(no subject)
“I was eighteen when I was accepted into the university. My mother was so proud of me, and even my dad came into town to tell me what a great job I had done. My brothers and sisters all chipped in to buy me a new school bag for the occasion, and all of my aunts and uncles sent me cards of congratulations. I went for four years before graduating, top of my class, and moved on to higher learning. I mastered the art of medicine and became a leading researcher in my field. At the age of fifty five I retired and moved to California, where I learned a great deal about gardening and taught a biology class at the local high school.”
Interviewing Adam's Aunt Joan was probably the hardest part. She was his mother’s sister, and was probably the closest to her of all her siblings. She was also the boy’s godmother. When I asked her to explain to me what had happened, no words could pass her lips for long moments. Her breaths caught in her lungs. It took much coaxing and reassuring, but eventually she told me about the minister who had come to town to talk to Adam's father. About how closely his father came to god, and how he had skipped town, left the boy and his mother and his three brothers and two sisters to fend for themselves. He never came back, she said. He never came back until that acceptance letter came through for the oldest son, Adam, from that prestigious university. Even then, she confided in me through a stifling in tears, even then he didn’t really return.
I called Dr. Applebee at approximately three pm. We set up an interview for the following day, noon, agreeing that I could see the boy from a distance only, but not talk to him yet.
“In my retirement I rekindle the love in my marriage, and my wife and I spend our summers traveling, seeing the world. We have three sons, each with their own families now. I visit my mother and father in their place beneath the Earth every year on their birthdays. They are buried far from one another, but I know that they lie close in each others hearts. You can never fall out of love, that’s what I’ve always said to my wife, and I believe it more than anything else I ever could have.”
When I said goodbye to his Aunt Joan she consoled me on the situation, explaining the tension between the family and the doctor prescribed to the boy. He’s our only living remembrance of our sister, she explained, and it kills us not to be able to speak with him. I asked her why the doctor did not allow them to see the boy. I don’t know, she said. I don’t know.
I arrived at the hospital at exactly 11:34 a.m. and went immediately to the cafeteria for a coffee. I poured over my notes. Dr. Applebee: 34, in shape, an MD for six years, PhD in psychology, specializes in case studies of trauma victims, a wife, two kids. I went to the front desk at 11:57 a.m., asked for Dr. Applebee’s office, and was directed to go down the hall, take the second right, third left and fourth door on the right. I do this. Dr. Applebee is sitting at his desk, he asks me to come in, I take a seat. You’re here about Adam, correct? I say yes, and ask could I see him? The doctor replies that I cannot, yet, but maybe will be able to in the coming weeks. We’re making some serious breakthroughs in his progress, the doctor explains. His case has been an interesting one, a combination of not only physical but mental trauma. I ask the doctor if he could possibly explain to me the exact events that put the boy, Adam, in the hospital. The doctor cannot, but he refers me to the boy’s family, this is what led me to Aunt Joan.
“On my death bed, my family gathers around me, and we cry and I speak with them about broken dreams, about broken men. They listen, and I tell them how fulfilling they made my life. This moment is beautiful, and I think to myself, ‘this is how every man should die.’ And I tell my family about the ravens and the dark clouds, I tell them everything about myself, all my secrets, all my hidden desires. I tell them what I have and have not done, in hopes that they will complete everything for me. I feel reassured that they will do this.”
“It will be ok Ms. Dallison,” I reassured Joan Dallison, Aunt of Adam, sister of the deceased.
“I loved my sister so much,” she moans through stifled tears.
I do not know how to handle this. I do my best to be comforting, but I do not know her, she does not know me, and I do not yet know the exact degree of the pain her family must have experienced. Eventually, she calms down.
“Can you tell me a little bit about Adam?” I ask her, I get out my journal.
“Yes, yes of course. Here, have some of this coffee,” she pours me a cup, “Adam was extremely bright. Wanted to be a doctor. He got along very well with his brothers and sisters and loved his parents. I didn’t know him real well, before… you know, before it, but he seemed like a remarkable boy. My sister couldn’t stop talking about him.”
“And his brothers and sisters, were they all bright too?” I asked.
“The whole family was, yes.”
“Even the Father?”
“…”
“Ms. Dallison. Joan. Please, I am trying to help. Tell me about the Father. Tell me about what happened.”
She frowned, and slowly eased her hand to her forehand. A moment passed, and I noticed she had begun to cry, before I could apologize and say goodbye, she spoke up.
“It all started because that damned minister came to town. The father left the family after that, you know, he said it was for their own good. He said he had found Him. But Adam secretly sent out a letter to him, telling him how he was accepted into such a big college. Adam thought his father would be proud. His father came home, a month later, in time to celebrate Adam’s acceptance, Adam had invited him to the party…” Joan looked up, tears streaming down her face, “He killed all of them. With his bare hands. All of them except Adam, and even him he left with little chance to live. When the police found him, he was in a tub full of his blood, still alive, he screamed at them when they tried to take him away. They said he kept yelling about saving them. ‘let me save them.’ He said. Oh my god…” she pauses, I am at a loss for words, “I… I guess everyone has a different way of rescuing their world…”
We sat in silence for a long time. It was understood between both of us that we were still conversing, despite this silence. I said, I am so sorry for your loss. She said, there is nothing you can say to change it. I said, I know, and I will never be able to understand you, or him especially. She said, please go. I said, goodbye, I’ll make sure to put the cup in your sink. Thank you.
The last time I visited Dr. Applebee he greeted me in his doorway, smiling, and urging me to come in. Upon entering, he hurried to his desk and bade me to sit. I asked him what had happened, and he said “the most fascinating thing!” Adam had spoken, but more than that, he had relinquished his fantasy. Dr. Applebee, explaining that Adam’s family had given him permission, played the recording of his interview of Adam. I listened, enthralled. The ending of that recording went like this:
“I tell them what I have and have not done, in hopes that they will complete everything for me. I feel reassured that they will do this. In my last moments, I fix my face to a smile, and watch the world slowly fade, my family issuing me farewells and tears. I see my mother, and behind her, the ravens, dark clouds, and my father among them, smiling and holding his arms out to me. I go to my mother and together we go to a place I cannot perceive. It is a place fixed in time. This is where I die.
Very good Adam. So that is the past you envision from the last twenty two years?
It is what I envision, yes Doctor.
But not necessarily what is true?
It is true.
(a heavy sigh) Adam. You realize that the events you just repeated to me encompass more time than your life has thus far, and that you speak of your death? You’re alive, aren’t you Adam?
I know this Doctor.
You… do?
Yes.
Then what have you just explained to me?
My life, Doctor, the one I should have led.
So then it isn’t true?
It is true to me. It is who I was, would be, I think. I can feel that life, it feels… right. I felt like I stumbled upon it, like it was waiting for me this whole time.
Where did you find it?
Inside of dreams, faraway places. The parts of my mind where the ravens and the storm clouds no longer exist. Across the fracture in my reality, across the fissure in my brain, and certainly no where near whatever lies in front of my eyes. It has been years since I was brought here Doctor. Isn’t this what you needed to hear? I know they are dead, I know I am alive, but in the same thought I realize neither of these things are true.
Adam… I… don’t know how to tell you what a breakthrough this is in your condition, you never cease to astound me, soon we can ha-
I want to see my family.
Well of course, but we’ll still need to clear that with the board. After today though, I really think that that will be much easier because of your improving co-
Just let me see my family.”
The Doctor ended the tape, smiling. I asked him, will Adam get to see his family then? The Doctor said no, explaining that Adam still needed to pass a few more examinations before they were certain he was ready. Someone not related to his family though, was allowed to visit him, he said. That’s where you come in, and hopefully I can relay our conversation back to his family for them, too, he adds in.
The Doctor and I walk through the hospital towards Adam’s room. He is in front, chattering about some topic related to his field, I walk slightly behind him. The hospital is completely white on the inside except for the floors. The floors are gray. There are some paintings on the walls. They are of indistinct shapes in various colors, mostly cool hues like blues and greens. My shoes squeak. We arrive at Adam’s room. Smiling, the Doctor lets me inside. This is when I get to meet Adam for the first time.