by Abe Moss
His fingers danced.
Tell me what you saw.
Another deep breath. She opened her mouth to speak and couldn’t form the words. The urge to flee back to the guesthouse arose, anything to avoid recounting what she’d seen.
“I don’t want to cry anymore… and I know if I start talking I will.”
The doctor leaned aside and fetched a box of tissues out from beside his desk. He placed the box on the corner of the desk before her. Something about the gesture caused her eyes to dry themselves instantly. Maybe it was easier to hold back tears when others were waiting for them.
“Well… I saw my father a lot. I saw some things that may have happened when I was a kid. I don’t know if I’d so much forgotten these things as much I’d just forced them out of my mind, but I remember now, thanks to the tub. I don’t question that at all. But I’m confused…”
Tip tap click clack.
Do you want to be more specific?
Addie swallowed.
“I don’t think I can right now. Please don’t make me.”
That’s fine. Tell me why you feel confused.
“I’ve had this idea in my head for most of my life about who my father was. Part of me still believes in that man, but these memories contradict everything. I don’t want it to be true even though it is, and I don’t… I don’t know how it can be true at the same time.”
What is the old belief?
“That my dad loved me. He cared about me more than anyone else and would have done anything to make me happy. He was the one person in my life who wanted that for me. He knew me.”
How have these visions altered that belief?
“Because he would never have allowed those things to happen. I… I can’t be sure, but I… I don’t know…”
They sat quietly for a while. Addie couldn’t bring herself to say any more on the matter and the doctor didn’t ask her to. They remained at the desk for what felt like several minutes.
What have you come to ask me?
“I think I came because I wanted you to tell me that what I saw in that tub wasn’t real. But as I’m sitting here, struggling to tell you what I saw… I know I never had any real doubt about it. I just wish it wasn’t.”
The past can be difficult to accept.
She bit her lip. Other thoughts were forming, thoughts she couldn’t bring herself to set loose on her tongue. It was a nest of pinching insects in her gut, either waiting for her to open wide and set them free or chew their way out instead. She found it impossible to entertain them even on her own.
“My mother was also part of it. The vision, I mean. I could hear her voice throughout, things she must have said to me at the time. Some of the things she said I can remember very clearly, without the visions.”
Has your mother changed for you at all following these visions?
“No. She was who she was, and I knew her through and through. She hasn’t changed. It’s the idea… well, it’s the idea that my father wasn’t any better that worries me.”
And why is that?
She couldn’t hold them back any longer. She ripped a tissue from the box.
“Because if my dad didn’t care about me, then no one did.” Her throat choked and fat tears rolled down her face. “No one ever has.”
Is it possible that these people, your parents, cared in the only ways they knew how?
“My mom hated me. I have no doubt about that.”
Your mother’s inability to be a mother has no bearing on your character.
“Maybe. But it’s hard not to think sometimes that maybe she hated me for good reason.”
What reason could that be?
“I took everything from her. She thinks I stole my dad’s love away from her. She thinks… she thought it was my fault he died.”
Do you believe you murdered your father?
“No, of course not. I know what killed my father.”
But you hold yourself responsible.
“I know what you’re getting at. I know I didn’t stick the needle in him. But it’s because of me that he might have chosen that path. At least… that’s what my mother thinks.”
You’ve let your mother convince you.
“Maybe.”
You’re not responsible for anyone but yourself.
“I understand that.”
But you still feel guilty.
Addie found herself becoming increasingly mesmerized by his hands as they typed, how human they were in contrast to the faceless bag over his head, or the heavy coat over his shoulders. He was a dark mass of old, earthy odor, shapeless under his clothes, but there was something intelligent and at least halfway human hiding inside…
The doctor ripped the sheet of paper from the typewriter and replaced it with a new one.
If you could ask your father any question and receive an answer, what would you ask?
Addie was caught off guard.
“I…” She thought for a minute. “I don’t know.”
Just imagine.
She thought a while longer and couldn’t think of a single thing. There were obvious questions: Did you love me? Why did you let it happen? She wasn’t sure if those were the questions she would actually ask.
“I guess I can’t think of anything, knowing it doesn’t make a difference. He’s dead. There’s no point in wondering.”
Just then there came a sound from the neighboring bedroom. A cough. Addie straightened at the sound. She looked to the wall. The doctor typed. She listened intently, wondering if Bud could hear the things she said. After a moment the doctor shifted in his seat and Addie brought her attention back to him.
How do you feel?
“Right now?”
In general. Right now. About this place. About me.
“I feel… confused as always. Nothing ever makes sense to me. I try to think about things and I feel overwhelmed. I’m here to feel better and I just feel worse so far. Being reminded of all this… stuff, I feel like I’ve not only not made progress, but I’ve gone backward.”
That’s part of it. Sometimes it helps to relive painful memories in order to overcome them. Ignoring them doesn’t achieve anything. Forgetting them isn’t possible. Not forever.
“I’d say I was doing fine forgetting, but we both know that wasn’t true…”
The doctor rested his fingertips on the keys and Addie watched him while he thought about whatever it was he thought about.
“Where does my therapy go from here? What have I gained from this?”
Talking through it helps. You need to digest it. Then you can dissect it.
“For what?”
To understand your past, accept it, and move on.
“I thought I had moved on. I didn’t think about it. Well, I didn’t think about anything, really. But my life was moving on.”
The world was moving on. Not you. Your past trapped you and you didn’t know it.
Suddenly she was very annoyed. “How do you know anything about me? Where are you getting your insight from?”
I am not like you. Let’s leave it at that for now.
“What are you, then?”
The doctor did not type an answer.
“What are you hiding under that bag? Are you like Nuala?”
A topic for another time.
She sighed. “Fine. So what now?”
You’ll think over the things you saw. You’ll make of them what you will. You’ll reason with them in whichever way you will. Then we’ll meet again. I’ll come for you personally next time.
Shut my door on your way out, please.
✽✽✽
Addie left the doctor then. She stood on the other side of his door for a moment, listening, and didn’t hear a thing.
He doesn’t have any answers, she thought. There aren’t any answers.
She turned to go, took three steps down the dark hall, hand on the wall for guidance, and stopped when she heard movement behind the door to the guest bedroom. She waited.
/> “Addie,” said a voice. It was tired and weak, but she recognized it.
“Bud?”
She listened intently, searching the house for sounds, for a presence downstairs or for the doctor moving about in his room. Nothing. Then she tried the knob to the guest bedroom and found it locked.
“Bud?”
Just then there were footsteps below. At the end of the hall a soft flame of light grew along the walls, growing brighter. Addie took a step back from Bud’s door. He said no more. In another moment, Nuala rose step by step to the head of the stairs, lantern in hand. She stopped and cocked her head at Addie. The flame’s light held at her waist sent strange shadows up her face like wounds.
“Addie, what are you doing?”
“The doctor and I were finished, so I was getting ready to leave, and—”
“Then I think you should.”
“I heard Bud say my name. I think he wants to see me.”
Nuala shifted her weight. “Even if he does, it’s important for him to rest. Now isn’t the time.”
“He’s at the door, I think. I heard him very clearly.”
Silence.
“All the more reason for you to go. He shouldn’t be out of bed. He’ll only prolong his recovery. Don’t encourage him.” She lifted her face. “Bud?” she called. “Go back to bed. You need to rest.”
Addie watched the door, waited for a response. Bud didn’t answer.
“Is he okay?” she asked.
“He’s as okay as he can be with the injuries he has. Come now, let’s leave him be. I’ll tend to him in a minute and make sure he’s comfortable.”
Nuala escorted her out and Addie heard the front door shut behind her as she went down the porch steps.
In the night, she made out a figure sitting on the steps at the guesthouse. It was Joanna, of course, accompanied by a smaller shadow sitting beside her.
“You wait up for me?” Addie asked as she neared, wearing a sad smile.
“It’s too quiet here by myself,” she said. “Bud’s gone, and then you’re gone. There’s Lyle, and even if I liked him, which I don’t, he just spends all his time in his room, looking at that mirror the doctor gave him. It’s… well, it’s boring being in there alone.”
“You’re not alone. You’ve got him.” Addie nodded toward the dog, who lifted his head curiously as she did.
“You know what I mean.”
“You want to come inside?”
Addie shut the door and wiped her feet on the runner rug. Joanna did the same.
“This rug is turning black,” Joanna said. “Isn’t it weird they gave us clothes, but no shoes? What if it snows? God, I hope we’re not here that long…”
Addie collapsed onto one of the sofas by the fire. She thought she might try sleeping there, she melted into its cushions so easily.
“So how was it?” Joanna sat cross-legged on the opposite sofa. “With the doctor, I mean.”
“It was okay.” Addie sighed tiredly and turned onto her side to face Joanna. “I’m not sure talking with him helped at all. I don’t know.”
“I thought the same thing at first…” Joanna looked down at the dog in her lap. She chewed the inside of her cheek. “He didn’t give you anything?”
“No. And honestly, I felt like most of the things he said to me were things I’d have reached eventually thinking about it on my own. I don’t know what I expected. I thought he’d offer me some kind of revelation. So much else is strange about this place, they seem to know everything about us… I just thought he’d have more. He said we’ll talk again, so maybe there will be.”
Joanna petted Meatball while Addie watched them, a look of suspicion in her eyes.
“Joanna, can I finally ask?”
Joanna looked up as though startled. “Ask what?”
“What happened when you were in the tub?”
Joanna chewed the inside of the cheek some more, mulling it over.
“Is Meatball connected to what you saw?”
She nodded. Addie gave her a second to continue but she didn’t.
“How?”
“It’s hard to explain…”
“So then tell me what you saw in the tub. I’ll tell you all about mine if you tell me yours.”
Joanna eased herself so that she was sitting like Addie, on her side, with Meatball snuggled against her breasts. Together they lay across from the other, like two children whispering secretly on a sleepover side by side before letting sleep pull them apart.
“Mostly I just relived arguments I had with my parents. A lot of them. It almost felt like I was in the middle of several at once. Like I could see my parent’s faces no matter where I looked, crowded around me. They yelled louder than I could. I couldn’t even hear myself, really.”
“What were they yelling?”
“They yelled about how I don’t try. How I’m wasting my life at fifteen, sixteen, whatever.”
“Why would they yell that?”
Joanna seemed reluctant to talk about it, but she only hesitated for a moment.
“My dad’s this very proud, self-made man, and for me to aspire for anything less is the greatest sin to him. I don’t do well in school. I never have. Maybe as a little kid, I did. In elementary school, with reading and spelling and that. But I just stopped caring. I never had any friends. Ever. Somehow that never bothered my parents. They never asked. They didn’t care…” She stared down on top of Meatball, repeatedly flattening his ears back as she stroked his head. “The only thing my parents ever asked about was my report card. I didn’t talk to them about anything. Not about friends, or boys, or if I was struggling with something. They wouldn’t have cared. They just wanted to see a column of A’s on a piece of paper. If I had that, I must be happy, they thought. Maybe I stopped caring because I knew the drop in my grades would get their attention. And it did. But it didn’t help any.”
“What’d they do?”
“They grounded me, which didn’t do anything. Not when I didn’t have friends and barely left my room as it was.”
“Where does he fall into any of this?” Addie asked, watching as Joanna massaged the dog thoroughly against her.
“Meatball’s my dog. My parents gave him to me when I was ten. I didn’t have any friends, and he was their solution to that. Once I had him, it was problem solved in their eyes, and I didn’t mind, really. I loved him right away. It’s weird how close you can get to an animal, especially when you have no one else. I thought he was smarter than anyone I could have met, anyway. He cared about me more than anyone else ever did. That’s what’s great about dogs. They can forgive almost anything. Dogs don’t care about grades or deciding on a college or any of that. They’re always happy just to be with you…” Joanna was smiling, reminiscing, but suddenly it faded and her face turned sorrowful. “When grounding me didn’t work, they took him away. They said if I didn’t have time for school, I didn’t have time to take care of a dog. So they gave him away. I was so angry, I didn’t speak to my parents for a month. I never would have again, but… about that time, I decided to look through my mom’s phone. I found the messages saved on there, from the people she gave Meatball away to. She’d made an ad on craigslist or something. Anyway, this woman—her name was Hilary—contacted my mom wanting him, and so they arranged it so that my mom took Meatball to them. His new address was right there, so I used it, and I found him. It was awful…”
“Why was it awful?”
“He looked really happy. These people had at least three kids. I went over and spied on them a few times, listening by the fence to them playing. Meatball really loved them. The idea that he’d forgotten me really hurt. I should have left them alone, but… I wanted him back. And I took him.”
Addie sat up. “Really?”
“I skipped school one day and went over there when I hoped no one would be home. He was in the backyard by himself. I unlatched the gate and went back there and… well, it’s possible he’s just the friendliest dog anyone�
��s ever met, but I know he remembered me. Dogs remember. He barked when he saw me and came right to me, would have jumped into my arms if his legs weren’t so squatty. I felt so guilty taking him, knowing this family must have loved him, and he probably loved them too, but… I don’t know. I’m not a great person or anything. I took him home and hid him in my bedroom. I managed to keep him hidden there for three days without my parents knowing. Then they got wind of my skipping school and decided to try and catch me in the act and ended up finding him instead. And then… I have a hard time even thinking about what happened next because it’s just so… unbelievably fucked up. I never thought my parents could be capable… They told me, seeing how giving Meatball away wasn’t good enough, and how I was never going to focus on school again with him on my mind, they would have to make a more permanent decision. They took him to the vet the next day and had him euthanized. Part of me thought they were lying and that they were just giving him away again, because what kind of human being does that to an animal just to punish someone? But no, they brought home the bill so I could see for myself.”
Her lips were pinched to the side as she tried not to cry.
“Fuck, Joanna.” Addie leaned on the edge of the sofa, half-tempted to go to her and throw her arms around her. Then she remembered. Her body rippled with goosebumps, prickly shivers down her back and legs. Meatball, the dog in question, was sitting right there, nestled against her body, alive and well.
“I’ll never forget the shit-eating grin my mom had, like she’d bested me in some game or something. It was like… I can’t even tell. I don’t know what it was like. I still can’t understand it, how they could do something like that.”
Addie didn’t hear any of this because she couldn’t take her eyes off the dog on the couch. She supposed it had been strange all along, that the doctor should bring a dog out into this place surrounded by nothing, where apparently there was no coming or going. She wasn’t sure what she’d assumed before. Maybe she’d secretly reasoned with herself that Meatball had been the doctor’s all along and that he’d only lent the dog to Joanna. Or maybe she just didn’t think about it at all. There were too many other things to focus one’s attention on. But now, seeing the dog panting and grinning not five feet away from her, the room had adopted a faraway kind of feeling, as though a new possibility existed now—that none of this was real.
