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Show 34 He has risen from his artificial cleansing and our stalwart dubiousness and left the room with a show of indignant posturing, but inevitably not gone far in this lock-down unit. Now it is my turn. I would rather opt-out, spin around and leave as did John but I cannot yet propel my own wheelchair, though I can now at least raise my arms and hold up my head somewhat. Ironic. I am stuck with the question and the staring by the very thing that I am here because of. "I guess I would tell it to go away and leave me alone," I am saying, hoping this will suffice. "Talk to it, not about it," Ursula suggests. She is another therapist. "Go away and leave me alone," I obediently state, glancing somewhat in the direction of the empty chair. My flat voice does not even match my red cheeks. "I don't believe you," Sadie is saying, smiling kindly nevertheless. I am very aware of the emotional disconnect but talking to an empty chair and pretending it is something other than that is reminding me of years ago walking down my broad high school hallways with acne on my face. Or of being called on in my junior year English class to read the next paragraph in the Faulkner novel. Or of trying out for a lead role in the school musical: "Next," the director had said, dryly, when I had finished. |
