“And beautiful. She’s one of those girls, she doesn’t know how beautiful she is. I always thought that was crap. The beautiful girls I’ve met, they always know it. But then I came here.”
I felt some structure move inside my stomach, like there was a part of my anatomy mounted on a gimbal I hadn’t even known about, able to revolve. Of course you would be attracted to Jane. Why wouldn’t you? She was super intelligent and interesting, and hot, with her dyed hair and her tattoos and her ironic T-shirts.
I half expected that the voice would say something then. Something about me being nothing, me being beneath his attention, pathetic, a ****** disgrace, all the things the voice so often said. But it said nothing.
And then I remembered: the voice didn’t speak when you were there. It seemed like it was really true.
“Hmm,” I said, which along with “what?” was becoming something of a catchphrase for me.
You could see I was upset, I think. I don’t know what it was—just the mere idea of Jane, who had betrayed me, or the fact that you called her beautiful. You lifted the book again. The awkwardness surfaced between us, smooth gray back of a whale breaching the water. “Anyway … back to Pygmalion,” you said.
“Yeah,” I said.
“See you around,” you said.
“Uh-huh.”
Then you got into your pickup and drove away.
I am only telling you this, from my side, because I get it now.
I do.
Jane didn’t betray me. She helped me.
And you weren’t talking about Jane, were you? I have always been good at reading, but I have never been good at reading between the lines. When you said that thing, about her being one of those girls who doesn’t know how beautiful they are. You were talking about me, weren’t you? I think, maybe, you were. And I was thinking how you were crushing on Jane, and meanwhile you were probably thinking I’m really obviously flirting with Cass and she’s just constantly knocking me back.
Sorry.
I wish I’d been more perspicacious.
I wish I could reach into time, to its secret levers and wheels, and turn it back to that afternoon, so that I would get it, what you were saying, and not hurt you. Because it must have hurt you, when I seemed so standoffish at the end, didn’t it?
Of course, I hurt you much worse than that, later.
DR. LEWIS: Cookie?
ME: No, thanks. (I show him my EpiPens.)
DR. LEWIS: Ah.
ME: The voice is still hurting me. Telling me to hurt myself, I mean.
DR. LEWIS: And you? Are you hurting it?
ME: Huh?
DR. LEWIS: Try to remember for me what happened when the voice came to you for the first time. It said you were disgusting, right?
ME: Yes.
DR. LEWIS: And you. What did you say in return?
ME: I said … I think I said, “Shut up.”
THE VOICE: You did. You ****. You ******** did.
DR. LEWIS: The voice is speaking now?
ME: Yeah. How did you know?
DR. LEWIS: You get a look in your eyes. What did it say?
ME: She.
DR. LEWIS: She. Yes. What did she say?
ME: She agreed with me.
DR. LEWIS: Interesting. One of the theories we work with is that the hearers of voices are damaged, yes, but they also damage their voices. Because they are scared, because they are freaked out. They set the tone early on, by reacting aggressively.
ME: But the voice started—
DR. LEWIS: It’s not a schoolyard. I am not establishing blame. I’m merely saying that you may need to recalibrate the tenor of your relationship with the voice.
ME: Meaning?
DR. LEWIS: Meaning be nicer to it.
ME: Hmm.
DR. LEWIS: Tell me about your mother.
ME: (blinking) What?
DR. LEWIS: She died, yes? Three years ago.
ME: (silence)
DR. LEWIS: That must have been hard for you.
ME: (quietly) What do you think?
DR. LEWIS: How did it happen?
ME: She … There was a robbery at our pizza restaurant. She was killed.
DR. LEWIS: I’m sorry.
ME: (silence)
DR. LEWIS: I don’t mean to pry. I am interested in the idea that this event may have been the trigger. For your voice.
ME: It was years ago.
DR. LEWIS: This is often the case.
ME: (silence)
DR. LEWIS: Were you there?
ME: Excuse me?
DR. LEWIS: When your mother was killed. Were you present?
ME: (silence)
ME: (silence)
ME: (silence)
ME: Yes.
DR. LEWIS: I see. That must have been very upsetting.
ME: (silence)
DR. LEWIS: (looking at watch) Okay. Well, we’ll leave it there for the moment. The others are due.
2. ACCEPTANCE. Acknowledge your voice as real, both a real part of yourself and a manifestation of your feelings about yourself.
This was not easy, but I tried, and it did make a kind of sense to me.
For example: when I got back to my room after talking to you about Ovid, about Jane. The voice said,
“He doesn’t see you. Just as you deserve.”
“Who?”
The voice laughed. “Like you don’t know. You are invisible to him. You are worthless. He sees only Jane.”
I cried then. I wish I could say I was strong and always stood up to the voice, but I didn’t.