the bullseye again. “You alone have chosen to seek
counseling in order to confront the power of the father. If you go no further,
it is enough. What you have already faced is far beyond what many with an
abusive history achieve.”
Long moments pass
while I stare at the nylon ceiling of our tent, regaining my self-control and
processing the compliment he’s given me. When I’m more composed, I meet his dark
eyes.
André holds my
gaze for a long, assessing moment. Then his teeth flash white in the dim light
of the small LED in our shelter as he shoots me an apologetic smile.
“It is well?” he
asks.
I suck in a deep
breath, roll over and prop my head on one arm. “Well enough.”
“No questions?”
I gravely shake
my head.
“Nothing happens
without your wish for it to happen,” he reassures me. “For now, you speak only
with me.”
“Thank you.” I
blow out an audible puff of air from my lips in relief.
“ Bon. I
continue with my illustration. ” He points to the third circle as it
moves out from the center. “If the center represents you, and the ring one out
from the center represents your family… then this ring, the third ring
represents others not in your family.”
“OK.”
“Your father, his
unchecked power and influence was most wide reaching. Did you ever consider? He
may have abused others—people not in your family.”
Fuck.
I’ve been so
insulated by my own misery I never, ever even considered this. Could my
father have interfered with other children? He had a voracious sexual appetite.
If so, it would have been young boys. If I know him… he did.
The idea makes me
shudder.
Now the future really scares me. Aside from my brother, are there others out there like me? Others damaged by my father? Somehow, someday, would any of them— just
like me—decide to deal with thisshit, too? In doing so, will my
family’s secrets be exposed?
Fuck.
After all these
years, I’m still compelled to hide the truth. Will all of this ugliness come
out? It’s all too unspeakable to imagine.
“My friend,”
André interrupts my spiraling thoughts. “Do not concern yourself. These are
problems for another day.”
Thankful for the
reprieve, I close my thoughts on the subject. I know how to push things I can’t
face away. I put them into a sealed box in my mind to deal with later—or not at
all.
I’m good at that.
Too bad it
doesn’t always work.
Chapter 15.
“Anything
that’s human is mentionable, and anything that is mentionable can be more
manageable. When we can talk about our feelings, they become less overwhelming,
less upsetting, and less scary. The people we trust with that important talk
can help us know we are not alone.”
― Fred
Rogers
~~~
Grant
Wilkinson
At the end of our
wonderful trip, two helicopters wait on the banks of the Colorado River to give
us a ride. On the way home, we’re all treated to an aerial tour of the Grand
Canyon.
When we land,
Gustave is there to pick us up in a limo. The privacy screen is up, so I guess
André and I are going to talk. The thought of a counseling session usually
makes me uneasy. But I’ve had a fun adventure. I’m on such a high, I feel as if
I can talk about anything.
“Grant,” André
says. “I noticed while we were away, you did not spend time near the women. You
avoided them.”
I shrug. “Women
make me nervous.”
“Oh?”
“Absolutely.”
“You do not have
experience with them?”
“No, André, I
don’t.”
The emotional
high I’m on, takes a drastic dip. OK. Maybe I can’t talk about anything.
I suck in a deep breath, preparing myself for the worst. When André asks about
‘experience,’ he’s not talking about hanging out with the opposite sex. He’s
asking me about my sex life.
After all this time,
I’ve learned not to screw around with André. It’s a hell of a lot faster and a
lot less painful simply to answer any question he asks me. I clench my jaw.
This is a tough subject, but I have to
counseling in order to confront the power of the father. If you go no further,
it is enough. What you have already faced is far beyond what many with an
abusive history achieve.”
Long moments pass
while I stare at the nylon ceiling of our tent, regaining my self-control and
processing the compliment he’s given me. When I’m more composed, I meet his dark
eyes.
André holds my
gaze for a long, assessing moment. Then his teeth flash white in the dim light
of the small LED in our shelter as he shoots me an apologetic smile.
“It is well?” he
asks.
I suck in a deep
breath, roll over and prop my head on one arm. “Well enough.”
“No questions?”
I gravely shake
my head.
“Nothing happens
without your wish for it to happen,” he reassures me. “For now, you speak only
with me.”
“Thank you.” I
blow out an audible puff of air from my lips in relief.
“ Bon. I
continue with my illustration. ” He points to the third circle as it
moves out from the center. “If the center represents you, and the ring one out
from the center represents your family… then this ring, the third ring
represents others not in your family.”
“OK.”
“Your father, his
unchecked power and influence was most wide reaching. Did you ever consider? He
may have abused others—people not in your family.”
Fuck.
I’ve been so
insulated by my own misery I never, ever even considered this. Could my
father have interfered with other children? He had a voracious sexual appetite.
If so, it would have been young boys. If I know him… he did.
The idea makes me
shudder.
Now the future really scares me. Aside from my brother, are there others out there like me? Others damaged by my father? Somehow, someday, would any of them— just
like me—decide to deal with thisshit, too? In doing so, will my
family’s secrets be exposed?
Fuck.
After all these
years, I’m still compelled to hide the truth. Will all of this ugliness come
out? It’s all too unspeakable to imagine.
“My friend,”
André interrupts my spiraling thoughts. “Do not concern yourself. These are
problems for another day.”
Thankful for the
reprieve, I close my thoughts on the subject. I know how to push things I can’t
face away. I put them into a sealed box in my mind to deal with later—or not at
all.
I’m good at that.
Too bad it
doesn’t always work.
Chapter 15.
“Anything
that’s human is mentionable, and anything that is mentionable can be more
manageable. When we can talk about our feelings, they become less overwhelming,
less upsetting, and less scary. The people we trust with that important talk
can help us know we are not alone.”
― Fred
Rogers
~~~
Grant
Wilkinson
At the end of our
wonderful trip, two helicopters wait on the banks of the Colorado River to give
us a ride. On the way home, we’re all treated to an aerial tour of the Grand
Canyon.
When we land,
Gustave is there to pick us up in a limo. The privacy screen is up, so I guess
André and I are going to talk. The thought of a counseling session usually
makes me uneasy. But I’ve had a fun adventure. I’m on such a high, I feel as if
I can talk about anything.
“Grant,” André
says. “I noticed while we were away, you did not spend time near the women. You
avoided them.”
I shrug. “Women
make me nervous.”
“Oh?”
“Absolutely.”
“You do not have
experience with them?”
“No, André, I
don’t.”
The emotional
high I’m on, takes a drastic dip. OK. Maybe I can’t talk about anything.
I suck in a deep breath, preparing myself for the worst. When André asks about
‘experience,’ he’s not talking about hanging out with the opposite sex. He’s
asking me about my sex life.
After all this time,
I’ve learned not to screw around with André. It’s a hell of a lot faster and a
lot less painful simply to answer any question he asks me. I clench my jaw.
This is a tough subject, but I have to
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