Henry Franks(3)

“No.” Henry closed his eyes. His discolored finger came to rest on the scar around his neck and he lowered his head to try to hide the movement and the thin white line. “A new one.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.” He opened his eyes and looked out the window, anywhere but at the doctor. The heat lay heavy on the drooping palm fronds outside the window, a haze shimmering off a white pathway through the trees.

“Henry,” she said.

He took a deep breath, silently counting to ten. “There’s a girl.”

“Someone from school?”

“No,” he said, his voice rougher than he’d intended. “No. She’s a child, with pigtails.”

“Do you recognize her?”

He leaned forward; heavy bangs in need of a haircut fell in front of his eyes. Safe behind their barrier, he said, “I can’t remember.” His fingers clutched at the fabric of the couch as he rested his head back into the cushion.

“Deep breaths, Henry, it’s all right. Count to ten, like we’ve been practicing.”

Eyes closed, his lips moved as he collapsed in on himself, tucking his face between his drawn-up knees.

“She called me Daddy. Why can’t I remember her name?” he asked.

“It was just a dream.”

“She felt so alive; real, so much more than just a dream.”

From the desk, the alarm on the clock beeped once, loud in the office. Henry jumped at the sound, and then brushed the hair out of his face.

“Time?”

Dr. Saville nodded. “That all right?”

He shrugged, then stood up, fingers tight on the photograph.

“I talked to your dad, Henry” she said, “about Thursday. We’ll have to meet Friday this week.”

He nodded without looking at her.

“Next week we’ll go back to Tuesday, Thursday. Don’t forget your breathing exercises when you start to panic. They’re important.”

“I know,” he said. “It’s everything else I forget.”





two




His father was sitting at the table when Henry went downstairs for dinner. Two places were set, thick plastic dishes warped, cracked, and better than anything else they owned. Fast food burgers sat, unwrapped, on the plates, with packets of ketchup, mustard, and relish piled in the middle of the table.

Around a mouthful of food, his father smiled. “Dinnertime.”

Henry sat down, dressed his burger and began to eat, keeping an eye on his father as they sat across from each other.

“Have you been taking your meds?” His father’s white consultation jacket had seen better days. A faded Southeast Georgia Regional Medical Center patch was coming loose, just a little right of center.

“Yes.”

When his father smiled again, Henry looked down at his empty plate before reaching for another burger.

“Appetite’s back?”

Henry shrugged. “It helps.”

“Some of the medications have stomach side effects.”

“Eating helps,” Henry said.

“And the itching?”

“Scratching helps too.”

“Need more ointment?”

Henry shook his head, dark hair falling into his face and he left it there.

“Stronger?” his father asked. “I can make it stronger next time, if you’d like. Or not, whatever you need.”

Henry shrugged again and then pushed the plate of food away without taking anything.

“You can eat it if you want.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Would you be if I wasn’t here?” His father’s hands rested on the table, playing with the plastic silverware, the skin white where he gripped the knife and fork too tightly.

Henry shook his head and reached for the food.

“Henry?”

“Sorry,” he said, around the first bite of the second burger.

“Me too,” his father said.

He stopped chewing long enough to look up at his father.

“Really, Henry, I’m sorry. Has Dr. Saville helped?”

With the rest of the burger in his hand, Henry stood. The metal chair folded in on itself and clattered to the floor. His father rushed around to pick it up.

“It’s okay,” Henry said, but his father unfolded the chair and slid it back into place anyway.

“My fault,” his father said.

“Stop saying that.”

“What?” His father looked at him, a frown drawing ever-deeper lines into his skin.

“That you’re sorry.”

“What would you like me to say, Henry?”

“Anything but that.”

“Dr. Saville?”

“I still don’t remember,” he said, turning to walk out the door. “But I’m fine with that now.”



Henry sat in his room, staring at a blank monitor, fingers resting on the keyboard. A branch beat against the window in the summer wind, the sound harsh and grating. He spun around in his chair, knocking a plastic pillbox to the ground. In the small room, it only took a couple of steps for him to reach the window and pull up the blinds. A sliver of moon surrounded by haze glowed above the tree line.