Mind Over Matter - 9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

All morning I’d been going over my conversation with Adam in my head. I didn’t seem to have any trouble talking to him when it was just talk, but as soon as the conversation became more… personal… I’d start feeling sick. Talk about screwed up. After trying to figure out a solution on my own, I got dressed and wandered down to the bookstore. I knew we had some psychology books in the southwest corner. Maybe I could find some answers there.

When I walked in, Mr. D looked up from his paper. From the pencil in his hand I knew he’d been doing the crossword puzzle. I walked up to the counter. “Hey, Mr. D,” I said. “How’s it going?”

“You supposed to be wandering around?” he answered gruffly. I knew it was his way of looking out for me. “You’re not working until next week – doctor’s orders.”

“I know.” I nodded in the direction of the back corner. “I need to borrow a couple of books.”

He waved a hand dismissively and turned back to his puzzle. Permission given, I headed for the shelves I wanted. I glanced back once to find him watching me. It felt kind of good to know someone cared.

I searched through a couple of rows of psychology books, occasionally pulling one out and skimming through it to see if it had anything like what I was looking for. After rejecting about a dozen of them, I leaned back against the wall behind me and stared blankly at the shelves. “There’s gotta be an easier way of doing this,” I muttered to myself.

“There is.” I must’ve jumped about a foot. Mr. D was standing at the end of the aisle, his arms folded over his chest. I don’t know why I ever thought he was frail – right now he looked as formidable as a Friday night bouncer. “Just search for what you want online – it’ll point you to the right book.”

“I would,” I replied, wiping a hand over my sweating forehead. “But the library’s too damn far away right now.”

He nodded once. “Come on.”

I followed him into the office. Instead of stopping at his desk Mr. D turned right and went into the next room. He pointed to the laptop. “You can use that,” he said.

“Thanks, Mr. D!” In all the time I’d worked there, he’d never let me use his computer. I’d never asked, either, but still… Most of the time if I needed something done that required the internet I just went to the library or used a computer at school. I felt… special, somehow. Privileged.

As I headed to the desk he added, “Always wanted to put the inventory on a computer but I never got around to it. Maybe we should give it a thought.”

“It sounds like a great idea,” I agreed, sitting down. “It’d be a lot of work, though – and you’d have to buy another computer.”

“I’ll think about it.” He turned and went back out to the counter.

After about half an hour of searching – I’d had to rethink the wording of my inquiry a couple of times – I finally came up with a few titles that seemed to be what I was looking for. I headed out front to the psychology section, found one of the books and sketched a wave to Mr. D as I went out the door.

Back in my apartment I poured myself a glass of apple juice and curled up on the couch to read. Although it didn’t outline my problem specifically, the book did reference cases where victims of violent crimes became violently ill when asked to talk about their experiences. I frowned at that. I hadn’t been subjected to violence – other than Devin punching me in the face and being pushed around at school. I didn’t see how it related to what I was going through at all.

I’d gotten about two-thirds of the way through the book when the door buzzer rang, startling me. I looked up, surprised to see that daylight had faded and my apartment had grown dark. As I turned on a lamp, I glanced at the clock in the kitchen – six thirty-eight! I rushed to the intercom and pressed the button. “Hello?”

“Delivery.”

I grinned at the sound of Adam’s smooth baritone and pushed the button again to let him in. A few moments later I heard his footsteps on the stairs and I opened the door just as he reached the landing. “How much do I owe you?” I asked, stuffing my hands in my pockets.

Adam held out a plastic bag. “About an hour or so worth of good company should just about do it,” he replied, walking past me to the kitchen. He set the second bag on the counter and shrugged out of his jacket. “What a long bloody day!” he exclaimed.

“Want to talk about it?” I set my bag next to his.

“Who’s the shrink here, anyway?” Adam quipped. He opened a cupboard and brought out a couple of plates. “Here,” he said, handing them to me. “Make yourself useful.”

The next few minutes were occupied with getting the food doled out onto our respective plates. Once that was accomplished, we took our dinner into the living room and set it on the coffee table. I went back for utensils and a glass of wine for Adam and then we sat down on the couch to eat.

As I was dipping my spring roll in a pool of plum sauce, Adam picked up the book I’d been reading and looked at the cover. “A little light reading?” he asked.

I shrugged. I didn’t think I needed to tell him why I’d picked that book. “It’s very informative,” I answered at last. “You should read it some time.”

Adam grimaced at me and flipped the book open to where I’d marked the page. He continued eating as he read, turning pages slowly. By the time I’d finished my moo goo gai pan he’d closed the book and set it out of the way. I helped myself to another spring roll and waited for his verdict.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

I thought for a second, lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug and swallowed before replying. “I guess.”

He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “Didn’t find what you were looking for?”

“Not really.”

Pointing to the book with his fork, Adam said, “It’s probably closer than you think.”

I shook my head. “They’re talking about people who have been raped or beaten. That’s not me.”

“Maybe.”

He refused to say anything else until we’d finished eating. As I was washing the plates, Adam came into the kitchen, picked up a dish towel and began drying. “You weren’t physically assaulted, Joey,” he began. “But that doesn’t mean you weren’t injured by what happened to you.”

My hands began to shake in the soapy water. I concentrated on washing a fork. “I got ignored,” I said finally. “And kicked out. Not the same thing.”

“You were emotionally traumatized,” he countered, taking the fork and drying it. “Attacked when you were at your most vulnerable by people you trusted.”

I reached for a glass. The combination of shaking hands and soapy fingers caused it to slip from my grasp and crash to the floor, glittering shards spraying everywhere. Tears poured down my face as I watched Adam wordlessly grab the broom and dustpan to clean up the mess. When he was done I whispered, “Why are you here?”

Adam stared at me for a moment before replying. “Why do you think I shouldn’t be here?”

“I don’t…” I wiped angrily at my face. “I don’t know,” I said at last. “I can’t think… I need…”

“What do you need, Joey?” Adam asked quietly, watching me. “Tell me.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know!” I yelled back. “Why do you keep asking questions all the time? Why can’t you just…”

Nodding, Adam set the broom aside and picked up his jacket. “I should get going,” he said, his voice flat. “I have to work in the morning.” He stepped around me, heading for the front door.

I felt helpless. On the one hand I couldn’t stand the constant churning of emotions every time I was forced to think about what happened. On the other hand, though, I knew if he went out that door after this he might never come back. “Adam…”

He paused with one hand on the doorknob. When I didn’t say anything else, he sighed. “I’ve got Saturday off, if you’re not doing anything.”

“…Okay.”

I managed to wait until the door was closed before running to the bathroom to lose my supper.