said.
This question intrigued me. There was a day in my mind, a day that captured the feeling of Colorado for me.
I woke up early on a Sunday morning. The bed smelled of a woman—her perfume and bodily scents. I turned over but there was no one next to me. I went to an open window and gazed out on silvery green leaves shivering in the breeze and filtering the morning sun. I was naked and the house was completely unfamiliar.
The bedroom was on the second floor and the house was set in the woods, on a mountain. There were no neighbors. Outside there was a corral with four beautiful chestnut horses exulting in the wind.
On the bureau was a note.
B,
Thank you for saving me and for such a lovely evening and the ride home. It was wonderful meeting you. I'm off to church now. Maybe we'll see each other again sometime.
H
I supposed that I was B and that H was some woman I had met in a bar. I didn't remember any of it. There was a picture of a young couple on the bureau; a straw-blonde and a ruddy-cowboy kind of guy. I wondered if she was Helen or Henrietta or Holly.
My car was parked on a graded dirt path that passed in front of the big house. I drove for miles trying to find my way back to some kind of city, or at least a paved road. There were, there always were, two quart bottles of whiskey in the trunk of my car. And so when the sun went down and I ran low on gas, I popped the trunk and pulled out the booze.
My memory after that gets a little fuzzy. Some of what I remember might be a dream or a nightmare. I was drinking in the woods, singing to myself and moving between the darkness of pine shadows and the thrilling luminosity of the three-quarter moon. I got lost out there and then some men who were also rambling in the dark saw me and cursed me. They chased me but I was fueled by eighty-six proof.
They split up and I pressed myself into a depression on a rocky hillside.
That was all I had ever remembered before and it wasn't often that I thought about it. But that day on the analyst's couch I saw myself in the moon-cast shadow of stone with a pear-sized rock in my hand. A man passed in front of me. He had a gun, a pistol, and he was searching for me. I leaped out from my hiding place just when he was beyond me. I hit him with more strength than I had ever known. The hardness of his skull, the softness of the tissue underneath, was a familiar feeling . . .
When I opened my eyes, I was holding on to Dr. Shriver by his shoulder and his neck. He was trying to stay in control mentally while attempting to push me off too.
"Take it easy, Mr. Dibbuk," he shouted. "Take it easy."
"What?" I asked.
"What are you asking me?" he replied.
"What did I say?"
I let go and sat down on the brown divan.
"You were just coming from a woman's house," he said, rolling his neck to work out the kink I had put there. "And then you were drinking in the woods."
"That's all?" I realized that I was rocking back and forth. I tried to stop but could not.
"Yes," Shriver said. "All of a sudden you sat up and grabbed me."
I was panting. My heart felt too large for its cavity. It was as if I had just killed someone in actuality.
"I got to go," I said, standing up quickly.
"Tomorrow then?" Shriver said.
"What?"
"Tomorrow. You should come back every day until we get to the bottom of this, this trauma."
"Trauma? I didn't say a thing about any trauma."
"Something happened to you, Ben," he had not used my first name before then, "something that caused this deep alienation in you. Talking to this woman has brought it out. If you want to find out what that means, you need to be here on this couch. I will make myself available to you every day, weekends too. You're in a very precarious place."
"Aren't you scared?"
"Of what?"
"Didn't I just jump up and grab you by the neck? And here you say we need to get deeper. Shit, man. We get any deeper and I might throw you through that window."
"And if we don't try," he said with gravity, "you might
This question intrigued me. There was a day in my mind, a day that captured the feeling of Colorado for me.
I woke up early on a Sunday morning. The bed smelled of a woman—her perfume and bodily scents. I turned over but there was no one next to me. I went to an open window and gazed out on silvery green leaves shivering in the breeze and filtering the morning sun. I was naked and the house was completely unfamiliar.
The bedroom was on the second floor and the house was set in the woods, on a mountain. There were no neighbors. Outside there was a corral with four beautiful chestnut horses exulting in the wind.
On the bureau was a note.
B,
Thank you for saving me and for such a lovely evening and the ride home. It was wonderful meeting you. I'm off to church now. Maybe we'll see each other again sometime.
H
I supposed that I was B and that H was some woman I had met in a bar. I didn't remember any of it. There was a picture of a young couple on the bureau; a straw-blonde and a ruddy-cowboy kind of guy. I wondered if she was Helen or Henrietta or Holly.
My car was parked on a graded dirt path that passed in front of the big house. I drove for miles trying to find my way back to some kind of city, or at least a paved road. There were, there always were, two quart bottles of whiskey in the trunk of my car. And so when the sun went down and I ran low on gas, I popped the trunk and pulled out the booze.
My memory after that gets a little fuzzy. Some of what I remember might be a dream or a nightmare. I was drinking in the woods, singing to myself and moving between the darkness of pine shadows and the thrilling luminosity of the three-quarter moon. I got lost out there and then some men who were also rambling in the dark saw me and cursed me. They chased me but I was fueled by eighty-six proof.
They split up and I pressed myself into a depression on a rocky hillside.
That was all I had ever remembered before and it wasn't often that I thought about it. But that day on the analyst's couch I saw myself in the moon-cast shadow of stone with a pear-sized rock in my hand. A man passed in front of me. He had a gun, a pistol, and he was searching for me. I leaped out from my hiding place just when he was beyond me. I hit him with more strength than I had ever known. The hardness of his skull, the softness of the tissue underneath, was a familiar feeling . . .
When I opened my eyes, I was holding on to Dr. Shriver by his shoulder and his neck. He was trying to stay in control mentally while attempting to push me off too.
"Take it easy, Mr. Dibbuk," he shouted. "Take it easy."
"What?" I asked.
"What are you asking me?" he replied.
"What did I say?"
I let go and sat down on the brown divan.
"You were just coming from a woman's house," he said, rolling his neck to work out the kink I had put there. "And then you were drinking in the woods."
"That's all?" I realized that I was rocking back and forth. I tried to stop but could not.
"Yes," Shriver said. "All of a sudden you sat up and grabbed me."
I was panting. My heart felt too large for its cavity. It was as if I had just killed someone in actuality.
"I got to go," I said, standing up quickly.
"Tomorrow then?" Shriver said.
"What?"
"Tomorrow. You should come back every day until we get to the bottom of this, this trauma."
"Trauma? I didn't say a thing about any trauma."
"Something happened to you, Ben," he had not used my first name before then, "something that caused this deep alienation in you. Talking to this woman has brought it out. If you want to find out what that means, you need to be here on this couch. I will make myself available to you every day, weekends too. You're in a very precarious place."
"Aren't you scared?"
"Of what?"
"Didn't I just jump up and grab you by the neck? And here you say we need to get deeper. Shit, man. We get any deeper and I might throw you through that window."
"And if we don't try," he said with gravity, "you might
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