It’s impossible to have these memories come flooding back to you and not be affected by it. To have all the pieces of your life, the life you’ve been striving to create, both come together and fall apart at the same time. Cause and effect. Plausible theories for why nothing seemed to ever work out. Probably not provable, but certainly it’s enough to go on. To keep going on. Every bit of new information has been the hope that I’ve needed – a tiny kernel, or glimpse of light, to stay grounded, to keep fighting, to keep dreaming. You don’t always see these glimpses while you’re living your life, you’re too close. It must be the years, the distance of time, that has given me perspective. Or maybe it was the dreams.
Margie looked up from her scribbles to see her therapist taking her seat. Dr. Laurent was late. She appeared disheveled, not as put together as usual. Her hair was falling out of her normally tightly wrapped top knot, and her face was flushed and perspiring. Laurent pulled out her laptop and decided better, pulling out her tablet and pen instead. Without looking up, she asked Margie about her night.
“How did you sleep last night, Margie?”
Margie shook her head and furrowed her brow, “I’m sure you know better than I, Doctor. Don’t you get those reports before you even walk through the door?”
Laurent smiled tightly before responding. “I guess it was meant as a rhetorical question, Margie. I only asked because “I” did not sleep very well. In fact, “I” did not even sleep at all. You see these clothes? I’ve been wearing them since yesterday. One of your little friends paid me a visit at my office yesterday, “encouraged” me to meet with him over coffee. I will not be bullied, Margie.”
“I’m not sure what you—“
“You know exactly what I mean. I will not be threatened into signing your release.”
“I didn’t ask you—“
“No “you” didn’t ask me anything. You had your thug friend detain me in a roach infested motel room all night.”
“Yes, I was supposed to meet him –“
Margie tried to hide a smile, “So, you agreed to meet a stranger in a roach infested hotel room, and you’re blaming me for it? What, did he have a gun?”
“No,” Laurent hesitated, “he had a badge. Said he was a friend of yours. He had a guard outside the door all night long...”
Margie started laughing.
“I don’t think it’s that fun—“
“This is how it begins, Dr. Laurent. By believing anything and everything someone tells you. That so-and-so is in training for Military Intelligence, or that what’s-her-face is being investigated for fraud, or running a prostitution ring, or for hacking into the federal reserve; and he or she should be treated accordingly. Dress the part, show them a badge, give them a convincing story, or better yet make them a part of it, and people will believe ANYTHING.”
Margie closed her notepad and stood up with a wry smile. “Go home and think about that, Dr. Laurent, I’ll be here tomorrow. Same bat time, same bat place.” She turned on her socked heel and tapped the door before it opened to let her out.