Part 12 (1/2)
”Um. . .”
”But that's a tangent. I'm sorry. Continue.”
”Urn, well, anyway, the very next day. . .”
During the second half of the story, as I described Thread's attempts to get me to ”help Penny find herself,” Dr. Grey interrupted frequently, quizzing me about the exact wording of the e-mails, and about Penny's, Thread's, and Foul Mouth's demeanors when they'd said and done certain things. She also wanted to know everything I had done, and after her comment about good intentions, I was worried that my own actions would be found wanting. But Dr. Grey's judgment, when it came, was positive.
”It sounds like you handled yourself pretty well, under the circ.u.mstances,” she said.
”Well. . . except for the freaking-out part.”
”A certain amount of skittishness is understandable, especially given the threats. But you are going to have to talk to this girl --”
”I know. I just --”
”You're also going to have to tell Julie what's been happening -- I know you don't want to involve her, but if Penny's behavior starts affecting your work, your boss needs to know about it. Particularly since it's her responsibility for hiring Penny in the first place.”
I didn't say anything to that, but Dr. Grey reacted as if I had. She must have seen something in my face -- and whatever else the stroke had done to her, her instincts were as sharp as ever.
”If the situation with Penny were to go from bad to worse,” she asked, ”do you think Julie would try to hold you responsible?”
”Well,” I said, carefully, ”I don't think she'd blame me directly. . . but she might act as if it were my fault.”
”Let me ask you something else, then. You told me before that you'd gotten over your obsession with Julie. How, exactly?”
”How?”
”How did you get over it? As I recall, you were pretty hard up for her the last time you were here. And G.o.d knows I can't have been much help, zonking out in the middle of our conversation. . .”
”Oh, no!” I said. ”You were helpful. . . or at least, as helpful as you could be.”
”In other words, not very,” said Dr. Grey. ”So how did you manage your feelings? Did you and Julie talk it out some more, or --”
”No. No, Julie was pretty sick of talking about my feelings by that point. I can't blame her, really.
. . I mean, I know love isn't rational, and there doesn't have to be a logical explanation for why two people can't be together, even if it seems like they might be right for each other. . . but I kept on wanting a logical explanation anyway. And Julie did the best she could, trying to make sense of it for me, but eventually she got fed up with me asking the same questions over and over. . .”
”So you couldn't talk to her anymore. How did you resolve it, then?”
”I. . . I overheard something.”
”Overheard what?”
I stared at my hands.
”Overheard what?” Dr. Grey repeated, patiently.
”It's kind of embarra.s.sing.”
Dr. Grey regarded me soberly. ”I promise not to make fun,” she said.
I sighed, and forced myself to tell it: ”It happened about a week after I visited you. Julie started dating this other guy, a mechanic she met at Triple A, and I went a little crazy over it. One of the things she'd told me when she was trying to explain why we couldn't go out was that she wasn't interested in seeing anyone just then -- but then she turned right around and started seeing someone after all. So that weekend, even though I knew she was tired of talking, I went by her apartment to try and get her to explain it to me one more time.”
”What happened?”
”Well, I was outside the door to Julie's apartment, working up the nerve to knock, and that was when I heard them. Julie and the mechanic.”
”Heard them. . . ?”
”Together. You know. . .”
”Ah,” said Dr. Grey.
”Julie's bedroom is the farthest room from the outside door, but it's a small apartment, and, well, they were being pretty noisy.”
”So you heard them together in the bedroom. Then what?”
”Well, I should have turned away and left.”
”Yes, you should have,” Dr. Grey agreed. ”But what did you do? Stay to listen?”
My cheeks were burning, and for a moment I was so ashamed I couldn't look at her. I nodded.
”I couldn't help myself,” I said, and then, remembering that my father might be listening, I quickly amended: ”I mean, I could help myself, of course I could, but I chose not to.”
”And how did it feel, eavesdropping on that?”
”Awful. Awful, and wrong, but also. . . you know what a cathartic experience is, right?”
”Yes, I do,” said Dr. Grey, ”but I think you mean a vicarious experience.”
”No, cathartic. I mean yes, there was a vicarious part to it too, at first. . . Julie sounded like she was really enjoying herself, and of course I wished it could have been me who was, who was making her happy that way. Maybe I even imagined that it was me, for a little bit. But then, as it went on, I started to feel. . . wrenched. It was like that feeling you have when you're crying so hard that your whole body shakes -- only I wasn't crying, or shaking. And when it was over, when they finally finished and I snuck away, I felt washed out: fuzzy, and tired, and a little feverish -- but also better, somehow.
”I remember thinking to myself: 'Maybe that's the reason we couldn't be together.' Maybe, as much as I wanted to make Julie. . . happy. . . that way, maybe I just didn't have it in me, and maybe Julie knew that, and that's why she picked the mechanic instead of me. So I went home, thinking about that, and I went to bed early that night, and slept deep, and when I got up me next day I'd accepted it: accepted that Julie and I could never be a couple. All the obsessive feeling, the need for an explanation, that was all gone.”
”Purged,” Dr. Grey said.
”Yes.”
”Or repressed,” she added. ”Or split off.”
”Split -- . . . no!” I objected; this was a serious accusation. ”I've never split off anything! I've never lost time, not even a second!”
”You did say you slept deep that night. . .”
”That was sleep, not a blackout! Besides, if I had lost time, somebody else in the house would have noticed!”