The Schopenhauer Cure(26)
“Here we are. This is my library and group room. While we’re waiting for the other members, let me give you the nuts-and-bolts housekeeping drill. On Mondays, I unlock the front door about ten minutes before the time of the group, and the members just enter on their own into this room. When I come in at four-thirty, we start pretty promptly, and we end at six. To ease my billing and bookkeeping task, everyone pays at the end of each session—just leave a check on the table by the door. Questions?”
Philip shook his head no and looked around the room, inhaling deeply. He walked directly to the shelves, put his nose closely to the rows of leather-bound volumes, and inhaled again, evincing great pleasure. He remained standing and industriously began perusing book titles.
In the next few minutes five group members filed in, each glancing at Philip’s back, before taking seats. Despite the bustle of their entrance, Philip did not turn his head or in any way interrupt his task of examining Julius’s library.
Over his thirty-five years of leading groups, Julius had seen a lot of folks enter therapy groups. The pattern was predictable: the new member enters heavy with apprehension, behaving in a deferential manner to the other members, who welcome the neophyte and introduce themselves. Occasionally, a newly formed group, which mistakenly believes that benefits are directly proportional to the amount of attention each receives from the therapist, may resent newcomers, but established groups welcome them: they appreciate that a full roster adds to, rather than detracts from, the effectiveness of the therapy.
Once in a while newcomers jump right into the discussion, but generally they are silent for much of the first meeting as they try to figure out the rules and wait until someone invites them to participate. But a new member so indifferent that he turns his back and ignores the others in the group? Never before had Julius seen that. Not even in groups of psychotic patients on the psychiatric ward.
Surely, Julius thought, he had made a blunder by inviting Philip into the group. Having to tell the group about his cancer was more than enough on his plate for the day. And he felt burdened by having to worry about Philip.
What was going on with Philip? Was it possible that he was simply overcome by apprehension or shyness? Unlikely. No, he’s probably pissed at my insisting on his entering a group, and, in his passive-aggressive way, he’s giving me and the group the finger. God, Julius thought, I’d just like to hang him out to dry. Just do nothing. Let him sink or swim. It would be a pleasure to sit back and enjoy the blistering group attack that will surely come.
Julius did not often remember joke punch lines, but one that he had heard years ago returned to him now. One morning a son said to his mother, “I don’t want to go to school today.”
“Why not?” asked his mother.
“Two reasons: I hate the students, and they hate me.”
Mother responds, “There are two reasons you have to go to school: first, you’re forty-five years old and, second, you’re the principal.”
Yes, he was all grown up. And he was the therapist of the group. And it was his job to integrate new members, to protect them from others and from themselves. Though he almost never started a meeting himself, preferring to encourage the members to take charge of running the group, today he had no choice.
“Four-thirty. Time to get started. Philip, why don’t you grab a seat.” Philip turned to face him but made no movement toward a chair. Is he deaf? Julius thought. A social imbecile? Only after Julius vigorously gestured with his eyeballs to one of the empty chairs did Philip seat himself.
To Philip he said, “Here’s our group. There’s one member who won’t be here tonight, Pam, who’s on a two-month trip.” Then, turning to the group, “I mentioned a few meetings ago that I might be introducing a new member. I met with Philip last week, and he’s beginning today.” Of course he’s beginning today, Julius thought. Stupid, shithead comment. That’s it. No more handholding. Sink or swim.
Just at that moment Stuart, rushing in from the pediatric clinic at the hospital and still wearing a white clinical coat, charged into the room and plunked himself down, muttering an apology for being late. All members then turned to Philip, and four of them introduced themselves and welcomed him: “I’m Rebecca, Tony, Bonnie, Stuart. Hello. Great to see you. Welcome. Glad to have you. We need some new blood—I mean new input.”
The remaining member, an attractive man with a prematurely bald pate flanked by a rim of light brown hair and the hefty body of a football linesman somewhat gone to seed, said, in a surprisingly soft voice, “Hi, I’m Gill. And, Philip, I hope you won’t feel I’m ignoring you, but I absolutely, urgently need some time in the group today. I’ve never needed the group as much as today.”
No response from Philip.
“Okay, Philip?” Gill repeated.
Startled, Philip opened his eyes widely and nodded.
Gill turned toward the familiar faces in the group and began. “A lot has happened, and it all came to a head this morning following a session with my wife’s shrink. I’ve been telling you guys over the past few weeks about how the therapist gave Rose a book about child abuse that convinces her that she was abused as a child. It’s like a fixed idea—what do you call it…an idea feexed?” Gill turned to Julius.
“An idée fixe,” Philip instantaneously interjected with perfect accent.