Martin - Chapter II

The Consult

“You know, most of the times, I have the feeling I am nothing but a ghost”

“Yes Martin, I know” said the doctor impatiently “You do start almost every consult by saying that.”

Martin shrugged and looked away from the doctor’s inquisitive eye pretending to be shy at the fact that he was boring, repetitive and inconvenient most of the times. He didn’t really care. After all, he did feel like he was a ghost. And as a ghost, he felt like he was invisible and inconsequent to most people around him.
He took the time to take another one long “sightseeing”, as he used to call it, around the office, looking at every detail of the doctor’s office. He knew it all very well by now after 5 years of going in for consults with his mother’s friend and psychologist Dr. Monroe. Dr. Cybil Monroe, as stated her diploma, finished her degree and PhD at a famous university (that shall remain unnamed for the moment of this story) and proudly presented her credits on the wall of her office. And the office was so simple and refined that it contained only an elegant desk, an elegant office chair for the doctor and two cozy chairs for patients. No file archive and definitely no flowers, vases, paintings or framed pictures. There was only a picture on the wall, from about 10 years ago, of her shaking hands with the Mayor at the occasion of the opening of the City’s Hospital psychological ward, commonly known as the South Building. Martin didn’t know, although he asked several times, how come such a young doctor in her twenties got to be a part of the inauguration team of such a prestigious ward. Martin didn’t really care if she never answered because Martin wouldn’t go as far as caring about the underlying reasons of people’s answers to his inconvenient questions. Martin’s curiosity allowed him to ask the most inconvenient questions but truth be told, he never really cared much for the real answers. He would rather try do decipher the underlying truth using the awkwardness of people’s answers.

“Maybe if you didn’t sneak up on people like you usually do, Martin; maybe then you wouldn’t look that much like a ghost…

Martin! Are you listening? Will stop wandering, please? Sit down.”

“Yes Dr. Monroe. I am here”

And he was. Martin’s mind didn’t wander. He was always paying attention to something or someone, always concentrated and focused, never wandering.

“You know that’s not exactly what I mean, Dr. Monroe. My condition certainly doesn’t help, but in life I do get the feeling that I am nothing but a big white transparent blur that goes around the world virtually unnoticed.”
“You and I both know Martin that those are just words. Big words, actually, that you use to justify the fact the you took advantage of your condition to become unnoticed when you want to remain unnoticed and to become… well, the word would be inconvenient but let’s just say pressing and outspoken when you want to sneak up on people, either physically or into their minds and lives.”

Martin smiled. He would have said “guilty as charged” but he wasn’t one to use common catchphrases.

“Yes doctor, we both know that by now.”
“How are you dealing with the fact that your father is now at home every day?”
Martin shrugged and looked away again, as if dismissing the importance of the question. Martin learned to shrug and look away every time someone asked him a question or tried to get some insight out of him in order to prevent people from noticing under which circumstances he was really bothered by the question. So, most of the times, it just looked like he didn’t care.
“It’s no big deal, actually. It’s not his fault he’s got his leg broken. Now he’s jut got to stay 2 more months at home. I think it bothers him more than it bothers me.”
Only, by now, Dr. Monroe had learned to notice when Martin was bothered by the question. And she knew how to get a straight answer from him.
“What do you mean? Do you think he’s got trouble dealing with it?”
“No… he’s just bored. For a man who’s used to spend most of his days and some nights working out of the house, suddenly being trapped in it isn’t that much comfortable.”
“Do you get to do stuff together more often?”
Martin smirked:
“No, not really. Most of the times I just stay in my room and he stays in front of the TV. Our conversations are mainly about his guided trips to the bathroom.”
“Maybe if you took this opportunity to talk to him, tell him about your life and…”
Martin had to interrupt her here.
“That’s not an option and you know it. Can we change the subject, please?”
And the god doctor knew when not to insist.
“Yes, Martin. Is there something in particular you want to discuss?”
“I don’t think so… not really…”
The good doctor also knew when Martin was asking for her to insist.
“Come on, Martin. Talk to me.”
“Well… something happened to me the other day. I don’t know if I should find it absolutely normal or look at it like some kind of… blessing, for the lack of a better word.”
“I’m intrigued, Martin! For someone who talks so much of the lethargy of his every day life, you do sound carefully excited!”
“Thank you for the irony, Dr. Monroe. As usually…”
“You’re welcome, Martin! You know me…”

Dr. Monroe and Martin smiled at each other. After 5 years they could afford to have conversations that went beyond the usual and static doctor-patient relationship.

“So… go on!”
“As you know, my mother insists that I either get a job or enroll at a university.”
“And I also know how much you hate that.”
“Well, of course. No one likes to be pressured. Besides, I have a good life doing nothing all day long. And the only reason I finished high-school was because my parents insisted. I myself see no use whatsoever of having a diploma, no offense.”
“None taken. I know you always thought you were too smart for high-school. And your grades did show that. By now, you must think you’re too smart for college too.”
“I know I am. At the young age of 19, Martin Brandt, yours truly, has read more books than most college professors.”

Martin got up and took an unnecessarily pronounced bow, looking at Dr. Monroe with a profound sense of irony and arrogance in his eyes. But he was smiling as he sat down again, so Dr. Monroe laughed with an honestly satisfied expression, adding:

“Yes, Martin, we established that on our second consult when you bragged about reading 2 books by Dostoevsky that week at the lovely age of 12; when you should have been around your neighborhood with a bike or a skate.”
“Ouch! Bull’s-eye, Doctor! Straight to the inexistent childhood! That’s good.”
Martin then changed his voice to a deeper, more confident tone when he asked:
“Did you have a bike or a skate growing up, Cybil?”

Dr. Monroe tried to hide the discomfort that the “typically-Martin” question caused on her yet again with irony.

“Yes, Martin, a pink bike with red ribbons. And later a skate that made me look like a punk rebel and gave me this scar you see on my forehead. And I told you already not to call me Cybil in the office. Go on. What was that blessing of yours?”
“Well… *doctor*! I went to the library yesterday (nothing new about that) and… they actually offered me a job.”
“A job? At the library?! How come you never thought of that before? That suits you just fine!”
“I did. I just never applied.”

There was an awkward silence between the two that lasted for a few seconds. Those rare moments of completely honest silence were the thing that made Martin come to these consults with Dr. Monroe. There were always these silences when there was absolutely no need to say anything because they both knew what they were thinking. At this precise moment of silence, both Martin and Dr. Monroe had the privilege of setting a perfect mirror into Martin’s soul, something that could not have been achieved with a simple set of consults, even over such a period of time. Not without the kind of history Martin and Cybil had.
At that moment, the thoughts inside both patient and doctor’s heads consisted of nothing more than this: Martin never really fulfilled anything.