Then the lights go out and it's just the three of us
You, me, and all that stuff we're so scared of
CHAPTER FOUR: Hearts in Darkness
In the film
Apocalypse Now,
the protagonist (an army captain played by Martin Sheen) waits in a Saigon hotel for a new mission. Two men arrive via the stairs, bringing him one—"like room service," Sheen narrates. "It was a real choice mission," he continues, "and when it was over...I'd never want another."
Dr. Gayle Seymour sat in her office, preparing for her next and last appointment of the night. After more than twenty years in training or in practice as a therapist—specializing in relationship counseling—she felt she'd seen it all. She was getting a little bored with her job.
Maybe more than a little. The stories are all the same. The names change, the faces change—no, even the faces all seem the same now.
She still found satisfaction in helping people. She just hadn't had an interesting challenge in a while. Sure, depending upon the personalities involved, her work could be difficult, but it had become a tedious kind of difficult. She longed for something new.
Something not cast in the usual molds. Something that would engage me. Not just a case; more like...a mission.
Boredom was not her main problem, however. In fact, it was probably good for her. No, her main problem was...
No. Don't think about it at the office. Keep it contained to home.
Dr. Seymour's newest clients were coming up the stairs for their first appointment. She did not know it yet, but they were bringing her a real choice case. And when it was over...
* * *
The husband stood to the side of the doorway, allowing the wife to enter the office first. Dr. Seymour took notice. She noticed everything.
Chivalrous. That's good—mostly. But it seemed reflexive, out of habit. He didn't look at her as she passed by him.
"Welcome," Dr. Seymour said, shaking their hands. "Jennifer, I presume...and Mike. Please sit down."
As Dr. Seymour returned to her chair, the wife hesitated. One of the chairs was closer to the counselor than the other. The wife chose the closer one.
She wants help. Good; but she's not the one I'm most concerned about, it's him. He made the appointment, and he was damn thorough in vetting me. Experience tells me...he's not the one who screwed something up.
"So," she told them, "I understand you were looking for counseling, and chose me. I'm very flattered! Now, the main goal of this first session is for me to get to know you a little. Hopefully, that will help when we get to talking about...well, I sometimes call it 'tough stuff.' But let's not worry much about tough stuff just yet, okay?"
The man and woman nodded, somewhat blankly.
Same old same old. They're unsure how this is going to go. They're hoping for a fast resolution of their problems, but they're not eager to face the problems.
Dr. Seymour spent most of the session asking basic questions about the couple's background, their jobs, their home, and their son. By the end of the session, Dr. Seymour felt she had a pretty good sketch of their lives prior to what had brought them to her. Disappointingly, there were many elements that fit the usual molds.
Married for twelve years, with a child for ten years. Jobs wear them down and stress them out. "Spare time" is consumed by child care, managing property and finances, and trying to stay fit. Not much "couple time," and it becomes routine. Then something slips...
Still, some of the standard ingredients seemed to be missing. Dr. Seymour was intrigued; maybe this case would offer more than met the eye. She resolved not to pre-judge it.
"OK, we have some time left. I promised you we wouldn't jump into the tough stuff right away, but I would like to know something about your current situation. Not the 'what happened'—we'll get to that another time—but the 'what's happening.'"
Kind of vague, I know. But let's see where they go with it.
The wife spoke first. "Um...well, since..." was all she could get out before breaking down in tears. The husband's body language initially telegraphed sympathy; but after a split-second, he looked away from her and straightened his back.
Conflicted, aren't we?
As the wife struggled to compose herself, the husband spoke up. His voice was steady but slow. His tone was resigned.
"I'm sleeping in the spare bedroom. That probably tells you a lot."
It tells me you're having serious problems. Figured that one out from the fact that you're here! But the 'spare bedroom' thing suggests that you're open to reconciliation. No one has moved out...or been kicked out...yet.
"Does your son know that's where you're sleeping?"
"Yeah, Mikey figured it out, so we told him...I told him...that I've been snoring a lot, and Mommy can't sleep so we're sleeping in different rooms until I can get some help. Actually, there's some truth to the snoring bit, so I don't feel like I'm completely lying to him."
If you care so much for honesty that you find telling a little white lie to a child difficult...let's hope no one's told any whoppers to you!
"What's mealtime like?"
"We have dinner together," the husband answered. "It can be...uncomfortable for me, but it's important."
"Child care?"
They started to speak at the same time. The husband deferred to the wife. She spoke haltingly.
"We...well, we've always split the homework. Also, Mike does a lot of things with Mikey on Saturdays, as always. One thing that's changed is...well, I used to go the gym..."
She paused, seeming to be fighting back tears.
"Um, go to the gym after work twice a week and Mike would pick up Mikey from school. But now, I'm not going to the gym, so I get Mikey pretty much every day, except some Fridays. Mike...well, he..."
The husband interjected. "I've been staying a little later at work most days, but I make an effort to get off early on Fridays if I can and spend time with Mikey and his friends at the school. He really enjoys it."
Obvious, so obvious. The child is holding them together—holding him together, at least. Maybe this is just the same old same old, after all. Some good signs, though—maybe I can help them.
"Communication?"
The wife responded. "It's...better than it was at first. But it's still so different. "So...formal. Businesslike."
She gasped at what she'd said.
"I'm sorry!" she said, looking at the husband. "You're trying, I—"
There was something in his face that the wife couldn't bear to watch. She addressed Dr. Seymour again.
"I know he's trying to keep things...calm...after what happened. I know I was the one who messed up, I just haven't been able to explain..."
Tears were flowing again now, but Dr. Seymour was not watching the wife. Surreptitiously, while taking notes, she was watching the husband.
He's playing the strong, silent type, but his body language gives him away. There's a lot of emotion underneath that exterior. He doesn't like to see her suffering, but he's suffering too, and comforting her would seem tantamount to conceding something.
"That night...after I found out," he spoke, "we started, but...well, Mikey woke up...then, for a few days, there just wasn't a good time...I mean, how do you...what do you...do you just sit down at the kitchen table and..."
The wife was watching him closely, trying to stay composed but losing the battle. Her hand was poised to reach out to him, but it just sort of fluttered with indecision.
The husband was losing the battle too. His voice had cracked at the end of his last remark. His eyes were moist.
"I decided..." he finally continued, gathering himself. "I said to her, 'Not in the house.' Not in Mikey's home. We can't risk him overhearing something, seeing someone...upset. That first night, I started to get angry and..."
Another long pause.
"Anyway, I said 'not in the house.' Plus, I just don't...I mean, I think if we're going to get through this, we have to...isolate it somehow. That's part of why I wanted this...this counseling. I know we have to talk, and we have to do it somewhere, just not in the house, and where else...?"
OK, that's enough tough stuff for now. Time's up, anyway.
"All right, we'll break there. It's a huge step you've taken, to seek help. Here's what I want to do: I'd like to get the lay of the land better. Next week, I'd like to meet just with Mike. Then, the week after, just with Jennifer. Usually we'll all meet together, but maybe not always."
The husband looked surprised and perhaps perturbed.
He doesn't understand why he should be first. He thinks I'm picking on him. Why, he thinks, when he's not the problem? Well Mike, maybe you're not the problem, but you are the patient—one of them, at least, and maybe the one that needs the most help.
The wife looked nervous.
She's afraid of what questions might be coming. Afraid to be judged. Afraid that things might get worse before they get better.
She might be right.
"Mike, I'll see you next week. Jennifer, in two weeks. Again, thank you for the privilege of helping you. Good night."
After they left, Dr. Seymour looked out her office window, which oversaw the parking lot. She hadn't meant to look for the couple; she just hadn't seen the outside world for many hours and wanted a peek. But as it happened, she did see the husband and wife come out of the building and get into their cars.
Cars—plural! They mentioned that they were both at home before their appointment. Still, they came here in separate cars!
* * *
At home that evening, Gayle (no longer "Dr. Seymour") fought her nightly battle...and suffered her nightly defeat.
