We Are the Light(64)
Suddenly I was overcome with exhaustion, so I went into Darcy’s and my bedroom and collapsed into the bed, where I instantly fell asleep and dreamed of nothing.
It was dark when Jill woke me up, saying Isaiah wanted to speak with me. Thinking we were about to have a phone conversation, I was surprised when Jill handed me my laptop with Isaiah’s and Bess’ faces lit up on the screen. They were beaming.
“Aliza had her baby,” Bess said just before a river leaked out of her left eye and ran down her cheek.
“A girl,” Isaiah said. “And they’re calling her Majestic. Maj for short. How about that?”
“Seven pounds, two ounces of joy and completely healthy.”
“I wanted to tell my best friend in the whole world first.”
“We’ll FaceTime you when we get to California.”
I’m pretty sure I managed to say congratulations and that I loved them, but I can’t be certain as I was still so exhausted, and when I closed my eyes again, I slept for fourteen hours straight. I know because Jill kept saying, “You slept for fourteen hours straight!” as she made me lunch.
That afternoon, a tall man with a pointy beard and shoulder-length salt-and-pepper hair sat down across from me on my couch, introduced himself as Phineas, and then said, “Do you want to start an alchemical process with me?” which let me know he was a Jungian analyst and I was, therefore, back in good hands.
Phineas gave a little speech, saying we were going to treat the root problem, not just the symptoms, which made me feel like I was finally about to get some medicine that would actually heal me, rather than just put me to sleep. But I couldn’t resist asking if he wasn’t afraid of me, given that Jill had surely told him everything I had done to myself and others.
He asked if I had ever physically harmed anyone who wasn’t actively trying to kill my friends and family.
Of course, I told him I hadn’t.
Then he asked how many times I had committed acts of self-harm in the three years prior to the Majestic Theater tragedy.
When I honestly said, “None,” he nodded affirmatively and then asked if my self-abuse during the lead-up to the movie premiere could have been a symptom of withdrawal, since my analysis had been stopped abruptly and without any plan for managing my mental health in the aftermath.
I admitted that extraordinary circumstances had produced my violence, and could see what he was driving at, before ultimately saying, “But regardless of circumstance, regardless of intent, regardless of motivation or the fact that I may have even saved lives—by definition, I’m a murderer, Phineas. I’ve killed a human being.”
“Everyone has a murderer inside of them,” Phineas said almost dismissively, as if he wasn’t fazed by what I had done. He didn’t even break eye contact. “I certainly have an inner murderer in me. So does Jill and Isaiah and everyone else you’ve ever met. Our inner murderers have been keeping us safe for thousands of years. They’ve fed us meat. They’ve kept our families alive. They’ve defended our countries whenever psychopathic authoritarians have tried to pummel us into submission.”
I understood what he meant, but, suddenly, I couldn’t make eye contact with him.
Then he said it might be more charitable—and accurate—to call the force inside of me “an inner warrior.” A “brave and noble” inner warrior. He said that’s how everyone else in Majestic saw me. And that maybe it was time to shake my inner warrior’s hand. Maybe even thank him for what he so heroically did. All that he’d sacrificed to save the lives of others.
When he got done saying all of that, I could hardly breathe.
At the end of that first introduction to Phineas, he told me we’d be having three sessions a week for the foreseeable future, which prompted me to admit that I probably couldn’t afford his hourly rate at that frequency.
“Been taken care of,” Phineas said as he made his way out the front door. “See you tomorrow. And start writing down your dreams, no matter how insignificant they seem. I want to know what the unconscious is saying.”
When I turned around, Jill was coming down the steps and asking how it went.
“Who’s paying for my analysis?”
“You still have health insurance through the high school. Did you like Phineas? I think he’s fantastic. And perfect for you.”
“The school’s health insurance package doesn’t cover analysis three times a week,” I said.
Jill rounded the newel at the end of the handrail and tried to escape into the kitchen, while casually saying, “What should I make for dinner?”
“Who is paying for my analysis?” I said at a volume that was almost yelling, which surprised me.
Jill turned around and looked at me. “I am.”
“But you don’t have that kind of cash just lying—”
“I sold my house,” she said, and then sucked the bottom left side of her lip into her mouth. “So I really hope you don’t mind me living here. Now what do you want to eat?”
Jill went through the refrigerator calling out the names of preprepared meals that were already unfrozen, but I didn’t really hear any of what she was saying, mostly because I was still trying to process the fact that she and I were now living together permanently. I didn’t mind, at all. But I knew how long it took to build up house equity—especially by feeding all the residents of Majestic, PA, breakfast and lunch. And I also knew how much analysis cost, how rapidly it would eat up Jill’s gains. And yet I really needed analysis. I went back and forth in my mind, trying to untie the Gordian knot.