We Are the Light(70)

“What does psyche have to say when you think about going back to work at the high school?” Phineas would often ask me.

I’d close my eyes and try to center myself, but psyche seemed to be saying two things at once. Part of me very much wanted my old job back, which had always given me a sense of purpose and even joy. I had once been very good at it. But something in my gut also started to bubble simultaneously, and that part wanted me to stay as far away from troubled teenagers as possible, because of what I had done to Jacob Hansen.

When I got up the courage one night to broach the subject of my return to Majestic High with Isaiah, he squeezed my shoulder and said, “Just say the word and we’ll have you working with young people again. I could get that passed by the school board in about three seconds flat,” which made me feel simultaneously good and bad. While it was nice to have a vote of confidence, it was hard to know that the decision was in my hands alone and, therefore, I would have to shoulder all of the responsibility.

“When it’s time to go back,” Phineas would say, “psyche will know. Perhaps there will even be an undeniable sign.”

“What kind of sign?” I’d ask.

“The kind you just can’t ignore,” Phineas would say, and then smile in his usual mysterious yet somehow friendly manner.

Since you were my analyst for less than two years and we only had one two-hour session a week, I’ve spent a lot more time with Phineas, who sometimes lets our sessions stretch to ninety minutes without charging Jill any extra money. One time I asked why he does that and he said it was simply what psyche was asking of him. I really have grown to love and trust Phineas, but I still miss you, Karl.

The only annoying thing about Phineas was when he started to push for me to see a movie at the Majestic Theater. He had begun referring to our local movie house as another treasure-stealing dragon that was currently sitting on a small mountain of my gold. Every session, he’d ask me to visualize and meditate on returning to the Majestic Theater. “Maybe start by going into the lobby, or even just purchasing a ticket from the box office out front,” he’d say, but I would simply close my eyes or try to change the subject, even though I was fully aware of the fact that I was putting off an essential part of my recovery.

I wanted to ask my fellow Survivors what it was like to see a movie at the Majestic Theater now, but every time I tried to bring it up, my heart started pounding and all of the spit in my mouth would instantly evaporate.

My body reacted similarly whenever Phineas tried to get me to finish the letters I had been writing to you, which I also couldn’t do until recently.

What changed? I hear you asking now.

Well, I got my sign, of course.

Mark and Tony invited Jill and me over for dinner, saying it had been too long since the four of us had been together in the same room, which was true. Jill asked if she could bring anything and they requested her rhubarb-strawberry summer pie, which she happily whipped up for them, even though it was still technically spring. Then we were seated in their extravagant dining room and being served by the private chef they had hired for the evening. Maybe it sounds a little showy to hire a private chef, but they did it as a gift for Jill, who spent much of the evening in the kitchen talking recipes with Chef Kara, while the rest of us kept our own company.

I remember that we had watermelon gazpacho followed by a salt-roasted squash salad and corn-bread-crusted catfish.

Jill insisted that our cook join us at the table for a slice of Jill’s pie, which Chef Kara said was “orgasmic,” much to the delight of my favorite housemate.

And then we were on Mark and Tony’s screened-in porch, sipping tiny crystal chalices of brandy under what looked like strings of early twentieth-century carnival lights. The talk about how good dinner was seemed to go on a little too long. When everyone started repeating what they had already said, I began to sense that Mark, Tony, and Jill knew something that they weren’t telling me.

“What’s going on here?” I finally said, which made Jill look down at her lap, while Tony and Mark shared a glance.

Finally, Mark said, “It’s Eli.”

“Eli?” I echoed. “Is he okay?”

“He’s graduating from college in a few weeks,” Tony said.

I had sort of lost track of the years, but some quick math confirmed that almost four had indeed passed.

“I’m happy for him,” I said, and meant it.

“Well, the thing is,” Mark said, and then tipped the last of his brandy down his throat, “Eli had to make what’s known as a short for his senior thesis.”

“A short film,” Tony clarified.

“Okay,” I said, because that didn’t sound out of the ordinary.

“His won a prize,” Mark said.

“Best of his class,” Tony added with a hint of pride.

“That’s wonderful,” I said, still not understanding why everyone was looking at me so strangely.

This was when Mark and Tony looked over at Jill. When I met her eyes, she said, “Eli’s film is about you, Lucas.”

Mark and Tony both started talking quickly here, saying Eli used a lot of footage he had taken while he was living with Jill and me. They had also supplied him with behind-the-scenes video taken during the filming of our monster movie, which worried me because of how mentally ill I had become during the shoot. I started to feel physically sick, because I suspected that Eli might be trying to get revenge on me for killing his brother. I was worried that he had used his short film to shame me, showing strangers my diseased mind, my fractured psyche. And then I started to get angry because I hadn’t agreed to be filmed. How dare Eli share the private moments that happened in my own home when he hadn’t even asked my permission, let alone gotten me to sign any sort of contract! And then, before I really even knew what I was doing, I was walking out of Mark and Tony’s screened-in porch and into the night, as they called my name and tried to get me to stay. But I strode on, and when Jill caught up with me, I began to run through the streets of Majestic until I finally shed her, which is when I slowed down to a speed walk.