Chapter 17
On his way out, but before Sterling can successfully escape, he is introduced to another lawyer and led back to a cubical along a separate corridor. He sits down in the cluttered office of this young attorney, Denis Brockton. He is on the firm’s insurance team. Spread out before him are the several #10 envelopes Sterling received from insurance companies. They deal with matters that had been placed on the back burner and have subsequently slipped behind the stove. After introductions, Brockton indicates one letter.
“When Robert handed me these letters, he explained he was representing you on another matter but that you may need our assistance here. He asked me to tell him what I thought, after a ten-second perusal. You know what I said? I said you should get a lawyer. You know why I said that?”
Sterling waits, thinking this is also a rhetorical question. It isn’t, so he answers:
“No”
“Because, otherwise, you’re be dishonoring your sister’s memory. Have you had any other contact with Dixie Carolina Mutual?” he asks.
“No, just the letter. I had sent them an email saying that Susan was dead and that she should be removed as a driver from my mother’s car. My parents allow me to deal with these matters,” he added so that he didn’t look like he was committing yet another crime.
“The letter came as a response to your email, is that correct?”
“That’s correct.”
“What do you want to do with the letter?” the lawyer asks.
“Nothing myself. You can deal with it.”
Brockton types and checks his monitor.
“Dixie Carolina Mutual. Yes, it’s a growth company, doing quite well. $187-million of assets. Net surplus of $9,495,051 in 2008. Let’s see, key officers…legal department.”
The lawyer looks over the names on the monitor and compares them to who signed the letter and then turns to Sterling.
“Here’s what I propose, Sterling. Can I call you Sterling, Sterling? It’s convenient that we’re dealing with the same insurance company here for two different policies. But let me first work on this letter, the hit-and-run. Let me send a response to the boss of the guy who sent you this letter. I won’t characterize this letter as insulting, but some would. I’ll ask for a meeting to discuss the letter. Let me ask you a difficult question?”
Sterling waits. It seems that Mr. Brockton is waiting for a response.
“Yes.”
“Your sister, I’m sure you miss her very much. Her death was tragic. And being so sudden, it must have been very traumatic. You can’t really put a value on the unfulfilled lives of young men and women who die before their time. Sure there are tables that can project earnings over a lifetime, discounting for inflation, but when it comes down to it, it’s difficult, not to mention crass, to put a price tag on an individual’s life. Nevertheless, insurance companies have to do it. That’s their business. My question to you is: do you think your sister is worth more than the $10,000 they are offering to pay your family?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Fine. I know it’s difficult, even distasteful, to come up with a more accurate figure, but in a case like this…” he says as Sterling abruptly says:
“At least three more zeros. She’s worth at least a thousand times that.”
“Fine. Since we don’t know who the driver is, it’s only your insurer we must deal with.”
“We know the other driver. It was an accident. It was her boyfriend. He’s upstairs turning himself into Mr. Aaron.”
“Oh. That’s fine. Let me warn you that North Carolina is a pure contributory negligence state. Which means that even if the victim is found 1% at fault in an accident, you can’t recover damages for your injuries. That’s why insurance companies often try and shift any amount of blame they can onto pedestrians and bicyclists in the hopes of avoiding paying on a claim altogether when their policy-owner hits a pedestrian. Two insurance companies will have to work something out. Who knows if either of them will be willing to keep its end of the bargain. Nevertheless, we need to protect your rights, the rights of your mother and father, the rights of your sister’s estate. We need to get this moving and examine the fine print on the policies. You’ll have to give me those and I’ll need authorization from your parents in order to proceed. I’ll give you a form for them to sign. Generally, insurance companies are better at collecting premiums than with disbursements. You can take care of this matter on your own; I hear you are a very bright boy. There may be legal complications; it’s too early to tell. Or we can handle it. It’s your call.”
Sterling asks what the law corporation will charge.
“Normally, on personal injury we work on a 33% contingency basis. But you being a regular client and this is not being strictly PI; it’s estate work. We can bill you by the hour against a 10% contingency, whichever is greater.”
“Yeah, whatever, draw up the papers.”
Brockton has already done that and gives them to Sterling to read. He does, corrects a typo and signs. He takes the form for his parents.
“Original copies, not faxes,” Brockton adds.
Sterling is able to leave the office without another legal ambush. He takes the elevator up to Aaron & Smythe LLC, a company being a step down from a legal corporation, Sterling figures. Daryl in still meeting with Mr. Aaron, who has cancelled an afternoon golf lesson to fit the boy in. Their meeting is expected to last another hour. This is all Sterling needs to know. He borrows the phone, explains the situation briefly in a call to William and calls in a favor. Under a communications embargo concerning Daryl, Sterling is doing the next best thing: he relies on William.
On the elevator down, there is another legal ambush of sorts, this time in reverse. The elevator stops and picks us none other than Professor Hunter O’Connor. The two of them alone in the elevator, Sterling asks the lawyer in her capacity as a constitutional expert, where his stronger appeal would lie. “Just for the sake of argument,” he says, “Let’s say I plead guilty to one charge but not the other. Which would have a better chance in an appeal?” Her response is non-committal: “That’s hard to say.” Undaunted, he tries again: “Which charge is more problematic, constitutionally speaking?” he asks. “Maybe that’s not the right question to ask,” she suggests. “Which alleged crime carries more weight? Take the example of a murder that’s committed during a burglary. This is very complicated and involves the felony murder rule but I’m using it to illustrate something different. Here the state obviously focuses on the murder, which is the more serious offence and likely more difficult to prosecute. The burglary is necessary but relatively speaking it is unimportant and pled out, with no negatives because the DA puts all its eggs in the murder basket. This is a simplistic example, but normally, a client would plead guilty to the lesser offence and concentrate on the greater. In your case, however, the event they are alleging as exposure is a precondition for the dissemination allegation. Both raise serious constitutional issues, as the young lawyer pointed out. It’s extremely unlikely, however, that enforcement issues surrounding an anti-exhibitionist statute will get anywhere in the federal courts, whereas dissemination inevitably involves interstate commerce. It’s a more sexy topic, no pun intended. In terms of defining obscenity, which is the central issue, either suffices, but since dissemination obviously involves interstate commerce, it’s the more likely to make its way up the judicial hierarchy. I’m not sure if this helps,” she says as the elevator door opens. Sterling is not sure, either, but she provided more data to be assorted before he makes a decision.
He then waits outside the building for Daryl, munching on his lunch: celery, carrots and some fruit. Sara’s diet does not provide many carbs but at least he’s guaranteed of making weight, not to mention receiving more than the minimum daily requirement of roughage. Sterling suspects his friend will not be formally arrested until the lawyer makes arrangements with the Durham poli
ce which prefer to work in their own jurisdiction (His father is reluctant even to drive the patrol car to Raleigh). His hunch is correct.
The BMW heads on the well-trodden I-40 towards Durham. Sterling lays out across the back seat of the X5, his mind on other matters (he has borrowed Daryl’s mp3), while Daryl updates William, explaining the accident and his legal situation. Daryl is upbeat; William is too stunned to do anything but pay attention to the road, even more than usual. With active cruise control set at 52 mph, he resides in the far right lane, allowing the world to pass him by. Among other interesting comments, Daryl says he looks forward to spending his two missionary years among a captive audience. After they take Daryl home, William summarizes Daryl’s situation and time-line for arrest to Sterling, who is then dropped off at the Durham police station. He waits around until his father quits for the day and they walk home together, Sterling talking, his father listening. Later at the kitchen table, the complete family assembled, they discuss Susan’s death. Both parents sign the form provided by the attorney. Sara is not present, having excused herself, at Sterling’s suggestion after he tells her the nature of the gathering. This particular family discussion is about as sober as these things get. It lasts thirty minutes, after which Pandely and Sterling go down to the gym.
Sara emerges from what used to be Susan’s room. Her very presence consoles Catherine, although she doesn’t think she needs comfort. Catherine, in her profession, confronts death, dying, grief and grieving as well as life’s other unfortunate condiments on an almost daily basis. She sometimes views her own daughter’s death in a detached way, her grief sublimated in an increased workload, or in the tough love attitudes she has recently shown her son. She’s a bit less icy to Sara than to others in the family – Bucephalus has learned not to ask her to fill up her bowl – but any warmth she was formerly known for having died with her daughter. The two were more than close. Catherine and Susan had the connection that most mothers and daughters dream of and few achieve. Perhaps that was because neither woman could be close to the men of the household; their downstairs male lair was off-limits to the women: full of manly arts, male bonding and untold secrets. Only Susan had much influence on Sterling. For example, initially her brother had opposed opening the pee-wees to girls, offering a variety of excuses (no separate changing facilities, so few girls would mean they’d be bored having to spar only among themselves, etc.). He changed his mind after Susan marveled out loud that P.A.L. as an organization was much more open- and fair-minded than her sexist brother. “You better hope they don’t find out who you really are,” she had said. He relented; and later appreciated that decision. It was not the first time Sterling had to be shamed into better behavior, a tactic Susan had skillfully deployed over the years. She could rarely reason with her brother. She had much more success if she could point out that his actions, or the perception of his actions, poorly reflected the exalted image he held of himself. Sterling especially did not appreciate being called a hypocrite, a class populated by the Trips and their kind. He has always prided himself in being honorable, part of the Southern tradition, however he defined his code of honor. If shame worked for Susan, guilt by contrast proved a worthless strategy. Sterling had rarely felt guilt about anything; at best he had occasional misgivings, which were always washed away with time. Sterling, always, has been more concerned with who he is rather than what he does. His is a consciousness of guilt, rather than a guilt per se.
Sara had in common with Susan a keen interest in astronomy. The men in the house could not be bothered and Catherine herself was a bit too science-oriented to give the subject serious thought. Sara had known Susan for as long as she had known Sterling; astrology and what it says about love and relationships was a topic they could spend hours on, especially now with so many published forecasts and do-it-yourself kits available on the internet. Catherine had indulged her daughter on this subject; she did the same for Sara, which seemed only fair. An inexhaustible topic among the women was the extent to which Sterling was a real Gemini.
Delivered at Durham Regional Hospital on May 29th, Sterling himself has never felt like the Gemini he is supposed to be. From his first exploration of the subject at age seven, he figured astrology to be a “bunch of bunk” (he had had his mouth washed out for using the term he preferred). Sure, he believes that mysteries, certain unknowns, still exist in the universe. Particular systems and physical laws currently defy rational understanding as they go beyond man’s present intellectual capacity. Nothing illustrates man’s cerebral limitations as much as the confusion among physicists over string theory and whether this intellectual conjecture can bind together a Theory of Everything, finally explaining in mathematical symbols the elegance of a Higher design. For the boy string theory is at best a fad, at worse a hoax; he will buy it only if it can be proven. Sterling is too cautious, however, to dismiss astrology out-of-hand. Its hocus-pocus is not what bothers him. Rather it just makes no sense to him personally. In other words he is unable to deduce that he is no Gemini. Over the centuries astrology developed inductively – based on years of anecdotal evidence: people born under a particular sign appeared to share common characteristics. He accepts the way newspaper astrology works, enunciating for each sign enough vague, even conflicting, qualities so it can please, or accommodate, everyone. Still, the signs differentiate types of people. Granted, some of Gemini’s attributes fit Sterling; but he believes that most of them do not. In his discussions with Sara, who like his sister generally accepts celestial clairvoyance – thus discussing the value of astrology is pointless because belief systems cannot be subjected to rational argument – he obtained the Gemini profile from the web and corrected it so it fit himself. Here are his annotations of a summary of the Gemini man from something he had picked off the eAstrolog.com website:
Gemini Man
…a gregarious human being, a good company, who loves parties and people in general. His mind is never tired, he has a quick understanding, he likes communicating and he has a good sense of humour and brilliant replies. He can’t stand routine, he loves freedom and exercise.
The Gemini man doesn’t seem to get old either mentally or physically as if he were Faust and signed a pact for eternal youth. Moreover, he often behaves as if he lived a continuous adolescence. When he likes a girl, he pays court to her almost in a rudimentary way, with no guitar and serenades: “Do you want to? Ok!” or “You don’t want to?! It’s your loss”. It couldn’t be simpler and more boy-like than that. The essential for the Gemini man is to keep away from passion and emotional involvement.
The Gemini man is somewhat terrified at emotional necessities. He is the cerebral kind and sexuality does not play an important role in his life, although he has what psychologists call “apperception”, that means he knows how to determine reactions, making his partner going into ecstasies.
The Gemini man is exasperating, yet charming. He is neither jealous nor possessive and he finds it monstrous to want to keep a woman just for you. He does not refrain from any affair, but when he goes “hunting”, he is not driven by sexual instincts, but by his eternal desire for something new.
One day though, the Gemini man decides to settle down and he chooses a practical woman, with a sense of humour, who understands and shares his intellectual preoccupations.
As indicated by his selective editing, the web astronomers had gotten Sterling mostly wrong, according to the boy himself. And who should better know? Sara, however, thought that the experts could hardly have been more accurate. In any case, Sterling certainly did not appreciate being called immature or a sexual hunter devoid of passion and emotional involvement. Whether his editing reflects reality may be debatable; but it does reflect how Sterling sees himself, or would like to see himself.
While the Trips could well be described as Gemini; Sterling was certain he was a Taurus. Here is the glowing description he found of himself as a generic Taurus, on the same website, re
quiring no annotation:
Taurus Man
In love with life, the Taurus man is also in love with love, of course. He is a sensual, very physical person, to whom lust is probably the most powerful component of his temperament.
In his relationship with a woman, sensuality comes first and the Taurus man will stay with the woman he gets along best with from this point of view. One could say about the Taurus man that he “plays” a woman as well as he plays a cello: fervently, efficiently and... with gratitude. The Taurus man almost despises the men who don’t try to offer a woman everything she wants.
Although the Taurus man is well known for the wisdom he spends his money with, he will show his feelings not only by means of words and gestures, but presents too, because, beneath his practical appearance, the Taurus man is, like any other Venusian, a romantic.
The Taurus man keeps his promises. That is because he doesn’t make a promise unless he is certain he can live up to it, and he is certain of that only after having analysed the situation very carefully.
The Taurus man has the sense of stability and this is why he seldom begins or puts an end to a relationship. He can enjoy the pleasure of sex with many women, of course, but to him, a relationship is something much more serious than that.
In his youth, the Taurus man passes from one woman to another, with eagerness and curiosity. However, when he decides to settle down for life, the Taurus man stops joking: he chooses carefully, with no haste, analysing the advantages and drawbacks, and he decides only after a mature examination.
In response Sara, however, found a different website which listed Taurus’ weakness as stubbornness, laziness, possessiveness, materialism and self-indulgency. Sterling could only shrug: “Who said I was perfect?” That particular website had assessed the Gemini Trips to a T: energetic, clever, imaginative, witty and adaptable; but superficial, impulsive, restless, devious, and indecisive (i.e., it takes three to make a decision). For Sterling this was further evidence that the Trips, rather than he, were true Gemini, despite their shared birth date.
Astrology is also about love compatibility between signs. According to common wisdom (which Sterling again picked up on the web), a Gemini boy and a Cancer girl (Sara’s birthday is July 21st) have a doomed relationship:
Gemini-Cancer
Gemini’s sparkle immediately intrigues Cancer, but Cancer won’t find security with fickle, fly-by-night Gemini. The Cancer’s self-confidence will decrease during his dialogue with the changeable Gemini, who are fond of pleasures. The unguided sexual energy of the Gemini will create problems for the Cancer. Cancer is the home loving type and will be content to stay there and lock the rest of the world outside, but Gemini would soon become restless and angry over this as he/she is very sociable and likes to be around other people; having no wish to feel as if they are a prisoner in their own home. Life will quickly become unbearable to Gemini. Cancers are driven by emotion and feelings and generally prefer the constant. Gemini’s unstoppable movement will prove unsettling to Cancer. Though it is a very emotional connection, the long term connection is almost impossible here.
This analysis reinforced Sterling’s skepticism of astrologic readings. For Sara it meant they would both have to work harder to correct their weaknesses: they had received a warning shot across the bow; if they were to navigate their union successfully much negotiation would be required. Negotiation, however, was an alien concept to Sterling. He has always thought that any problems facing the couple lie not with themselves, their individual natures and personalities, but with the invalidity of astrology itself. On occasion he has elaborated on why current astrology is so lame. His main criticism is that a person’s zodiac sign corresponds to the position of the sun relative to constellations on the date of birth as opposed to how they appeared over 2200 years ago. In the intervening time, unbeknownst to the ancient astrologers, the Earth has continually wobbled around its axis in a 25,800-year cycle. This wobble, which is called precession, is caused by the gravitational attraction of the moon on earth’s equatorial bulge. Thus modern-day constellation boundaries have changed. The sun is, of course, still within the astronomical constellations of the Zodiac, but when you correct for precession, the signs are assigned different dates. Thus, Sterling becomes a Taurus (which he thinks he is) while Sara remains a Cancer (which she knows she is). Her birth date falls near the end of old Cancer and near the beginning of its replacement, but she is still nonetheless Cancer. Low and behold all this works out for Sterling and for his relationship with Sara. The Taurus-Cancer love charts are quite positive, according to the same website:
Taurus-Cancer
Usually this makes a good combination. Both need security and a sense of permanence, and both are loving, affectionate, and passionate as well. The Cancer adds to this union more sensuality and imagination. Both are passionate and do not need any extraneous help to be pleased with each other. The Taurus is capable to understand changes in the mood of the Cancer, and can help smooth the problems if any appears. The Taurus is usually an attentive person. The Cancer is responsive. This relationship can and will improve with age and hard work, as these are such different personalities, and in many ways ones strength supports the others weakness. Cancers sex life is affected by the way they are getting along in the evening and if there is arguing or other unpleasantness Cancer will not make love to Taurus and too much of this could build a wall between them. The understanding of each other problems will help the existence of pleasant connection. A successful marriage is possible if case these two are willing to give rather than get.
Having figured all this out – and unwilling to exclude astrology from a Theory of Everything – Sterling has become less skeptical of astromancy (which he contends has more evidence in its favor than string theory) and offers no objection to Sara’s daily review of what the stars say about the crab and the bull. He’s most willing to make such an accommodation for the sake of their partnership, with his brain, heart and other vital organs falling dutifully in line.
Sterling is serving as sparring partner for Pandely’s best bantamweight. To protect his midsection Sterling wears a heavily padded corset, and he dons special headgear. The normal helmet protects against major bruises and cuts; the helmet Sterling now wears has extra padding which helps cushion blows; most of the face is covered up, with mere slits for the eyes. Sterling has thirty pounds over his opponent, a foot in height advantage and a half-foot in reach. Despite the Mutt and Jeff appearance, this pairing has been carefully thought out. In the upcoming Under-19 the bantam is due to box a taller opponent, who has a three inch advantage, so using the mismatched Sterling fits into Pandely’s training strategy. Also the trainer has given his son instructions on which punches to throw as part of preparation. The bantam shows more and more frustration, with Pandely yelling from the corner for him to work the stomach. Pandely gives a quick hand signal to his son. A few moments later Sterling comes across with a somewhat pathetic right hook, which the lighter fighter successfully slips, allowing him to lay into Sterling with a left hook. Sterling staggers a step back, as the bantam immediately finds the courage to hammer away at Sterling’s midsection, tightly so that Sterling’s longer arms prove quite disadvantageous. He lacks the space and distance required to throw his punches; meanwhile points are being scored against him. At this point, Pandely blows the whistle, informing the smaller guy to stop picking on the bigger guy: “The padding only does so much,” he says. He dismisses Sterling and congratulates the bantam on his aggression and doing exactly what he needs to do to his opponent in the Under-19.
Sterling removes the padded gear. He’s dripping wet; Buffeau tosses him a towel. He tells Brandon that his father wants to use him next with the Bantam and explains the training strategy. “Don’t be too obvious,” Sterling warns. Buffeau is not keen on playing the role of a punching bag; but he concedes that everyone has to help out in this, his newly acquired substitute family. Sterling weighs himself, p
leased that he’s entitled to a PowerBar energy gel, from which he quickly squeezes out the last drop. He’s not looking forward to the next week: one without food or sex, but with a certain grand jury appearance and numerous meetings with lawyers. First, the clock is still ticking; he must tell his team which of the four legal options he’ll go with. And then there’s Daryl and the Trips. All in all Sterling is expecting this to be the summer of his discontent.
“…People pretty much get what they deserve. I’m not talking about crack babies or if you’re born with HIV in Africa. Sure, no one deserves those things, but then no one deserves his environment at birth, to be born sick or healthy or richer or poorer than some other poor fool, but you don’t have much control over how you come into the world, do you? You can beat yourself up over how unfair life is, but until someone comes up with a way that lets us choose our parents, it’s the luck of the draw. Susan told me and now my mother and even my girlfriend say I ‘lack compassion.’ Well, fuck them. Maybe I should pretend to show some empathy, yeah, I’m expected to do that, and this would make them happy. And I promise to be more hypocritical in the future since that’s what everyone wants. But there’s no way I’ll go all weepy over fate and events I can’t control, I mean we can’t control, like how we are born or if you’re killed in an accident. That’s fuckin’ fate. I feel real bad about those things, but I can get over it. And so should everyone else. If you can’t, then life is really pretty shitty, and frankly you’d be better killing yourself because maybe that’s the only way you can be happy. I don’t say that to anyone, because there’d be way too much blowback – my mother would figure out how to make my life more a living hell than just forfeiting my netizenship, like sending me to an asshole shrink, no offense intended – but that’s what I think, and I can say what I think, right? It’s sort of a privilege to have that luxury. Anyway, here’s an example. You know Billy, who I’m supposed to call William, who for his entire life has been beating himself up over how unfair life is. Of course, he’s in a quite good position financially to be able to complain: he was born with the whole silver service stuck way up his rectum. Wouldn’t we all like to beat ourselves up over how rich we are. And for years I just told him to shut the fuck up; I mean, I do it without using the f-word because I’m subtle when I want to be, which is not right now, but I really get tired of his shit. Anyway, God’s payback came in the form of William’s sexual orientation. Some people are born crack babies and others are born gay. I have nothing against homosexuality; it’s not my cup of tea, but Billy’s always been my best friend. But it just proves that life is not fair. Once I told Billy that, he stopped complaining about being rich and when he finally got laid, he stopped bitching about being gay. Here’s a person who is pretty much getting what he deserves. He’s starting to overcome the obstacles to being happy: being rich and queer. He’s dealing with his problems, despite the fact he’s been in therapy since he got his first boner, a fact which he soon acquainted me with so we could compare. And it was me who dragged him out of his closet. Why do I mention him? Yeah, you live with what you are given, that’s why. I mean adults, living within the constraints of their environment. You have to make the best of your talents. What if you’re born without talents? I guess you have to make do with mediocrity and find something you can do that others appreciate. Fortunately, I’ve never had that problem. Brains, brawn, sexual magnetism, I got it all. That’s a joke; which is not to say it’s not true. Seriously, that’s a problem. I was given too much and I’ve made too much of what I was given. And there are all sorts of expectations of what I’ll do next, but worrying about that is like complaining you are too rich. Maybe I didn’t deserve to be given what I was, but now that I have it and know what I have, I’ve tried to do the best. And it’s at that point that you get what you deserve. If you have talent, you develop it. If you don’t, well you don’t. You remember the Trips? They have talents I don’t. And they’ve done a lot with what they were given, even if they are three people pretending to be one. You know, I’ve managed to get them locked up. They’re in rehab, the first time they’ve ever been separated. I know to some people that sounds like a cruel thing to have done. I had about two seconds of remorse and now whenever I feel those pangs returning, I think about all the times my father whipped me for things they did. Eight times I took the strap for them. That’s eight separate occasions as opposed to being whipped a total of eight times. It was more like 33 individual lashings, but who’s counting? I might have just now saved their fuckin’ lives, not to mention their careers and the respect of their adoring fans and the kinky sex they’ll have with those fans in congregate. And will they thank me for saving their lives? I’ll never get a word of thanks for that, I can guarantee. No, they’ll just come back and pick off where they left off, trying to make my life miserable. And then I’ll get what I deserve for saving their fuckin’ asses. No good deed goes unpunished. It’s no wonder my mother loves the Trips. She once told their mother that she would be honored to be their mother. She never has said, not a single fuckin’ time, that’s she’s honored to be my mother. That goes without saying, you might say. Telling me that just once in seventeen years would be appreciated. She’s a very difficult parent, at least from my perspective. But she is who she is. Just like I am who I am despite you children of Dr. Freud’s best attempt at the moment to change that. You know she was the most affected by Susan’s death. Since then she’s been more unemotional than before, and I wouldn’t have thought that possible, really. Not that my father is Mr. Warmth, either. Apparently, and I am not privy to all the details as my parents have secrets between them, he suffered when he was overseas, just after my birth, his last tour in the Middle East. After the first gulf war, when we were maintaining the no fly zone. Something happened, I think, but I don’t know what. I do know he was in the VA recovering from a wound or some desert disease for six months. My grandparents and my sister were more-or-less in charge of me when my mother moved closer to the hospital. I asked them once about this; they said I was too young to be told. My sister knew but she wouldn’t tell me. Anyway, that was a long time ago; I guess I should ask about it now. Do you think they’d still say I’m too old to be told? I’m making our family sound weirder than it really is. As weird goes, it’s not so bad. I am not the easiest child to raise, I guess you’ve figured that out! I know it. I’m bull-headed and I don’t give up until I get my way because I’m right almost all the time. Correction: I shouldn’t say that. I’m really right 100% of the time, but that makes me sound too divine, something someone can criticize me for. My parents certainly don’t understand me; I more or less understand myself but I can’t explain myself to them. I don’t try to explain me to myself. I just know what I am. And I live comfortably with myself and I’m reasonably happy and I guess I get a little less mature with each passing day, ha! I mean, I’d never do Smiley Boy again, that’s for sure. Immaturity is on my flaw list. I don’t need any help along in this area. That’s why I’ve always been so bearish on psychiatry. Don’t get me wrong, it’s useful in extreme cases, psychosis, schizophrenia…it’s not a short list, there’s no argument there. And having someone to talk to if you don’t have the right type of parents or a girlfriend, that makes sense, too. But for normal people – I am more or less normal, right? – it can’t do much good although it can probably do a lot of harm. Let me share a quote I found just yesterday. It’s from Smith, Hidden Conversations, page 123:
‘…even if we grant that psychoanalysis is therapeutically unreliable, ethically ambiguous, or epistemologically shaky, there is still a need for a searching insight-based form of treatment and that psychoanalysis is the best that anyone has been able to develop along these lines.’
That’s nice, isn’t it? Of course communicative psychoanalysis is not very much liked in psych institutes, is it? But, you know, my thoughts on this, doc, and I shouldn’t rehash, as you’ve a
dvised, indeed warned, me to stay focused on myself and my world. I’ll go back to a stream of consciousness in a moment; I even have a dream to submit. I must say one thing first, because I haven’t said this yet, that I am truly sorry I gave such a hard time to your colleague. It was very disrespectful of me and you know as well as I that lack of respect is on my list of character flaws, too. You know, it took me a while to figure out she was trying to be an interactionist in the Kleinian tradition. Object relations could use a bit of an update, couldn’t it? Anyway, what really bothered me is that she just wouldn’t leave my penis alone and she took it personally when I told her why I thought that was so. As part of her training analysis she deserves a C minus in transference and an F in countertransference. I realize that Smiley Boy is what landed me here in the first place, but she could have been a bit more respectful of my genitalia. She was very insulting. Respect is a two-way street. How did you people approve her dissertation anyway? Some sort of affirmative action, going for gender parity? I mean, did anyone read the fuckin’ thesis? Yes, in hindsight I know it was somewhat presumptive of me to point out her deficiencies as an analyst, but she was glaringly inept. She must have been if I, an amateur who’s just done a little light reading on the subject, noticed how she was making a hash of existing theory, all that without too much investigation on my part. I wouldn’t have expected much if she were a Lacanian, but from a Kleinian, come on. I guess this sounds more like a rationalization than an apology, but I do regret what I said to her; please forward my sincere regrets. Still, I thought she was made of stronger stuff. I sense I have just committed some more character flaws: superiority, elitism, snobbism. No doubt you’ll point them out in your analysis. At least you seem more competent, although that essay on Darwin, that was out of left field! The dream I had? We’ll I’m not comfortable with this dream at all. And I’m not comfortable telling you about it. But I’ve struck a bargain to be honest with you and let you do your job. Anyway, the dream is of a sexual nature. The irony is that we had just had sex, my girl and I. Usually after we do it, the second time, I go to sleep. The first time is never very satisfying but the second is always good. So I fell asleep. It usually takes Sara longer to fall asleep and sometimes she watches me. And sometimes she wakes up in the middle of the night and she watches me. So I go to sleep knowing that she is watching me. And the next thing I know there’s someone else in the bed. And it’s not the dog who we have trained to stay in the corner if the bed is already full. I can’t really tell who’s in the bed with us. I’m actually worried it may be my sister or even worse my mother, because either of them in my sex dream would really make your day, wouldn’t it? I don’t think you are in the dream but you might be on the sidelines taking notes. I know someone is outside looking in, but it could be my father, too. In the dream I must be awake, but in bed like I am, and I know that I am aroused and I can feel myself being aroused, getting hard, and as I make a movement to Sara, who is not asleep but not too receptive either, and by now I am fully aroused, like a rod of steel, and we start to have intercourse, in the dream, well I assume it’s intercourse because Sara is not interested in the anal stuff, although I’d like to try if she wanted to, and in the dream I’m in a rhythm and approaching climax when I look up and it’s not Sara I’m making love it. It’s not vaginal, it’s anal and not only is it not Sara but it’s not even a girl. And when I look up to see who it is, I can’t see the face, but I can see the back of the head, the hair flapping up and down, and the whole back side and then I recognize who it is. But still I climax and wake up. I’m groggy, of course, and I look over at Sara and she’s looking at me the way she does and I realize that I’ve just had a wet dream and she’s been watching. And then the object of the…then the…then my friend Brandon appears. It’s his hair and back from the dream. And then I really wake up, with a start, and what’s weird is that Sara is looking at me just as she had in the dream after I woke up the first time. Everything else is normal, except that there is a damp spot and I am ashamed for what I’ve done. And she comforts me. And I feel really rotten. And I of course don’t tell her about the dream and I make sure she doesn’t figure out what type of dream it was. I mean to have such a dream in the very bed next to the girl you love. It’s kind of…well, I guess, shameful. That was last night and I haven’t fully digested it.”
Sterling looks out the window to gauge how much time is left in the session. In the almost two months he’s been unplugged, the boy has become skilled in approximating the correct time. He’s committed to memory the hours of sunrise and sunset for the entire month of June and July. At the moment, therefore, he knows there are ten minutes (he’s never wrong by more than a minute) remaining in the 50 minute session. By prior agreement the last ten minutes are reserved for Dr. Franz, his current psychiatrist, to present his analysis. Thus, for the past 40 minutes, Sterling has been lying on the couch, with his eyes shut or staring into space, talking. On and on and on. He’s never had a chance like this to express himself so freely, to someone else, without constraints, and say anything he wants to. Indeed, he says whatever comes into his mind; he can use the f-word every sentence if he likes. Sometimes he tells stories, or describes incidents from his life or relates events involving others. In the four sessions he has had with Dr. Franz, he’s offered a lot of details and even more opinions. No detail seems too minor to escape a Sterling judgment. William has received some caustic, if loving, observations. The Trips have not fared well over the past sessions; his parents come in for quite a hammering, too. Not even Susan has been spared. Sara, however, is almost never mentioned, unless it concerns their sex life. This is not the first mention of Brandon, either. The second session with Dr. Franz was devoted to Brandon, boxing, the pee-wees, Silver Gloves and especially the recent Under-19 tournament. Amateur boxing had been a bit part of the boy’s life and now that that chapter is closing, it is worth being understood. Sterling, of course, thinks he fully understands his interest in boxing; then again, Sterling thinks he understands everything about himself. He is almost starting to have doubts in his ability at self-evaluation, however. Anyway, he is giving the professionals a shot. It is a new experience, in any case, and Sterling is always game for new experiences. In the boxing session, like all the rest, Dr. Franz had sat back, taking in every word, seldom making a note. As far as Sterling could tell the session was not being recorded; it didn’t bother him if it are, as there are numerous rules on confidentially to protect a patient. He has signed a waiver for the doctor at the beginning of his analysis, allowing Dr. Franz to refer to him in academic work, but only anonymously as Patient X or with a false name. Thus Sterling has no doubt that the academic would be writing up his case in some form, probably a journal article, so he has tried to make the sessions as entertaining as possible. That the doctor considers Sterling of academic interest intrigues the boy, and it alone would have guaranteed his agreement to submit to psychoanalysis, following years of successful avoidance and despite residual misgivings. At the end of each session Dr. Franz presents Sterling with an analysis, more or less as one psychiatrist would to another, as Sterling is, after several weeks of reading up on the subject, well versed in the history and terminology of the profession: much more acquaintance with the field that the average psychiatrist would want from his patient. At this point in the session, Sterling sits up and slips his Nikes back on. He is all ears.