The End of Slavery by Craig Maciolek
Chapter Five
Michael was immersed in his work when Dr. Turnable returned from his phone call. He hesitated at the door for a moment and then quickly returned to his seat. It wasn't until he sat down did Michael shift his attention to the Doctor, and immediately discovered that something was different; Dr. Turnable was different. He wasn't comfortably in the role of psychologist anymore. He seemed awkward and out of balance. To Michael it was clear that something had pushed him out of balance and out of his role, but he wondered if it was something internal, like a judgment he had made about Michael, or if it was something external, like what ever happened on that phone call.
Michael watched Dr. Turnable as he made a little production out of getting resettled – fumbling with his pen, and how his lips pursed and twitched a little. It occurred to Michael that there might be a third option to the cause of this change, that Dr. Turnable was not comfortable restarting a conversation in the middle of the flow. Michael himself was a person that had a hard time picking up somethings in the middle. Some conversations, emotional conversations, needed to be had out in full, from beginning to end, in one flow. With words and logic it is easy to pause and restart a conversation wherever a person might want to, but with an emotional conversations it is impossible to stop and restart the emotional energy when and where a person might want to. It would be like trying to stop a river, or the moon.
All of the time Michael would see examples of this; people engaged in an argument, only to have it interrupted and neither side being able to get back into it. They would simply wave their hand or say that it is over. One of the measures that he used to gage a person's emotional maturity was how deep and long they could connect in a emotional conversation without reflexively running away or trying to control things. Michael had even watched people who created a distraction to an emotional argument because they became insecure and must have instinctively known that breaking the flow would end the discussion. These people were the most confounding to Michael because there seemed to be no way to reach them at all. However, Michael was aware that his sensitivity made it so he was not very emotionally mature. He was too sensitive, but he had his goals to work towards. As soon as Michael thought it through it was obvious to him that this was not the answer. They were not having an emotional conversation because psychologists didn't allow themselves to have emotional conversations as a rule; as part of the role they play.
It was obvious that Dr. Turnable was taking his time, trying to get himself together and back into role, but to Michael that was not possible. He saw Dr. Turnable trying to give the appearance of balance, of playing the role, but the mental and emotional balance that he had earlier was gone. What was left was a person clearly trying to play a role; like a bad actor on a stage. The good ones don't show that they are acting. When he finally looked up and found Michael looking at him, he made a stern thoughtful face and lowered his eyes back down to his papers. Michael knew instantly that Dr. Turnable was no longer a passive observer. His instincts told him that Dr. Turnable was unbalanced by whatever the phone call was about and now he was going to try and regain his balance using Michael as leverage. Michael felt sorry for him, wanted to help him and make everything better. Michael felt the clinch of reflex begin to draw him back down into himself. Allowing Dr. Turnable to have his way, after all, was the easiest way to help him.
Without looking up, Dr. Turnable said in an authoritative voice, “Again Michael, I apologize for the interruption, but I wonder if we could pick it up again by telling me if you think it is good to be making up your own stories.”
Michael stared at the card he held in his hands. He didn't say a word as he felt himself being pulled further away. Michael was not even considering what to say. He was completely focused on how Dr. Turnable was filling the space he was vacating. As Michael's posture became more submissive, Dr. Turnable's became more confident and dominating. Michael knew that they were connected. Everyone was connected with the only questions being how much and how deep, but it seemed that all he could do was watch.
After a minute or two of silence passed Dr. Turnable continued in a condescending voice, “You see Michael, our society requires that people work together and to do that we have to agree on certain things. Society doesn't work if people just start making up their own stories whenever they want to.” He paused and looked over his glasses at Michael who was staring at the table and very slightly rocking in his seat. “Not to mention all the scientific research and evidence that we are now using to build our understanding. What do you think would happen to our society if everyone started creating their own stories to fulfill their own desires – their own desires to be right or better than everyone else. That is, in fact, how we describe those who are delusional; like the people who you will meet that might think they are George Washington... or someone else they are clearly not.” Dr. Turnable sat back in his chair with his hands folded on his leg and looked at Michael. “If you insist on believing your own stories,” Dr. Turnable paused for effect, “I must determine if these stories are dangerous to yourself and others?”
Michael heard what Dr. Turnable said, but hardly processed it. He was completely focused on how he was sitting and acting, and was acutely aware that his behavior was connected to Dr. Turnable's behavior. He didn't understand why he never noticed this before, it must have been a simple function of all the experiences he had been having lately. The experiences changed him. He was different.
Michael sat staring at the table and rocking slightly, not, as Dr. Turnable suspected, out of guilt or insecurity, but from the increasing effort to contain the building anger inside of him. He was different. All his work trying to understand himself had given his recent experiences meaning to him – and understanding. Michael had no doubt that everything he had done over the past two days would have happened the exact same if he hadn't spent so much time trying understand himself, however, since he had that information at hand. It changed him. It changed his perspective. And now he no longer wanted to be locked inside of himself. The very idea of pulling away like this gave him a strong sense of revulsion. He thought of how disappointed his Grandfather would be if he saw him like this. And still the energy grew from deep inside of him.
He was afraid. He had no experience with this and didn't know what was going to happen. Just then he remembered the words of Director Peirce from early that day about how sometimes we just find ourselves in a place where there was nothing else to do but roll up our sleeves and work our way out. He had to make a choice. To continue the fight to keep the energy inside and in control, or to let it out even though he didn't know what was going to happen.
Michael saw this as the same experience as running from the bombed out building with his fingers in his ears, or from the diner as the gunmen chased him. Slowly, Michael leaned forward and sat up more erect, and placed his hands on the the table with his fingers touching his cards. He spent a few moments looking at the cards which gave Dr. Turnable the impression that he was thinking, but the truth was that Michael was not thinking, he was only desperately trying to hold back a wall of energy that he did not understand. He wanted to let it go, but he was taught that it was not right to let such energy out. It hurt people, and it hurt him to hurt people.
Dr. Turnable sat unmoved, completely staunch in his position; stubbornly holding the ground he had recently gained from Michael. He watched as Michael's mouth quivered and flapped a couple time without any sounds coming out. To Dr. Turnable, this behavior was all part of the process of handicapped people who couldn't cope with the reality of their condition; projecting out the anger of being exposed. Dr. Turnable comfortably thought everything was going to play out in the usual way, until Michael lifted his eyes from his hands and cards and looked right into his eyes, and directly through his head.
In a firm but quiet voice, Michael said, “Who are you?”
Dr. Turnable chose not to answer.
Louder, “Who are you? Who are you to tell me what the value of my experiences
are?” Dr. Turnable stared directly at Michael, but remained staunch and quiet. Michael let go and exploded, “Who are you to tell me who I am!?” Michael stood up, keeping both his hands on the table and leaned towards Dr. Turnable. “Experience is the foundation of understanding, thus you have no understanding of who I am! Your only experience is in judging other people. Did you choose this profession because it was the best way to hide your own insecurities? So you always have someone to look down on? Is that it? Mommy's little boy wants to pretend to be a man so he develops the tools and the skills to be king of the mountain. Who is telling the stories? Everything you believe has you at the center of your understanding. I have the right to be the center of my understanding... I have the right to be myself, and to be the center of my own life!” Michael twisted and let his hands drag across the cards, throwing them against the wall while he screamed, “I am sick and tired of hiding from insecure people so that they don't get hurt!” He walked to the window and looked out for a moment. “I can't do it anymore!” He turned back to look directly at Dr. Turnable, “If you want to measure me, if you want to judge me, you are going to have to fight me. Is that not the measure of a healthy, well adjusted person? Someone who is willing to fight for their identity, for their space? Evolution dictates it, no? That anyone not willing to fight for themselves will go extinct.” Michael let his eyes drift away for a moment and then came back to Dr. Turnable, “I guess the question is how do we fight for our identity? You maintain your self-esteem by judging and diminishing others, and I have built my self-esteem by learning about myself. I am sure there is much good in the field of psychology, but is there anyone out there making sure that it is not being used as a form of bullying? Institutional bullying? Or is it evolutionary bullying?” Michael leaned in closer to Dr. Turnable, “Wouldn't it be funny if psychology was nothing more than the efforts of inferior people trying to keep evolution from making them obsolete?”
Through all this Dr. Turnable sat still, dramatically looking down at his notes for no other reason than to maintain his appearance of confidence. With Michael's small pause, he decided to try and contain the issue. He sat forward and put his notepad on the table and folded his hands on top. His hands were shaking slightly. “Mr. James, you are not helping your own situation here.”
Every muscle in Michael's body flexed at the same time in a furious release of energy. He jumped up off the ground and spun away from Dr. Turnable, “Fuck You!!!!” He screamed louder than he ever screamed before. Michael made it to the wall and turned to look at Dr. Turnable. “It does not matter any more Dr. Turnable. I will not hide from you anymore... and people like you. I will not be afraid of sharing what I know, of living my life, because of how it will hurt all the people who have done nothing with their lives but learn how to lie. I will not help people lie to themselves anymore. If you don't like who I am, if who I am scares you, then that is something you are going to have to deal with... not me.” Michael started pacing back and forth along the far wall, “I will not take your drugs, I will not sit through anymore sessions, and I will not allow myself to be examined and studied anymore. I am finished with the lies, Dr. Turnable. You came back in here after being knocked off balance by your phone call and...”
“I beg your pardon?” Dr. Turnable interjected incredulously. “That phone call had nothing...”
“I am finished with the lies!!! You were not the same person when you returned... You might have become so good at lying and pretending that you don't realize it. You might be unaware of it, but you simply are not the same person. I don't know what happened during the call, but you came back in here with a need to regain some of your self-esteem, to regain your balance. And it is certainly possible, most likely probable, that my reaction... this reaction, was caused by this intent of yours. But you are not aware of it... No one notices it!! Everything we do, all of our interactions, either add or subtract from our self image. But you do not notice this because of the stories you tell yourself. The stories about who you are, all hinge on how you rationalize other people's behaviors,.. never about your own.” Michael came to a stop standing in the corner looking at the ground where his toes almost touched the walls. He let out a big sigh, looked up at the ceiling with his hands on his hips, and said, “You cannot understand human behavior in the third person. It is a simple fact... Hell, we cannot even fully understand animal behavior by watching and observing them. We can pretend that we understand, but we cannot understand. Experience is the foundation of understanding.”
“Mr. James, I have over twenty years of experience working with autistic people.”
Michael was still standing in the corner, with his hands on his hips and looking at the ceiling. “Dr. Turnable, your experience is in watching and observing the autistic, your experience is justifying their behavior in a way that keeps you in control and on top. Your experience, and thus your understanding, is not in the condition of autism, but in methods of maintaining control over it and people you decide have it.”
A long silence fell over the room. Michael stayed in the corner and Dr. Turnable doodled on his note pad. Finally Michael broke the tension, “Dr. Turnable, I am sorry for the way this conversation took place. I am sorry for the ferocity and volume of it all, but I am not sorry for the content of it... I am not sorry for what I said. So, please forgive me, but I am finished here. There is nothing more to discuss.”
Dr. Turnable secretly agreed with this, but was rather cross that he was not the one to say it. He was placed in the weaker position and he was angered by this. Without taking the time to put things away in their proper places in his brief case, he stood up, gathered his things in his hands and walked out the door. In the outer room of the trailer he found all the secretaries working diligently in perfect silence. At the door to go outside he paused for a moment and looked around the room. No one returned his look or broke from their work. Even Agent Spencer, who was sitting at the other side of one of the secretaries desks, seemed to be completely engrossed with the documents in her hands.
-----
Michael stayed in the corner for a while, and then started to slowly pace across the room. Even though he felt calm inside, he was exhilarated to the point that he was shaking. He was trying to remember all that he said to Dr. Turnable, but he couldn't do it. He remembered telling Dr. Turnable that he meant what he said, but he couldn't really remember all of it. This made him worried. He was worried that he said something completely crazy. On the other hand, he was aware that he understood and felt confident of the emotional release. He just wasn't sure that the logic of what he said was in alignment with the emotions that he was feeling. Michael wanted to know that everything was perfect, that there were no vulnerabilities, but he could not be certain. He did not remember what he said.
On top of not being able to remember what he said, he started to feel a little insecure about why it was that he exploded in the first place. He couldn't clearly remember if it was justified. Michael worried that it was not actually Dr. Turnable who was different when he returned, but Michael who was different. The fear spread its roots deeper into him, as he worried whether or not he really lost control for no reason at all. The roots started to tighten. Michael wasn't sure if it wasn't he who create an illusion to justify his reactions; that he wanted to explode and so he created a story to justify it. In the midst of all his thinking, Michael finally sat down in his chair, stared at the floor with his arms wrapped around himself, and tried to replay the afternoon over and over again in his mind.
-----
Agent Spencer came out of the trailer to find Dr. Turnable waiting to talk to Director Peirce, who was meeting with a group of people, and she went to stand next to Agent Gonzales, who was waiting a respectful distance as well. Director Peirce brought the meeting to an end and gave a glance to Agents Spencer and Gonzales as he approached Dr. Turnable.
“Dr. Turnable.” He extended his hand. “These are Agents Spencer and Gonzales. They are working with Mr. James.” They all s
hook hands. “So, what do you have for us?”
Dr. Turnable was taken aback a little by the sharpness and informality to this process. His thoughts staggered for a moment and regained structure by remembering his environment and that this was all was a part of extraordinary circumstances. “Well,” he started off slowly, “you asked for a quick assessment and not what would be usual. This I understand to be a part of the circumstances.” He paused to choose his words carefully, “The short of it is that Mr. James is not a dangerous person, although I think he may be a bit delusional.”
Agent Spencer jumped in, “How do you mean?”
Dr. Turnable continued to direct his response to Director Peirce, “Well,.. it is my opinion that the intensity of recent events has had the affect of shocking Mr. James into creating fantastic stories,.. as a way of coping with the trauma.”
Again, Agent Spencer questions, “Are you saying his testimony is not reliable?”
“I guess I am saying that, in his current state, his perception of reality... is a weakness.”
Director Peirce quickly asked a question before Agent Spencer could open her mouth again, in a way that reminded her to be careful, “How do mean a weakness? Is his memory of events not reliable?”
Agent Spencer couldn't stop herself, “We already know that his story has value, from the men who were trying to kill him.”
Director Peirce shot her a look that clearly ordered her to be more careful, “Please pardon Agents Spencer's interruption...”
“Of course,..” Dr. Turnable worked to stay focused, “Mr. James survived a couple of close calls, and it is not unique that he may create a fantasy that makes more of it than it really is. And, in a court of law, that could be used to unravel the whole account.” He felt the pressure of their eyes wanting more information. “To be frank, he believes that he survived the bomb blast because he felt the emotions of the terrorists. There is no scientific evidence that this is possible.”
“Then how did he know to run?” Agent Spencer successfully fought to make the question sound professional.
Dr. Turnable was condescending, “Agent Spencer, Mr. James is a man who has worked in that building for fourteen years. Most likely he simply noticed that the terrorist was not usual and reacted. I mean, to him, to someone who watches everyone everyday, such a small difference would jump out at him.”
“And how did he know to run in the diner?... His back was to the door.”
“Agent Spencer, I don't know the details. Maybe he saw a reflection, or the look on someone's face who saw what was happening. All I am telling you is that his frame of reference is delusional... unreliable... and a weakness.” He paused to collect his thoughts, “I will admit that he is very convincing. His theories are very complex and well organized, but, unfortunately, that is to be expected with people who are so isolated.” He was thoughtful for a moment, “In the end, it is my opinion that any defense attorney would be able to use that successfully against him. But, that is not for certain... You know better than I how fickle the legal system is. People will believe what they want to believe until proof of the contrary is shoved down their throat.”
Agent Spencer let out a little snicker as she wondered if Dr. Turnable was listening to himself. Director Peirce then jumped in, “I think I got what you are saying, Dr. Turnable.” With this he gave the clear and decisive signal that the issue was over. He extended his hand, “Thank you for your time. And if you could be sure to send me a formal letter of your full professional opinion as soon as you get a chance.”
“Of course.” Dr. Turnable shook his hand, said his goodbyes to Agents Spencer and Gonzales, and left.
Agent Spencer stood stiff as a board waiting for the right moment. Director Peirce picked up a folder off of the car trunk and began thumbing through it. When Dr. Turnable was a good distance away he spoke quick and sharp, “Relax Agent Spencer, this was just information. You seem to be taking this personally.”
It was only in that moment, hearing it through her own ears, that she realized that she was taking it personally. She stopped to think, making it clear that she was no longer going to say what was in her head the moment before.
“The reality is that, from the way this is being handled from above, none of this is going to matter in the big picture. We are getting handcuffed by the politicians... And I guarantee you that if our only path to the truth is one solid witness, it is a lost cause. Those jackals are going to rip apart anyone who contradicts their story, no matter what their mental health is determined to be.” He threw the folder back down onto the car, “The second after that bomb went off, every lobbyist in Washington was on the phone with Senators and Congressmen, telling them all that bills that favored their companies would have prevented this from happening, and would help prevent this from happening again. Every dammed company, from makers of baby-food to tire companies. They all want a piece of the reaction to this. A reaction that is based on the story that it was Arab terrorists who did this for religious reasons.”
Agent Spencer listened closely and understood what she was being told. In the end, it was all out of their hands. This was being seen as a political opportunity and the only thing they could do was go through the motions to protect their image. “So, we do nothing?”
“No,” Director Peirce returned sharply, “of course not. But, we have to be sure we understand what we are all about. The question is which path do you want to take?” He took a long look into the face of each agent – they did not waver, giving him his answer. “We have his story, and I have a sketch artist waiting. After that, we will find him some place safe and secure and sit on him while we see where it all leads to.”
“Where is safe and secure?” Agent Gonzales asked with a professional tone that made Agent Spencer a little jealous.
“Good question... There is an old place way out by Sterling. I will go in and see if it is still there and still available. You two go home and get what you need. You will have the first watch,.. and use that time to see if there is anything else he might remember.” He looked at Agent Spencer, “Yeah, I doubt it too, but we must remain positive. Either way, by the time you get back I will have a safe and secure place for you to take him.” Director Peirce then disappeared into the trailer, leaving the two Agents standing together.
Silence passed as Agent Gonzales tried to size up his partner. He had never seen her this emotional before. She was turned to the side, looking away, but she felt his presence and understood that he deserved an explanation. However, the truth was that she really did not fully understand herself. Or, at least, that is what she wanted to believe.
Tears started pushing their way out of her eyes and she wiped the first ones away with her sleeve. “I never stood up for my brother.” She finally said quietly. “There were many times that I wanted to, but I always stopped short,.. and then found something else productive to do to avoid it all completely.” Her tears began to flow freely, but her behavior became more composed since the energy had been released.
Agent Gonzales had been married for fifteen years and knew when to keep his mouth shut. He stood there patiently as Agent Spencer slowly pulled herself back together. She tried to break the discomfort with humor, “I'm sorry we are getting sidelined from the action to babysit.”
“Are you kidding me?” He responded in kind, “They already tried for him once. The best chance of getting in a little action is by his side.” She looked at him with a smile, and he added off handedly, “I'm planning to bring an arsenal.” This he said jokingly, but was actually serious. He was well aware of the fact that he could have been killed that morning and had no intention of letting that happen again. Even if he really thought this babysitting was going to be a boring waste of time, his ideas of a bigger arsenal were a part of his new full time strategy.
A little more time passed and he asked, “You good?”
“Yeah, I'm good.” She returned to her usual demeanor, “I'm going to get my things, actually get a shower in and
a meal, and be back here in two hours,.. maybe two and a half.”
He smiled, “Do you think he will be done with the sketch artist by then?”
She laughed and started to walk away, “Maybe one of us should bring that poor man a drink for when his ordeal is done.”
-----
Director Peirce knocked on the wall to get the attention of Michael, who was still sitting in his chair with his arms wrapped around him. “Michael, I just wanted to inform you of what we have decided, and see how you felt about it all.” The Director came to a stop next to the end of the table, “While we valued the Doctors opinion, we have decided that we cannot abide by his perspective. If it is alright with you, we are going to take the dangerous route.”
“Are you saying that, to take his advice is to have me committed and drugged, thus negating anything I may have witnessed. But, by not taking that path, we will invite them to try and kill me again.”
“Something like that. I don't think you would ever be committed and drugged, but you would be bullied, abused, and pushed aside.” Director Peirce thought about it for a moment, “but to be perfectly clear, the choice was really made by Agents Spencer and Gonzales, who will be standing right next to you if they should try again.”
“Well,” Michael started thoughtfully, “from my perspective, only one of those options brings certain death, and I would rather fight to live.”
Director Peirce knocked his knuckles on the table twice, said, “Well put. Agents Spencer and Gonzales will be back in a couple of hours and will be taking you to a safe house for a few days. Just to let things settle out a bit.” He then turned to the door and said, “In the mean time Mr. James, this is Mr. Janson. He is a sketch artist. I would like for you to describe every person and every vehicle that has been involved in this to the best of your ability. Is that alright?”
Michael took a deep breath, looked around at the mess his cards were in, and said, “I would be happy to Director Pierce, so long as Mr. Janson doesn't mind me cleaning up my mess while we work.” and peacefully began to pick up the cards on the floor.
*****(Top)
Michael was immersed in his work when Dr. Turnable returned from his phone call. He hesitated at the door for a moment and then quickly returned to his seat. It wasn't until he sat down did Michael shift his attention to the Doctor, and immediately discovered that something was different; Dr. Turnable was different. He wasn't comfortably in the role of psychologist anymore. He seemed awkward and out of balance. To Michael it was clear that something had pushed him out of balance and out of his role, but he wondered if it was something internal, like a judgment he had made about Michael, or if it was something external, like what ever happened on that phone call.
Michael watched Dr. Turnable as he made a little production out of getting resettled – fumbling with his pen, and how his lips pursed and twitched a little. It occurred to Michael that there might be a third option to the cause of this change, that Dr. Turnable was not comfortable restarting a conversation in the middle of the flow. Michael himself was a person that had a hard time picking up somethings in the middle. Some conversations, emotional conversations, needed to be had out in full, from beginning to end, in one flow. With words and logic it is easy to pause and restart a conversation wherever a person might want to, but with an emotional conversations it is impossible to stop and restart the emotional energy when and where a person might want to. It would be like trying to stop a river, or the moon.
All of the time Michael would see examples of this; people engaged in an argument, only to have it interrupted and neither side being able to get back into it. They would simply wave their hand or say that it is over. One of the measures that he used to gage a person's emotional maturity was how deep and long they could connect in a emotional conversation without reflexively running away or trying to control things. Michael had even watched people who created a distraction to an emotional argument because they became insecure and must have instinctively known that breaking the flow would end the discussion. These people were the most confounding to Michael because there seemed to be no way to reach them at all. However, Michael was aware that his sensitivity made it so he was not very emotionally mature. He was too sensitive, but he had his goals to work towards. As soon as Michael thought it through it was obvious to him that this was not the answer. They were not having an emotional conversation because psychologists didn't allow themselves to have emotional conversations as a rule; as part of the role they play.
It was obvious that Dr. Turnable was taking his time, trying to get himself together and back into role, but to Michael that was not possible. He saw Dr. Turnable trying to give the appearance of balance, of playing the role, but the mental and emotional balance that he had earlier was gone. What was left was a person clearly trying to play a role; like a bad actor on a stage. The good ones don't show that they are acting. When he finally looked up and found Michael looking at him, he made a stern thoughtful face and lowered his eyes back down to his papers. Michael knew instantly that Dr. Turnable was no longer a passive observer. His instincts told him that Dr. Turnable was unbalanced by whatever the phone call was about and now he was going to try and regain his balance using Michael as leverage. Michael felt sorry for him, wanted to help him and make everything better. Michael felt the clinch of reflex begin to draw him back down into himself. Allowing Dr. Turnable to have his way, after all, was the easiest way to help him.
Without looking up, Dr. Turnable said in an authoritative voice, “Again Michael, I apologize for the interruption, but I wonder if we could pick it up again by telling me if you think it is good to be making up your own stories.”
Michael stared at the card he held in his hands. He didn't say a word as he felt himself being pulled further away. Michael was not even considering what to say. He was completely focused on how Dr. Turnable was filling the space he was vacating. As Michael's posture became more submissive, Dr. Turnable's became more confident and dominating. Michael knew that they were connected. Everyone was connected with the only questions being how much and how deep, but it seemed that all he could do was watch.
After a minute or two of silence passed Dr. Turnable continued in a condescending voice, “You see Michael, our society requires that people work together and to do that we have to agree on certain things. Society doesn't work if people just start making up their own stories whenever they want to.” He paused and looked over his glasses at Michael who was staring at the table and very slightly rocking in his seat. “Not to mention all the scientific research and evidence that we are now using to build our understanding. What do you think would happen to our society if everyone started creating their own stories to fulfill their own desires – their own desires to be right or better than everyone else. That is, in fact, how we describe those who are delusional; like the people who you will meet that might think they are George Washington... or someone else they are clearly not.” Dr. Turnable sat back in his chair with his hands folded on his leg and looked at Michael. “If you insist on believing your own stories,” Dr. Turnable paused for effect, “I must determine if these stories are dangerous to yourself and others?”
Michael heard what Dr. Turnable said, but hardly processed it. He was completely focused on how he was sitting and acting, and was acutely aware that his behavior was connected to Dr. Turnable's behavior. He didn't understand why he never noticed this before, it must have been a simple function of all the experiences he had been having lately. The experiences changed him. He was different.
Michael sat staring at the table and rocking slightly, not, as Dr. Turnable suspected, out of guilt or insecurity, but from the increasing effort to contain the building anger inside of him. He was different. All his work trying to understand himself had given his recent experiences meaning to him – and understanding. Michael had no doubt that everything he had done over the past two days would have happened the exact same if he hadn't spent so much time trying understand himself, however, since he had that information at hand. It changed him. It changed his perspective. And now he no longer wanted to be locked inside of himself. The very idea of pulling away like this gave him a strong sense of revulsion. He thought of how disappointed his Grandfather would be if he saw him like this. And still the energy grew from deep inside of him.
He was afraid. He had no experience with this and didn't know what was going to happen. Just then he remembered the words of Director Peirce from early that day about how sometimes we just find ourselves in a place where there was nothing else to do but roll up our sleeves and work our way out. He had to make a choice. To continue the fight to keep the energy inside and in control, or to let it out even though he didn't know what was going to happen.
Michael saw this as the same experience as running from the bombed out building with his fingers in his ears, or from the diner as the gunmen chased him. Slowly, Michael leaned forward and sat up more erect, and placed his hands on the the table with his fingers touching his cards. He spent a few moments looking at the cards which gave Dr. Turnable the impression that he was thinking, but the truth was that Michael was not thinking, he was only desperately trying to hold back a wall of energy that he did not understand. He wanted to let it go, but he was taught that it was not right to let such energy out. It hurt people, and it hurt him to hurt people.
Dr. Turnable sat unmoved, completely staunch in his position; stubbornly holding the ground he had recently gained from Michael. He watched as Michael's mouth quivered and flapped a couple time without any sounds coming out. To Dr. Turnable, this behavior was all part of the process of handicapped people who couldn't cope with the reality of their condition; projecting out the anger of being exposed. Dr. Turnable comfortably thought everything was going to play out in the usual way, until Michael lifted his eyes from his hands and cards and looked right into his eyes, and directly through his head.
In a firm but quiet voice, Michael said, “Who are you?”
Dr. Turnable chose not to answer.
Louder, “Who are you? Who are you to tell me what the value of my experiences
Through all this Dr. Turnable sat still, dramatically looking down at his notes for no other reason than to maintain his appearance of confidence. With Michael's small pause, he decided to try and contain the issue. He sat forward and put his notepad on the table and folded his hands on top. His hands were shaking slightly. “Mr. James, you are not helping your own situation here.”
Every muscle in Michael's body flexed at the same time in a furious release of energy. He jumped up off the ground and spun away from Dr. Turnable, “Fuck You!!!!” He screamed louder than he ever screamed before. Michael made it to the wall and turned to look at Dr. Turnable. “It does not matter any more Dr. Turnable. I will not hide from you anymore... and people like you. I will not be afraid of sharing what I know, of living my life, because of how it will hurt all the people who have done nothing with their lives but learn how to lie. I will not help people lie to themselves anymore. If you don't like who I am, if who I am scares you, then that is something you are going to have to deal with... not me.” Michael started pacing back and forth along the far wall, “I will not take your drugs, I will not sit through anymore sessions, and I will not allow myself to be examined and studied anymore. I am finished with the lies, Dr. Turnable. You came back in here after being knocked off balance by your phone call and...”
“I beg your pardon?” Dr. Turnable interjected incredulously. “That phone call had nothing...”
“I am finished with the lies!!! You were not the same person when you returned... You might have become so good at lying and pretending that you don't realize it. You might be unaware of it, but you simply are not the same person. I don't know what happened during the call, but you came back in here with a need to regain some of your self-esteem, to regain your balance. And it is certainly possible, most likely probable, that my reaction... this reaction, was caused by this intent of yours. But you are not aware of it... No one notices it!! Everything we do, all of our interactions, either add or subtract from our self image. But you do not notice this because of the stories you tell yourself. The stories about who you are, all hinge on how you rationalize other people's behaviors,.. never about your own.” Michael came to a stop standing in the corner looking at the ground where his toes almost touched the walls. He let out a big sigh, looked up at the ceiling with his hands on his hips, and said, “You cannot understand human behavior in the third person. It is a simple fact... Hell, we cannot even fully understand animal behavior by watching and observing them. We can pretend that we understand, but we cannot understand. Experience is the foundation of understanding.”
“Mr. James, I have over twenty years of experience working with autistic people.”
Michael was still standing in the corner, with his hands on his hips and looking at the ceiling. “Dr. Turnable, your experience is in watching and observing the autistic, your experience is justifying their behavior in a way that keeps you in control and on top. Your experience, and thus your understanding, is not in the condition of autism, but in methods of maintaining control over it and people you decide have it.”
A long silence fell over the room. Michael stayed in the corner and Dr. Turnable doodled on his note pad. Finally Michael broke the tension, “Dr. Turnable, I am sorry for the way this conversation took place. I am sorry for the ferocity and volume of it all, but I am not sorry for the content of it... I am not sorry for what I said. So, please forgive me, but I am finished here. There is nothing more to discuss.”
Dr. Turnable secretly agreed with this, but was rather cross that he was not the one to say it. He was placed in the weaker position and he was angered by this. Without taking the time to put things away in their proper places in his brief case, he stood up, gathered his things in his hands and walked out the door. In the outer room of the trailer he found all the secretaries working diligently in perfect silence. At the door to go outside he paused for a moment and looked around the room. No one returned his look or broke from their work. Even Agent Spencer, who was sitting at the other side of one of the secretaries desks, seemed to be completely engrossed with the documents in her hands.
-----
Michael stayed in the corner for a while, and then started to slowly pace across the room. Even though he felt calm inside, he was exhilarated to the point that he was shaking. He was trying to remember all that he said to Dr. Turnable, but he couldn't do it. He remembered telling Dr. Turnable that he meant what he said, but he couldn't really remember all of it. This made him worried. He was worried that he said something completely crazy. On the other hand, he was aware that he understood and felt confident of the emotional release. He just wasn't sure that the logic of what he said was in alignment with the emotions that he was feeling. Michael wanted to know that everything was perfect, that there were no vulnerabilities, but he could not be certain. He did not remember what he said.
On top of not being able to remember what he said, he started to feel a little insecure about why it was that he exploded in the first place. He couldn't clearly remember if it was justified. Michael worried that it was not actually Dr. Turnable who was different when he returned, but Michael who was different. The fear spread its roots deeper into him, as he worried whether or not he really lost control for no reason at all. The roots started to tighten. Michael wasn't sure if it wasn't he who create an illusion to justify his reactions; that he wanted to explode and so he created a story to justify it. In the midst of all his thinking, Michael finally sat down in his chair, stared at the floor with his arms wrapped around himself, and tried to replay the afternoon over and over again in his mind.
-----
Agent Spencer came out of the trailer to find Dr. Turnable waiting to talk to Director Peirce, who was meeting with a group of people, and she went to stand next to Agent Gonzales, who was waiting a respectful distance as well. Director Peirce brought the meeting to an end and gave a glance to Agents Spencer and Gonzales as he approached Dr. Turnable.
“Dr. Turnable.” He extended his hand. “These are Agents Spencer and Gonzales. They are working with Mr. James.” They all s
Dr. Turnable was taken aback a little by the sharpness and informality to this process. His thoughts staggered for a moment and regained structure by remembering his environment and that this was all was a part of extraordinary circumstances. “Well,” he started off slowly, “you asked for a quick assessment and not what would be usual. This I understand to be a part of the circumstances.” He paused to choose his words carefully, “The short of it is that Mr. James is not a dangerous person, although I think he may be a bit delusional.”
Agent Spencer jumped in, “How do you mean?”
Dr. Turnable continued to direct his response to Director Peirce, “Well,.. it is my opinion that the intensity of recent events has had the affect of shocking Mr. James into creating fantastic stories,.. as a way of coping with the trauma.”
Again, Agent Spencer questions, “Are you saying his testimony is not reliable?”
“I guess I am saying that, in his current state, his perception of reality... is a weakness.”
Director Peirce quickly asked a question before Agent Spencer could open her mouth again, in a way that reminded her to be careful, “How do mean a weakness? Is his memory of events not reliable?”
Agent Spencer couldn't stop herself, “We already know that his story has value, from the men who were trying to kill him.”
Director Peirce shot her a look that clearly ordered her to be more careful, “Please pardon Agents Spencer's interruption...”
“Of course,..” Dr. Turnable worked to stay focused, “Mr. James survived a couple of close calls, and it is not unique that he may create a fantasy that makes more of it than it really is. And, in a court of law, that could be used to unravel the whole account.” He felt the pressure of their eyes wanting more information. “To be frank, he believes that he survived the bomb blast because he felt the emotions of the terrorists. There is no scientific evidence that this is possible.”
“Then how did he know to run?” Agent Spencer successfully fought to make the question sound professional.
Dr. Turnable was condescending, “Agent Spencer, Mr. James is a man who has worked in that building for fourteen years. Most likely he simply noticed that the terrorist was not usual and reacted. I mean, to him, to someone who watches everyone everyday, such a small difference would jump out at him.”
“And how did he know to run in the diner?... His back was to the door.”
“Agent Spencer, I don't know the details. Maybe he saw a reflection, or the look on someone's face who saw what was happening. All I am telling you is that his frame of reference is delusional... unreliable... and a weakness.” He paused to collect his thoughts, “I will admit that he is very convincing. His theories are very complex and well organized, but, unfortunately, that is to be expected with people who are so isolated.” He was thoughtful for a moment, “In the end, it is my opinion that any defense attorney would be able to use that successfully against him. But, that is not for certain... You know better than I how fickle the legal system is. People will believe what they want to believe until proof of the contrary is shoved down their throat.”
Agent Spencer let out a little snicker as she wondered if Dr. Turnable was listening to himself. Director Peirce then jumped in, “I think I got what you are saying, Dr. Turnable.” With this he gave the clear and decisive signal that the issue was over. He extended his hand, “Thank you for your time. And if you could be sure to send me a formal letter of your full professional opinion as soon as you get a chance.”
“Of course.” Dr. Turnable shook his hand, said his goodbyes to Agents Spencer and Gonzales, and left.
Agent Spencer stood stiff as a board waiting for the right moment. Director Peirce picked up a folder off of the car trunk and began thumbing through it. When Dr. Turnable was a good distance away he spoke quick and sharp, “Relax Agent Spencer, this was just information. You seem to be taking this personally.”
It was only in that moment, hearing it through her own ears, that she realized that she was taking it personally. She stopped to think, making it clear that she was no longer going to say what was in her head the moment before.
“The reality is that, from the way this is being handled from above, none of this is going to matter in the big picture. We are getting handcuffed by the politicians... And I guarantee you that if our only path to the truth is one solid witness, it is a lost cause. Those jackals are going to rip apart anyone who contradicts their story, no matter what their mental health is determined to be.” He threw the folder back down onto the car, “The second after that bomb went off, every lobbyist in Washington was on the phone with Senators and Congressmen, telling them all that bills that favored their companies would have prevented this from happening, and would help prevent this from happening again. Every dammed company, from makers of baby-food to tire companies. They all want a piece of the reaction to this. A reaction that is based on the story that it was Arab terrorists who did this for religious reasons.”
Agent Spencer listened closely and understood what she was being told. In the end, it was all out of their hands. This was being seen as a political opportunity and the only thing they could do was go through the motions to protect their image. “So, we do nothing?”
“No,” Director Peirce returned sharply, “of course not. But, we have to be sure we understand what we are all about. The question is which path do you want to take?” He took a long look into the face of each agent – they did not waver, giving him his answer. “We have his story, and I have a sketch artist waiting. After that, we will find him some place safe and secure and sit on him while we see where it all leads to.”
“Where is safe and secure?” Agent Gonzales asked with a professional tone that made Agent Spencer a little jealous.
“Good question... There is an old place way out by Sterling. I will go in and see if it is still there and still available. You two go home and get what you need. You will have the first watch,.. and use that time to see if there is anything else he might remember.” He looked at Agent Spencer, “Yeah, I doubt it too, but we must remain positive. Either way, by the time you get back I will have a safe and secure place for you to take him.” Director Peirce then disappeared into the trailer, leaving the two Agents standing together.
Silence passed as Agent Gonzales tried to size up his partner. He had never seen her this emotional before. She was turned to the side, looking away, but she felt his presence and understood that he deserved an explanation. However, the truth was that she really did not fully understand herself. Or, at least, that is what she wanted to believe.
Tears started pushing their way out of her eyes and she wiped the first ones away with her sleeve. “I never stood up for my brother.” She finally said quietly. “There were many times that I wanted to, but I always stopped short,.. and then found something else productive to do to avoid it all completely.” Her tears began to flow freely, but her behavior became more composed since the energy had been released.
Agent Gonzales had been married for fifteen years and knew when to keep his mouth shut. He stood there patiently as Agent Spencer slowly pulled herself back together. She tried to break the discomfort with humor, “I'm sorry we are getting sidelined from the action to babysit.”
“Are you kidding me?” He responded in kind, “They already tried for him once. The best chance of getting in a little action is by his side.” She looked at him with a smile, and he added off handedly, “I'm planning to bring an arsenal.” This he said jokingly, but was actually serious. He was well aware of the fact that he could have been killed that morning and had no intention of letting that happen again. Even if he really thought this babysitting was going to be a boring waste of time, his ideas of a bigger arsenal were a part of his new full time strategy.
A little more time passed and he asked, “You good?”
“Yeah, I'm good.” She returned to her usual demeanor, “I'm going to get my things, actually get a shower in and
He smiled, “Do you think he will be done with the sketch artist by then?”
She laughed and started to walk away, “Maybe one of us should bring that poor man a drink for when his ordeal is done.”
-----
Director Peirce knocked on the wall to get the attention of Michael, who was still sitting in his chair with his arms wrapped around him. “Michael, I just wanted to inform you of what we have decided, and see how you felt about it all.” The Director came to a stop next to the end of the table, “While we valued the Doctors opinion, we have decided that we cannot abide by his perspective. If it is alright with you, we are going to take the dangerous route.”
“Are you saying that, to take his advice is to have me committed and drugged, thus negating anything I may have witnessed. But, by not taking that path, we will invite them to try and kill me again.”
“Something like that. I don't think you would ever be committed and drugged, but you would be bullied, abused, and pushed aside.” Director Peirce thought about it for a moment, “but to be perfectly clear, the choice was really made by Agents Spencer and Gonzales, who will be standing right next to you if they should try again.”
“Well,” Michael started thoughtfully, “from my perspective, only one of those options brings certain death, and I would rather fight to live.”
Director Peirce knocked his knuckles on the table twice, said, “Well put. Agents Spencer and Gonzales will be back in a couple of hours and will be taking you to a safe house for a few days. Just to let things settle out a bit.” He then turned to the door and said, “In the mean time Mr. James, this is Mr. Janson. He is a sketch artist. I would like for you to describe every person and every vehicle that has been involved in this to the best of your ability. Is that alright?”
Michael took a deep breath, looked around at the mess his cards were in, and said, “I would be happy to Director Pierce, so long as Mr. Janson doesn't mind me cleaning up my mess while we work.” and peacefully began to pick up the cards on the floor.
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