Chapter 1: Fort Collins
Those who came before said history is scribed by the victors, Gawick intended to hold the pen by midnight.
“Place me upon his foundation, grant me the earth.”
Gawick ripped the frayed cloth between blackened teeth after its last rotation serpented his mutilated arm. He looked down on his rushed work, fresh warm gore pooling over the dried blood of the cloth’s previous owner. The last man to use it hadn’t bled too deep into the fabric, his brother’s blood soaking into his own.
The men had run out of clean anything a fortnight ago.
Rain drummed outside like a fury, it had nothing to wash away except the remaining men of the King’s army. Gawick had known from the first downpour that some of the men would use the cover of noise and night to desert.
Thrashing around a mixture of loose thread, blood and dirted saliva inside his mouth he felt a loose piece of skin upon his wilted lips. He sucked the bottom lip into his mouth, biting on the edge of the loose skin with his teeth. There had to be some feeling left, anything. Ripping slowly, he focused on the pain as the tissue fought for keeps. He spit the contents of his mouth onto the ground in front of him with less force than he expected to have, a weak red saliva trail left hanging from his chin.
He dug ten fingers into two palms, the overgrown yellowed nails threatening to crack off at any slight pressure. He raised the two fists against his closed eyes, unrest outside the tent was growing louder by the minute.
“Unfetter us of false rites, reveal your delineation.”
Gawick turned his gaze between fingers to the voice on his left. The blonde youth’s hair now streaked in fresh mud as he recited chants to a god unknown to Gawick. The dirtied blonde lowered to his knees, arching down and pushing his outstretched palms against the soft mud.
“Cleanliness is a fleeting opulence lad, best not add to your troubles.” Gawick heard the silver haired captain say passively across the tent. She’d said it without raising eyes from her whetstone, the occasional sparking of the blade against stone was the only momentary light source aside from the pale moonlight.
“Trouble comes only in the absence of answers.” The lad said as he straightened his back, easing the palmed mud up his arms with each hand.
“Trouble comes just as easy from not asking enough questions.” Her eyes rising stern at Gawick through strands of silver hair.
“Careful your next words Andona.” Gawick said, stancing himself towards the captain.
Andona glided the blade one last time over the block, eyes remaining on the dark haired general, “or was it King now?” she thought. She pulled from her gambeson pocket a treasure anyone at the camp would kill for, an unstained white cloth. She delicately dried and packed the whetstone before driving the knife halfway through the wooden table at her side. She rubbed her temples, knowing the migraine would be the first of many battles tonight.
Andona looked to Gawick, knowing what she was about to say would determine if they were to see the sun rise again.
“Gawick, you must know tha-”
“Let’s take a break here”
“You - just - started reading”
“There’s a lot here I want to unpack”
“Then you must be reading into things that I didn’t intend to be break-worthy”
I understood from a common sensed perspective that it was her job to look this deep into things, but to remain a cliché I’m staying on the defense.
Dr. Saila eased my writing down on the side table beside her familiar accent chair; the ripped out journal paper had felt like a self-created weapon aimed at me from the moment I walked into the oak-stained office. Already there had been the unease from this session being later than our usual time. The sun was at a new elevation, the light on the glass coffee table was shining along the dust like a translucent curtain between us. “What does that even mean? Translucent curtain?”
I brushed the comment off my shoulder as I stood up, retreating to the glass wall that overlooked the surrounding woods - it helped make the room feel grander than it actually was. The view framed Horsetooth Mountain in the distance. Spreads of pine and fir trees painted the land, every shade of green, yellow, and red you could think of guided my eyes to the peak.
“You were hesitant when I gave you this assignment. Do you think in some ways that hesitation seeped into your writing?” Dr. Saila said, my back now turned to her. I could hear her flipping through my first pages again.
“That’s what you gathered from the first few paragraphs?” I said standing by the glass, watching the ocean of leaves sway with the breeze. I shouldn’t be this cross with her, but my instincts seem to be outpacing my decency.
“Your opening sentence conveys Gawick as this conqueror ready to fight and claim victory, but the first we see of him is as a beaten and battered man. Did you struggle after writing that first sentence to give your hero the means to fight?”
I kept silent, not out of impertinence but from lack of an answer to give.
“Let me rephrase. You write Gawick as the sole bearer of all the pain. Andona and the young blonde seem to be doing alright all things considered, especially in this bleak setting you detail.”
This makes me break eye contact from the outside world and turn my attention back indoors. “What about Gawick’s brother, he died.” I refuted back.
“You - passively - mention his brother, but you linger on Gawick’s suffering.” Dr. Saila looked at me like she knew I already knew what she meant. And to be fair I did.
“Because he’s still alive to feel it.” Careful. She’s going to use that response against you.
Dr. Saila kept her kind eyes on me as I paced a line back and forth.
“Would you say that you tend to romanticize the pain you feel in your life?”
“Maybe, if I felt it.” Alright ease up, we’re giving too much away right now.
“When was the last time where you did feel something you could say was pain?”
“I’m not sure I could even tell you that Dr. Saila. I really wish I could because I think it would genuinely help this process but I can’t seem to find that answer. And to be honest I think I’d be scared of the answer if I did figure it out.” Better. More of that. Throw her off the scent.
“Why do you feel scared to figure things out about yourself?” She raised her chin slightly with a subtle raise of the eyebrows, unconsciously telling me that she was seeing right through my words.
She knows I’m lying, shouldn’t have added that last part. I knew better than that. I have to get ahead of this now, gotta make a sacrifice. Maybe you’re wrong, we might still have her fooled.
I walked over to my routine futon chair and sat opposite her, bracing myself for where I was about to take this conversation next.
“Because I’ve been lying to you, and I know you know that.” You’re on your own now pal, just remember you did this to yourself.
“What about?” Dr Saila looked straight at me, genuine care and tenderness in her eyes.
I had to be okay with this. Dr. Saila deserved some truth from me, had for a while now. I could let go of some of this, for her. “The last time I felt pain was standing outside your door thirty minutes ago... it’s this full body pressure before walking into these things, and I know I’m safe here and I know you’re here for me and I know it’s going to be okay but standing outside that door just then felt like I was going to break apart. Dr. Saila, I wrote and I wrote and I wrote for this assignment, I gave it everything I had but it still feels like a stranger scribbled all of it and - somehow still - I’m the one feeling the embarrassment for it. But I know I wrote it and know I place all the hurt on Gawick because I see myself in him and I don’t feel right with inflicting pain on the other characters I create. Yes, I romanticize the pain in my life because that’s the only feeling I can hold onto anymore. And there’s hesitation in my writing because I don’t feel like I have a creative voice anymore.”
Why are you telling her all this?
I leaned back in the futon, staring above at the ceiling fan revolving slowly, blades made from the doctor’s old kayak paddles. I hardly ever thought it did much for the airflow but it was nice seeing a glimpse of her past life. I’d hoped it was still part of her life.
I couldn’t bring myself to look at the seasoned kayaker now.
“Does that clear things up a bit?” I said tiredly.
“That actually probably just saved us a few sessions so go team on that one.” She said casually with a hint of humor as she adjusted her stance in the chair. “What do you think inhibits you from normally sharing these things with me in the manner you just did?”
I ran a hand through my hair, I needed to ease up but my mouth spoke for me first.
“Because sharing about myself isn’t scary, it’s actually really easy. But for someone who feels little to nothing, - that - becomes linked to minute things. Things I create, a passing moment in my day, a song that elicits a feeling, a shared moment with a stranger. Those hold weight and meaning until I speak them out loud, then it’s like they’re exposed to this poison in the air. I can feel them fade away in the vibrations of my throat, feel what I’m telling you dissolve as the words glide off my tongue. Weightless and therefore... meaningless. Or inherently now holding less value, I don’t know. This is all very dramatic.”
Dr. Saila inked her pen in my notebook.
“I’ve seen you with Malin as of late, it’s been nice seeing you with a friend.”
Dr. Saila had given me an assignment to meet someone I could potentially call a friend. I’d completed the assignment by meeting with Malin for an afternoon about two months back. It seemed though that whatever assignment they were given was still in progress because I couldn’t shake them off after that first afternoon. I’d asked them about their name when we first shook hands, they’d said they couldn’t decide between ‘Mel’ or ‘Alin’ so they just split the difference. I never did question the 20-80 ratio they claimed was ‘splitting the difference’. “Would you say the shared memories you have with them lessen when you recount those stories?”
“Okay first off, you’re using the term ‘friend’ very liberally there. Because that’s not the case with Malin and I. And secondly, no, that’s different. Experiences with others that I know inherently hold less weight because they aren’t trapped solely within me, they are shared between a number of people.”
“So you find safety in shared experience but value personal time over community. Wouldn’t you say that’s a little like running into the fire?”
“Doesn’t everyone need alone time?”
“Of course, just like everyone needs water. Just don’t drink the ocean.”
“Moderation, yes we’ve gone over that one already and I agree with it - I do. But aren’t we getting off topic here, I thought this session was supposed to be about the writing.” I wasn’t about to call it mine, that would require ownership. An acknowledgement that the self indulgent and exacerbatory writing was in fact of my own volition.
Unfortunately, I think I just realized my thoughts write themselves that way as well.
“Parts make up the whole Deacon. But yes our time is limited, let’s return to your writing.” She flipped over the page where undoubtedly there was enough of her own writing on there to make up its own novel. “Like I said before, you depict a bleak setting in... what time period would you say this takes place in?” Dr. Saila lifted her gaze to me, her trusty pen rhythmically itching up and down the notebook she kept elevated and hidden behind her crossed legs.
Every one of our names was on their own notebook lined across the shelf behind her. We’re allowed to view them any time we’d like but I never take up that offer. I just hold out hope that Dr. Saila’s perception of me is more tame than what my brain conjures up.
I often wondered if anyone ever got a Volume 2.
“It’s irrelevant to the story.” I say, trying now to find Malin’s notebook on the shelf out of the corner of my eye.
“You believe location has little to do with a narrative?” Dr. Saila said, noticing my distracted eye but not yet playing the card.
“Yeah” I said slothfully, immediately realizing my lack of a proper response. Hastily I returned my eyes along with my attention to her. Malin would have to stay hidden for now, I couldn’t have Dr. Saila getting suspicious again.
“You’ve told me most of your recovery has been attributed to the hikes you take in the woods every morning, Malin says you sit along the lakeside and watch the mallards?”
Wha-?! Why would Malin tell her that? I only brought them with me the one time, it took weeks for the mallards to get comfortable again after they threw a rock at them. And what is with all the Malin talk today anyways?
“Isn’t that breaking the Therapist-Patient Agreement you telling me that?”
“It was a lunch conversation Deacon, not everything is a quip you need to win,” Dr. Saila said earnestly. “They care about you, as much as you push them away.”
“I know, even if it seems like I don’t know, I know” I say lowering my eyes, I didn’t even realize I was scratching my right thumb’s hangnail until I looked down. No doubt she’s now tattooed that in ink on my notebook, no point in stopping now.
“Do you think if we were in a climate like Arizona you would have been making the progress you’ve been making here in Fort Collins?”
“I’d have rode off into the sunset a long time ago if here was there.” I said jokingly, Dr. Saila didn’t seem to see it that way.
I should not have said that.
I stood as still as possible as if that would stop her from writing what I said in the notebook. But all she did instead was gently place the pen and notebook down on her side table. Her terrier bobblehead swaying excitedly at the calm impact.
“So you do agree location defines a narrative.”
“I’m not a story Dr. Saila, I’m a person.” I’m cheaply deflecting but I’m not taking a defeat I should have easily seen coming.
“Deacon,” Dr. Saila sighed gently. Not out of exhaustion but of disappointment. “I am begging you to take one thing seriously in these sessions. I ask you to do more than a typical therapist does, I understand it’s a lot. But creative writing doesn’t just help you get your ideas out in an unrestrictive way, it allows me to see them in ways you may never be able to tell me in person. It’s been five months now that you and I have been h-” Dr. Saila was saying all of this as she readjusted her glasses, I just now realized that these were a pair I hadn’t seen before. Browline frames with a saltwater teal coloring, they clashed with her warm brown eyes in a way that she could somehow pull off. Before all of this I remember looking at my reflection in middle school, imagining myself with glasses. Never mind that I had 20/20 vision, I’d asked my mom to set up an appointment to see if I needed them. She’d seen right through that. The first thing she asked was “Do you just want to wear glasses for the look?” “Of course not!” I’d said too quickly, dropping any further conversation on the topic right then and there. But it didn’t stop me from wondering how I could be more content with my appearance.
“Deacon.”
And there were a lot of times where I’d avoid the mirror entirely, if by some chance I snuck a look at myself and actually liked what I saw; I’d hold on to that image and imagine that’s what I still looked like for days after that, eyes always averted from the mirror. The really crazy part of that was when I’d tak-
“Deacon. Come on back to me.” Dr. Saila raised her voice in an assuring way, never in a hostile or belittling tone. I appreciated that about her, it was a welcome change from the last therapist.
“Sorry. New glasses?” I said pointing to my own eyes, trying to avoid the direction I felt she wanted to take this conversation in.
She took a moment, a motherly smile showing that she knew today had been a lot. That she understood the need for a reprieve.
“New to you, old for me.” She removed them as tufts of her ash brown hair drifted off the frames. She leaned forward towards me, glasses in her outstretched hand. “Check the inner right engraving.”
I accepted them carefully, like a priceless artifact had been momentarily bestowed to me. And as I’d soon see, I wasn’t far off.
I looked at the glasses closer now, seeing the extensive history they had lived through. Subtle hairline fractures on the frames, chipping on the teal coloring...
...and an engraving on the inner right like she’d said.
A. W. Y.
“What’s it stand for?” I said, still staring at the engraving.
“Answer for an answer, Deacon. What did you mean about riding into the-”
brrngbrrng brrngbrrng
A soft alarm started to go off cutting her sentence short, I couldn’t have asked for a more impeccably timed savior. Dr. Saila could sense my appreciation for the interruption as she gently pressed the top of the alarm clock on her side table, silencing it. I took that as my cue to get up and begin towards the door.
She took that as her cue to speak her closing line.
“As always, think about what was said and more importantly what wasn’t this session. And Deacon?”
I jolted internally, felt my heart in my throat in fear of whatever she was about to say next.
“Yes, Dr. Saila?”
You did this to yourself
“May I have my glasses back?” She smiled, reaching her hand out softly.
“Oh! Of course, my apologies.” I fought hard to control my shaking hands as I returned the glasses to her. “Are you really not going to tell me what the engraving means?”
“In time Deacon. For now go and enjoy the rest of your day. Think about what it is here at Fort Collins that has kept you progressing.” She said, returning the glasses to her face.
“Same time three days from now?” I was at the door now, so close.
“Yes but I do also need you to come back tomorrow for a follow up on today’s session and for me to give you your next assignment before your trip.”
My hand was hovering over the doorknob, I sighed louder than was necessary. Too close to escaping to question it any further.
“See you tomorrow, Dr. Saila.”
I opened the door, walking out into the halls of Fort Collins Mental Health Institute.
