Progress and Shaving
Pictured above is my half-shaved left eyebrow. Attempted fashion statement? Further evidence of my left eye’s secret life? Horrible waxing accident? I’ll leave it to you to decide.
Since my last update, I’ve written another three chapters, bringing the total to six. Word tells me that’s roughly 20,000 words, but Word misses the pauses I intentionally drop, so it is only a physical representation of words. Or something.
Here’s a sample from the last chapter I completed. Charlie, the main character, has decided to quit therapy, suddenly.
“Gotta go, Doc.” I said, getting up to leave. Dr. Patterson remained in the same posture and did not raise his eyes. I detected weariness in him, and only later could I truly relate to his heartache. Failing at work is perhaps the greatest failing one must endure, for it is public and not amended by apology and gift.
I left him that way, and I never returned to his office again. I saw more therapists after, but each new counselor was a paler reflection of him; I manipulated them with ease. I’ve often wondered about Dr. Patterson since then. I imagine he never let go of me, and tracked my name through news and magazine articles, watched me rise in fame and fortune, make astonishing scientific discoveries and change the very fabric of society. I believe that with each milestone I made in the public eye, he made another note on his legal pad, still trying to help me, still attempting to serve as a guide. I also picture him twenty-five years after our last session, during the peak of my success and the beginning of my fall, laying on his deathbed surrounded by his children, attended to by his frail but devoted wife. Every goal reached in his common life, he exchanged long looks with each of his loved ones, wordlessly conveying to them his pride, love and gratitude. If I truly allow myself the emotional freedom to experience this scene, I can almost bring myself to tears.
My vision of Dr. Patterson could very well be a lie. This I freely accept. It is possible he is still alive and even reading these words. If so, I want him to know that this fantasy life and death I have for him is one I that I hold close to me, that I cherish and envy.