a little jealous. “I wish I could be there.”
“You will. You have to concentrate on getting better. Anyway, they’re dying to come and visit. You better start using that phone. I’ll let you off with not calling me when you felt like you wanted to, well… If there’s not at least a hundred pounds on the bill I will be angry.”
Everyone laughs.
“But more importantly, how are you?”
The second time he’s asked. I look at Sam there waiting for my answer. I know he doesn’t want an easy answer. “I don’t know. That’s the best answer I have. I don’t want to kill myself at the moment. I keep thinking about everything that happened and I wish it hadn’t and I’m angry about it. I know I have to get past it but I don’t know how – I trust Porter and everyone else knows, so I’m doing what they say.
“I’m not in control of anything any more in my head. So I suppose I don’t deserve to be in control of my life until I am and I can live with that. I’m happy one moment and sad the next. Alim wrote something beautiful on my door last night and once I’d read it I cried for an hour.
“It’s like nothing ever happened in my life and then so much appalling stuff and wonderful stuff happened at the same time. I always thought there wasn’t anything I couldn’t think my way out of but this stuff doesn’t respect anything – it can take control of my body and my mind – so I know I’m in the right place. I feel safe here. I feel like I’ve got room to breathe which I didn’t have at Mum and Dad’s.
“So I don’t know how I am but I think of you and Catherine, of Noah and Jacob and Warren. I think of Poppy and Alim now and of Porter.” I give Porter a big smile. “...and I’m grateful and I’m hopeful but I’m not... I’m not well. I’m wrong inside. Before I went to that camp I had everything in place. Then after it happened I was going to move in with you and Catherine, love Noah and go to university. I still want all those things but right now I can’t think forwards, I can only think back.”
Porter smiles back at me. “You’re one smart little guy, aren’t you?”
I shrug. “I can’t help feeling that the way my brain works has made all of this worse. You know, the way I hold onto things.”
Sam pulls a carrier bag out of the large cardboard department store bag he brought with him. “I brought you some stuff I thought you might need. Catherine got you this.”
I open it up and the room fills with the scent of a hundred flowers. Inside is a huge supply of soaps, shampoos, body washes and deodorants. All posh, not like the ASDA stuff my parents landed me with. “Tell her thanks.”
“You can tell her yourself next time we come. I got you this.” He pulls out a kindle, unboxed and a charger. “I filled it up with stuff for you. There’s some gay themed novels on there which I thought you’d quite like. I got some colleagues to recommend some for me. There’s a ton of popular science for some light reading and I checked in the current Oxford first year undergraduate physics and maths books along with loads of secondary reading. We can chat about it next time I’m here.”
“It’s like Christmas.” I’m blown away. “Is your stuff on there?”
“Yes, and I’ve included the first draft of my new book. I thought you could let me know what you think of it. It’s close to home, it’s about one thing and one thing alone: does the defence of religious belief excuse evil behaviour. It felt like it almost wrote itself in only five days.”
Is he serious? “Yeah of course I’m honoured.”
“This is from Jacob and Warren.” He hands me a chess set. A hand made wooden one with marble pieces.
“And this is from Noah.” He pulls out a large bear, one of the ones you make yourself. It’s wearing a white t-shirt that says, I love you.
I hold it and kiss its head and start to cry. “I didn’t call him. I feel awful. Can I call him?”
“Wait till after Sam goes,” says Porter. “Give yourself a chance to calm down a little.”
“Why don’t you text him?” asks Sam. “Tell him to expect a call in a couple of hours.”
“That’s a great idea,” says Porter.
Sam sets up the chessboard while I text Noah. Then we play a few games at speed. I lose them all.
“I’ve been practising,” says Sam. “I’m so ready for you.”
“Do you want to play him?” I ask Porter. I look at Sam. “I’ve been teaching him.”
“I think I’ll give that a miss,” says Porter. “I don’t think my ego could take it.”
“Go on,” I say, “you’ll be able to tell people that today you played chess with Sam Hawnett.”
<
br /> “The only way you improve,” says Sam, “is to play people better than you.”
“Oh go on then.”
Sam batters him.
As soon as he's gone I head to my room and call Noah before dinner. We speak for an hour. At first we are treading carefully around each other. Then I tell him everything that’s happened. Everything, including the thing I’m most ashamed about. He tells me he loves me and it doesn’t change anything. He tells me I’m still wonderful. He tells me he’s still mine and I’m his.
I get the full story from him about what happened with his family. His mum tried to shame him as soon as he got home and wouldn’t let up. She followed him into his room and told him he wasn’t allowed to have the door shut any more and would be seeing a priest once a week for anti gay counselling. He pushed her out and shut the door and she pushed it back open. He swung the door back and it broke her nose. That’s when his dad tried to get him onto the floor. Noah tried to punch him but it didn’t have much effect and his dad beat the hell out of him and all he could do was scream. They left him moaning on his bed. The neighbours called the police and he was taken away.
He hates the home but it’s better than the alternative. I tell him I want to hug him and kiss him and be with him but it’s dinner time and I have to go.
“I love you,” he says.
"I love you. I'm yours forever."
That night we watch The Birdcage and I don't think I've ever found a film so funny.
When I get back to my room I can't sleep. I try to read on the Kindle but can’t focus. I get out a pen and paper and try to write a poem about Noah.
Privacy Issues
A mum broke into her son’s room
and clawed under the bed.
She found his sketch book
and turned page after page:
Noah standing naked on a mountain
staring at the Flying Dutchman.
Noah’s room in perfect detail
but for the bank vault door.
Noah’s best friend – naked and hard
legs apart on the bed.
The Crucifixion and Resurrection of Malachi the Queer Page 23
