George Hartmann Box Set

by Kelly Utt

  “They sure are,” Liam adds. “Estella and I still use the one she made for me. Know which one I mean? It has navy blues, brown, white, and some black with a tan and pink floral design here and there. The overall pattern is big circles, but they’re sort of cut in half and placed opposite where you’d expect them to be if the circles were intact.”

  “I recall,” I reply as my mind drifts back to my childhood. Mom’s quilts bring back good memories. I think sewing is therapeutic for her. I remember her sewing a lot when I was little before I went to kindergarten. Even after I went to school and she started working, she’d still sew whenever she could. She used to lay quilt squares all over the kitchen table. They usually had straight pins in them, so you had to be careful about not moving your hands around haphazardly. Those little suckers hurt.

  “Beautiful quilt, Dr. Epstein,” Liam says once the doc has swiveled his chair towards us and leaned forward to indicate that he’s situated and prepared to begin the session.

  “Thank you,” he replies. “It was a gift.” He pauses a moment to see if we’re finished with our chit-chat. I can tell he’s eager to jump right in. Liam and I stay quiet, so Dr. E. begins.

  “George, I have two hours in a row available this afternoon. Would you like to utilize both? I recommend doing so if you have time in your schedule,” Dr. Epstein explains. “We can cover more ground that way.”

  “Great!” I reply enthusiastically. Maybe too enthusiastically. “Works for me.” Liam nods in agreement.

  “So tell me what’s going on?” the doc asks.

  “How do you mean?” I ask. I made the mistake of jumping right into Dad’s death yesterday. I want my responses to be more measured today if possible.

  “I mean I’d like to hear what you have to tell me,” Dr. Epstein replies. “You mentioned that you’ve had a difficult twenty-four hours.”

  “I have,” I reply slowly. For some reason, my mouth is feeling dry like I’ve been gnawing on cotton balls. I can’t get words out. Liam sees me struggling and raises his eyebrows to ask if he should fill in. I shake my head yes and gesture in his direction as I wipe the beads of sweat beginning to form on my brow. Why am I falling apart like this?

  “George’s grandfather has taken a turn for the worse,” Liam explains. “George found out after he left your office yesterday. It’s not looking good. He’s mostly unresponsive.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that,” Dr. Epstein replies. “Is this your father, Liam?”

  “No, I’m Alec’s brother. George’s dad’s brother. Our parents were older when they adopted us and they’ve been gone a long time. The grandfather we’re speaking of now is on George’s mom’s side. His name is John Wendell.”

  “I see,” Dr. Epstein affirms, cocking his head to one side and scribbling notes as he listens.

  “John Wendell is ninety-five and has lived a phenomenal, full, happy life. It’s still unexpected though. The guy’s been in great shape. Just last weekend, he was singing and dancing for the crowd at Yellow Cob.” Then after a pause, “He and George are very close.”

  Tears begin to form in my eyes and I cover my mouth with one hand as Liam shares the story. I believe Dr. Epstein sincerely cares, which seems to make me quicker to break down. I happen to notice my bulging bicep while my arm is touching my face and can’t help but feel a pang of insecurity. What would my Air Force colleagues think if they saw me crying like this? I don’t have a huge male ego like a lot of military guys do, but I value my masculinity. I would never have envisioned myself in the middle of this scene.

  “I know George wants to be there for his Mom,” Liam continues. “But he has a lot on his own plate right now. There are a bunch of mixed feelings.”

  “I get that,” the doc affirms. “You said John Wendell, with a W?”

  “Yes, his grandfather is John Wendell,” Liam responds. “Everyone calls him by his full name. His daughter, George’s mom, is Linette.”

  “Huh,” Dr. Epstein mutters, sitting back in his chair and scratching the side of his head while staring across the room at the red and white quilt before writing the name down in his notes. “So, Linette Wendell... Hartmann?”

  “Yes,” Liam affirms.

  “Huh,” the doc says again, this time while exhaling a deep breath it seems he’s been holding onto. “Okay then, anything else I should know?”

  “There is,” Liam begins, looking at me to be sure it’s okay to go on. Again, I shake my head to communicate my permission. Here comes the animal hospital story. It’s truly embarrassing. The new anger switch inside of me somehow flipped and I flew into a blind rage. I don’t know what came over me. It’s almost like a Jekyll and Hyde type of thing when it happens. Well, it sounds like what I’ve heard people say about that story anyway. I don’t think I’ve actually read it myself. Maybe I should add that to my to-do list.

  “Go on,” Dr. Epstein prompts.

  “George and I went to pick his dog Lady up from the animal hospital this morning. She was shot during the break-in last weekend, but survived,” Liam begins.

  “You should know George and I haven’t discussed the break-in yet other than what he told my voicemail system the day he called to make an appointment. I don’t know the details,” Dr. Epstein says, looking my way in case I want to add to the conversation. I don’t. Not yet.

  “Right,” Liam replies. “I guess we’ll get to all of those details soon enough. So, the folks at the animal hospital told George that Lady was good to go. When we arrived though, the guy at the desk mistakenly brought out a box of ashes instead of the live dog.”

  “Oh, that’s unfortunate.” Dr. Epstein says. “She’s alright? You say she survived.”

  “She is and she did. But for a few minutes, we thought we were looking at her ashes and that she was gone,” Liam explains. “George became very angry, to put it mildly.”

  “I see,” the doctor says.

  “He crossed the counter and grabbed the young guy working the desk, then held him up against a wall and yelled at him good,” Liam says. “The guy’s legs were dangling and everything. He was little.”

  All three of us in the room are tall. Dr. Epstein and I are both over six feet and Liam is just under that mark. I don’t think any of us wants to intimidate little guys, exactly. But at the same time, I think there’s a shared understanding that we can if we need to.

  “I see,” Dr. Epstein replies again.

  “I had to work a bit to talk George down,” Liam explains. “It was obvious he was seeing red. I got him to drop the guy at about the same time as one of the veterinarians pieced things together to understand the mix-up. She intervened with her staff and brought our Lady out to us. Then she let me know she would handle things there. I took my nephew to the car and we drove around awhile while he cooled off.”

  “I see.”

  “Apparently there were two dogs named Lady at the animal hospital at the same time,” I add quietly.

  “George was pretty shaken up. Had trouble breathing. I’m not sure if it was anxiety or what, but he seemed disoriented and had a sluggish response time,” Liam continues. “After about an hour, he was back to his usual self.”

  “Has this happened before?” Dr. Epstein asks.

  “The four-way stop,” I manage to mutter.

  “Sort of,” Liam says. “George tells me he got into an altercation with another driver at a four-way stop earlier this week. It ended short of coming to blows.”

  “I see,” Dr. E replies. “Any other incidents?”

  “Not in my personal life,” I say.

  “Meaning you’ve had professional situations which have turned physical?” Dr. Epstein asks.

  “All sanctioned,” Liam responds for me.

  “I see,” Dr. Epstein replies with his familiar refrain. He takes off his glasses and leans forward in his chair to place his elbows on his knees, same as he did yesterday. He looks directly at me. “George, what are you feeling?” he asks.

  “Tense,” I
offer.

  Dr. Epstein continues to look hard at me without shifting his gaze.

  “Okay,” he says. “But tense isn’t a feeling, really. What do you feel?” he asks emphatically, pointing towards my chest and my heart.

  “Look, I’m going to get through this,” I say. “Luckily, I have a healthy support system and healthy relationships in my life. My parents had their issues like everyone else, but they gave me enough good-- especially during my early formative years-- that I now have the self-esteem and ability to find the positive and the healthy. I just have some kinks to work out, that’s all.”

  The doc slides his chair closer and leans in towards me.

  “No one is judging you here,” he says. “What do you feel?”

  I shift my weight on the sofa cushion nervously. I try to sit still and focus, but it’s difficult. I want to open up. I don’t know how. I don’t know the right thing to say.

  “Since the break-in last weekend, I feel like I’m on a conveyor belt being moved along rather than moving forward with my own power,” I say.

  “Yes,” Dr. Epstein says with a smile. “Now you’re getting somewhere. How does being on a conveyor belt make you feel?”

  “Like a failure,” I say. “Like a bad husband. Like a bad father. Like I’m not a real man or a good man.”

  “George, you’re a good man,” Liam adds. He looks like he’s getting a little choked up himself. I guess it hurts him to see me in pain. I appreciate that. I truly do.

  “I feel like I’m failing my boys,” I say. “They depend on their parents totally during this time in their lives. They can’t make decisions for themselves. They rely on me. There’s a lot of pressure being the leader of the family.”

  “Your boys will learn to care for themselves and value themselves by the way they see you do it,” Dr. Epstein says. “And you’re here now, taking care of yourself.”

  “Also,” Liam inserts, “Ali is no slouch when it comes to leading the family, George. You have a strong and capable partner.”

  “I know all of that. I believe it,” I say. “But when I can’t do what I want to do or what I need to do, or when I’m feeling stuck, I just want to lay down. Literally. On the floor almost. If I’m stuck, what can I do? Hell, my whole family is stuck right now. Part of me wants to give up and surrender to the struggle. At the same time though, giving up isn’t an option. I’ll always, always do anything and everything I can for Ali and our boys. Until my last breath. But then there’s my anger.”

  “Sounds like a dilemma,” the doc says.

  “It is,” I reply.

  “Sounds like you’re feeling helpless,” Dr. Epstein offers.

  “Yes,” I say, surprised at the simplicity of the word. “Helpless about covers it.”

  We all sit in silence for a while as I always tend to do when things get heavy. It’s as if I need time to absorb what was just said. Dr. Epstein feels it, too. He’s following my lead. His elbows are still on his knees and he’s still looking at me intently. He has abandoned his clipboard and notes in favor of a closer connection.

  “The thing about suffering,” I begin. “Is that you’re waiting, but you don’t know what you’re waiting for. Waiting for someone to save you maybe. Or waiting for permission to save yourself.”

  “Are you waiting for someone to save you? Or for permission to save yourself?” Dr. Epstein asks, predictably.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “Gosh. Interesting that I’d describe it that way, isn’t it?”

  The doctor leans back and shifts his weight. He maintains eye contact. But he’s thinking. I wonder if I’m a hard case for him to crack or if my issues are obvious. I’m guessing they’re obvious. Analyzing the minds of people like me is what Dr. Epstein has dedicated his life to. He’s clearly good at it.

  “George, do you have pictures of your dad hung up in your house?” he asks.

  “What?” I ask in return. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Humor me,” he says.

  “Well, I just moved into my new house a week ago today…”

  “Have you ever had pictures of your dad hung up in your house since you’ve been an adult?” he clarifies.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I really don’t understand what the significance of having photos of him hung up would be. But I guess not, now that I think about it. Why?”

  “We’re talking about unresolved grief here. I’m gathering information in order to best guide you. It may feel like we’re jumping around, but please stay with me. Have you thought of hanging a few photos of your dad to help you remember and honor him?” Dr. E asks.

  “Not really,” I reply.

  “So, let’s shift gears,” Dr. Epstein says, picking his clipboard up and scribbling something down. “I’d like to try hypnotherapy with you, George. We can begin right now. Or after a bathroom or coffee break if you need one. When you’re ready, I’ll ask your uncle to wait in the lobby and you to enter the hypnotherapy room down the hall. Is that alright?”

  “Sure,” I say. “I’m curious about being hypnotized. I’m ready when you are.”

  “Very well then,” he responds. “Like I told you yesterday, it’s all quite comfortable and safe. You’ll still be aware of your surroundings and will be able to open your eyes any time you wish if you feel stressed or uncomfortable. The process bears very little resemblance to what you’ve probably seen on TV. I’ll begin by suggesting you go to a childhood memory and remember all the details you can. I may ask you to tell me what you see. There’s a microphone in the room which connects to a speaker right here at my desk, so I’ll be able to hear what you say. Do you have any questions?”

  “I don’t think so,” I answer. “I’m kind of excited to see what it’s like. I’m feeling much better about the therapy process today than I was yesterday. Maybe I’m starting to get the hang of it.”

  “Excellent,” Dr. Epstein says with a smile as he quickly stands straight up then leads us out of the office and down the hall. Every move he makes is powerful and deliberate. He could have been a highly effective leader in the military with his physical size and presence. I wonder if he’s a veteran. That might make some sense now that I think about it. I don’t know how many other veterans are in Ithaca, but surely there are some. Liam and I follow behind like good soldiers. We’re in step. We can’t help but fall in. It’s been drilled into us.

  When we reach the hypnotherapy room, Dr. Epstein pauses and waves me inside while pointing Liam towards the waiting area with his other arm. I chuckle because he looks a little like a school crossing guard with all of the arm motions.

  “Remember what it’s like so you can tell me all about it,” Liam says as he heads towards the front door and sits in one of the cushy chairs. There’s an older lady in the waiting area now. She isn’t here for Dr. Epstein, so she must be seeing another therapist. Liam says hello to her cheerfully as he gets settled in his seat and pulls out his e-reader. She seems to be in good spirits. I guess you never know what kind of mood you’re going to find people in around a place like this. I hear the two of them chatting about old-fashioned books going out of style as Dr. Epstein tells me to make myself at home and closes the door to the hypnotherapy room.

  The only chair in the tiny room is a leather recliner. The space is small and cramped. I sit down and flip the footrest up, careful not to knock anything over as I do. The lights are dim and my eyes are still adjusting, so it’s hard to see exactly what else is in the room. There’s some sort of shelving to my left and a white noise machine is pumping a whooshing sound my way. I reach a hand over and locate it on the shelf just above my shoulder. The volume is okay, so I don’t try to adjust it. There’s a blanket folded neatly beside me in the chair. I figure I might as well loosen up and relax as much as possible, so I kick off my shoes and cover myself with the blanket. It smells like it’s been freshly laundered. It reminds me of being at home with all the throw blankets Ali keeps around the house and of being a kid tucked
securely under one of Mom’s quilts. I close my eyes and breathe slowly and deeply. By the time I hear Dr. Epstein’s voice, I’m so relaxed I could probably doze off and take a nap.

  “George, can you hear me?” he says over the speaker system. It’s odd hearing the doc’s voice booming around me in this little cocoon-like room. Reminds me of the Wizard of Oz and the man behind the curtain. Or the voice of God depicted in movies. Or better yet, astronauts listening to commands from the control center while hurling through the heavens in tiny capsules. I’ve been to the U.S. Space and Rocket Center in Huntsville, Alabama and have stepped inside replicas of the cramped capsules early astronauts traveled to space in. Talk about bravery.

  “I do,” I reply. “Loud and clear.”

  “Is the volume okay? Not too loud?” he says, clanking what sounds like a glass of water around on his desk and then taking a swallow.

  “It’s fine,” I say.

  “Did you find the blanket on the chair?” Dr. Epstein asks.

  “I did,” I reply. “I went ahead and took my shoes off and covered myself up. I could sleep in here. It’s nice.”

  “Good,” he returns. “Be sure to loosen anything that’s too tight. Do whatever you need to in order to get really comfortable. The more relaxed you are, the more receptive you’ll be to hypnosis.”

  A track of background music begins to play. I can’t make out all the intricacies of the music because the whooshing is still louder, but it sounds like a low hum with some mid-range pulsing tones and higher, longer probing notes on top. It has a sci-fi vibe. It instantly makes me feel like I’m embarking on a journey. I like it. I notice myself relaxing even more. My thoughts again drift to my childhood and being covered up by one of Mom’s quilts. I’m sure it’s on my mind since we just talked about it and now here I am under a blanket with all of this soothing sound and darkness around me. It reminds me of the feeling of being a little kid and being completely safe and carefree. I could sleep deeply and peacefully then. My parents took care of everything and as long as I was with them, it was all I could ever need. I was loved completely. Through and through. I was cherished. All little kids should be so lucky.