In the way a parent deems its own needs paramount, I received a message one day at school that I should go home immediately due to an emergency. Kantor was the messenger at 2:00. I respectfully accepted the message.
Feeling pushed to my limits and knowing there was really no emergency, I found myself at 3:00 unable to take the steps home. I leaned against the wall near an intersection of two main halls and wished for the clarity to know what to do. Pulled by my own needs as well as the stated needs of authority, I struggled with my anger.
I knew that the Parent had some ridiculous notion of why she wanted me home immediately. I knew that the Parent resented my staying after school in the library with friends. I knew that the real issue was control. The Parent was using stronger methods to make me jump when she wanted me to.
I envisioned myself running home breathlessly concerned over what the Emergency was. Excited and eager like a young school girl (which I was, of course), I would have total undivided attention for the Parent. And that, regardless of what trumped up emergency she had invented, was really what the Parent wanted.
I couldn’t move from the wall. I couldn’t bring myself to take a step. Out of respect for authority, I couldn’t go do what I wanted to do. Out of anger and indignance, I couldn’t do what the Parent wanted me to do. So, I leaned patiently against the wall waiting for a sign—some kind of break in the impasse.
Sasifraz came and went, but I couldn’t get any help from him either. Then the world, the wall and the halls, started to fuzz out. It was a new feeling—a kind of numbness. It took over my body. I felt very distant, and the world looked hazy.
It was about the time of this new event that Kantor happened along on her way to the teachers’ lounge. She looked at me and asked why I wasn’t going home. After all, the Parent had said it was an emergency. I couldn’t explain. I very nearly couldn’t talk. I told Kantor that I couldn’t move, and the world was very fuzzy. I told Kantor that I would just wait quietly for things to change a bit.
Kantor left after some minutes. I don’t know how long it took for me to be able to move. Eventually, my perspective and my feelings changed enough for me to walk slowly home to find an invented emergency, as expected, with no one dying or in the hospital.
* * * * * * *
Ok. Ok. So, he should do something with the kids. What to do with the little urchins? Frobisher would much rather go out winter sailing. In the chilly cold with a moderate wind, that was something he could set himself against. But, kids were not like elements. They weren’t something he could set himself against.
So, he did those kind of things like take them to the zoo or a park. He pushed himself to do things that he didn’t find very interesting and didn’t really want to do mostly to please Sally. Occasionally, he wondered if she was worth it, but then he’d remember aloneness. He realized avoiding that aloneness was worth it.
* * * * * * *
I had been pulling away physically from the Parent for a long time. The Parent panicked because of the loss of intimacy. Now, I pulled away psychically as well.
The Parent struggled to cope with the loss she felt not only from me but more originally from her spouse. Having previously lost on the spouse front, she now put all her energies into recapturing me.
One day not long after the emergency call, the Parent had occasion to talk to Kantor. It’s not clear exactly what they spoke of, but the Parent gained new ammunition in the war to regain my loyalty. In a last ditch attempt to control my affection, that night the Parent told me confidentiality what Kantor had said. What does one do when one hears a parsnip of the truth that one fears the most? I felt sick inside.
The Parent said Kantor had told her that I was psychotic. Not neurotic, not depressed, not obsessed, but psychotic. I believed and disbelieved at the same time. It was shattering to know that my only friend and idol had told the Enemy something so terrible about me.
The Parent was disappointed in my response to the news—not realizing that the downed bridge between us was beyond repair. In the Parent’s narrowed vision, she missed the more crucial effect of isolating me beyond words.
* * * * * * *
Alfer Centurie called up his friend, Tanya Blue. Although Alfer Centurie was stubborn, he was not without resources. Tanya Blue was his closest friend in his social circle. He knew he could rely on her for the utmost in discretion. Tanya was somewhat of a mystic—a part of her that Alfer Centurie avoided thinking about. But, she was very creative when it same to dealing with problems.
He told her most of the story regarding his dreams and now lately of the arrival of Sasifraz. Tanya listened intently. She was very interested in “ghosts of the past” as it were and was eager to try different strategies to get a grip on Sasifraz’s plans.
They rigged up several little technological gizmos. One that was especially important was so that Alfer Centurie could signal Tanya when Sasifraz appeared. Tanya would stay with Alfer Centurie at night until Sasifraz arrived, so they could take action together to unravel the past.
* * * * * * *
The next morning when I got up I was amazed that a psychotic person could do that. I got dressed and went to school. I went through my daily routine wondering at what point a person crosses the line.
“If I’m psychotic, how do I continue to function? If I’m not psychotic, why does Kantor think I am? Did she really say that?”
“You know she did.” Sasifraz responded.
“I don’t believe it. She couldn’t have.”
“She did, and you know it, because it’s true.”
“What do you know?!”
“You wanted to be crazy,” Sasifraz declared. “Congratulations. You’ve arrived.”
I muddled through the day sinking deeper and deeper. I felt alone. Worse, I felt unloved—abandoned by the only person I trusted.
In the afternoon, I went to my appointment with Kantor. Twisted inside, I couldn’t look Kantor in the eye. It must have been written all over my face. Kantor asked me what was wrong. I realized in a flash that there was no way out of this situation. I didn’t want to tell Kantor. I knew I couldn’t keep it from her.
“My mother told me you said I was psychotic.” Raising my head, I looked straight at Kantor.
“I didn’t say that, Joceile. I talked to her, but I didn’t tell her you are psychotic.”
“I didn’t say that, Joceile. I talked to her, but I didn’t tell her you are psychotic.”
I looked at Kantor and felt in my heart that she was lying. I wanted to tell Kantor I didn’t believe her, but I knew there was nothing Kantor could say. She would either keep lying or admit it—neither of which I could tolerate. Sasifraz spoke in my ear, “This is a time when it’s more important to accept a lie than to hear the truth. Don’t ask.”
So, I accepted Kantor’s spoken word. Because without Kantor, I had nothing or even less than nothing—more pain.