Does he ever? I mean does he ever wear loafers or slippers? What kind of a man is he? Besides the analytical kind. The serious kind. I can’t imagine he’d play ball or be frivolous. I wonder if he’d be analysing everything you say and do. Could you be comfortable being his friend?
Sitting by the hearth, notepad and pencil in hand. Those thin-framed specs reflect the light of the fire. He looks at you over the top of his glasses and you think to yourself, “Uh-oh” what is it this time? Have I made a gaff? Do I look foolish? Your head withdraws into your neckline like a turtle while you slide further down the leather couch. So slippery. Can’t get any traction. Of course it’s the fabric of your clothing and the high polish on his leather button back chaise longue that makes sitting uncomfortable.
“Tell me about your childhood,” he says. And at first you rattle off how you were misunderstood and bullied all through school. How friends were more like acquaintances that drifted with the wind. That your parent’s relationship was tumultuous. The men that tried it on. The dog bit you- wait a minute. Those things are just things. They’re carved in stone and kept on an altar in the back of your mind. The truth hits you like the headlamps of a horseless carriage. You weren’t neglected. You were spoiled and loved absolutely. Your step father, loved you just as if he were your real father even though he wasn’t demonstrative and hardly ever spoke to you. Your mother bargained with the devil to keep your body and soul together. She gave up her youth to be your mother. Don’t be an ungrateful wretch. You never did without. You may have had some trauma- but the trauma was the stuff of life. The wrongs and rights are what make you who you are.
Get on with living. Tell your mother how much you love her. Tell your stepdad thanks for being there when your real father abandoned you. Tell your Grandma how much she means to you and your uncles how much of a lifeline they were. Let everybody else know that you’re sorry for not being the best version of yourself. Determine to live today, not in the past. Yes, the past formed you, but look at what you’ve done, both positive and negative- it’s all just perspective. Out of the mud grows the lily…
He coughs, I look around and see him sitting expectantly, pen in hand, poised above the pad. His white, manicured beard is trimmed to within a millimetre, “Do you have nothing to say?”
“Um.” You begin, but can’t bring yourself to speak. What else could you say that wouldn’t feel like justification for your failures, complaints about the imperfections of your relationships, or your life?
The clock ticks. You are caught in a dreamscape of memories, ups and downs, but seeing it all at a distance you can’t bring yourself to talk about anything but the dream you had last night, brought on, no doubt, by midnight cheeseboard snacking. A little while later he says, “Time is up.”
As I stand, I catch sight of his feet. He’s wearing slippers. Freudian slippers.
