chapter eight

Chapter Eight

            "Maxwell, you have what we in the psychological community like to call, 'severe post-traumatic stress disorder'.  Individuals who suffer from this often lose chunks of their memory and have intense flashbacks that can include visual and auditory hallucinations, as well as contribute to an acute form of depression.  This would explain why you have a nervous tick, but the good news is that it is very treatable.  With your mother's permission, I'd like to see you again and very soon for a follow up."

            'Bingo,' thought Maxwell.  It all made perfect sense to him now, 'I suffer from post traumatic stress disorder!'  "Its nice to get an opinion from someone with some common sense.  I wish I'd seen a psychiatrist sooner.  The way you'd hear my mom talk, you'd think I was possessed by some kind of demon or something.  Everyone is so superstitious, it's so ridiculous.  Thanks a lot, doc!"    

            "Everything, and I mean everything," said Doctor Henry, "is explainable through science.  If we haven't figured this out yet, we surely will in the future.  The world is very knowable.  All problems are very solvable.  We'll get a handle on this Maxwell, trust me."

            He could now remember all the different experiences and facts about his father, which, for the past five months had been completely shut out of his memory.  His mother never even talked about his father, so it'd stand to reason that he'd be able to go so long without snapping out of this strange medical condition.

           

            James Maxwell was a steel factory worker who worked in management.  He was a good man, very smart and very religious, just like Maxwell’s mother.  He loved spending time with his family and was a very hard worker who spent long hours at the plant trying to earn a good life for his wife and son.

            Maxwell remembered loving his father very much, and although it was still a bit fuzzy, it was all starting to return to him.  He remembered not being able to express any emotion at his father's funeral.  James Maxwell had acquired cancer a year before his death and slowly deteriorated until he'd finally passed away.  The entire time, no one really talked about what was going on.  They did this at James' request, and everyone was supposed go about life as if nothing were wrong.

            So when his father died, Maxwell felt, well, ... nothing, emptiness.  He went on with life as if nothing had really happened.  That's what his father wanted during his decline, and that's what he also wanted upon his death, business as usual for Maxwell.

           

            As he left the doctor's office, he found he had quite a bit on his mind.  He fumbled around in his pockets for the twenty dollar bill that his mother had given him.  He was going to go to a restaurant near the library a few blocks away where he'd get a bite to eat while waiting to get picked up.  His mind raced with thoughts of his father on top of everything else he'd been thinking about recently.  The nervous tick continued.

            He took long, controlled steps down the street.  It was nearing twilight by now, the sun just about to disappear beyond the trees in the distance, and the air was still warm and refreshing.  No longer was there much snow on the ground, only a few small patches remained to and fro.

            He quickened his pace.  In the distance, walking directly toward him was an old black man with a scraggly gray beard.  Not one to assume, Maxwell figured the man a vagrant regardless.  The guy certainly looked the part and was muttering to himself like a loon.  Maybe he was going to see Dr. Henry too.  Maxwell looked down, hoping the man wouldn't stop him. 

            Was he afraid?  Not quite, he just felt badly, and he didn't really want to deal with something as sad as being confronted by a helpless old bum.  But as sure as night turns into day the bum stopped Maxwell and said, "Can you spare an old man some change?"

            Maxwell was about to say no.  He really was.  But then he remembered how he had twenty dollars in his pocket and his conscience forced him to reconsider.  'The money is meant to buy me something to eat, and the change is for lunch at school for the rest of the week.'  He couldn't bring himself to say no.  'I don't need the money that much, do I?  I'll be able to eat something when I get home.  I won't need any lunch money tomorrow because I won't be going to school anyway and I'll be able to go a couple of days without eating at school for the rest of the week, or at least I should be able to,' so he reached into his pocket and gave the old man his twenty dollar bill.

            "You don't have to do that, sonny, that's too much," the old man replied.  

            Maxwell smiled, "No, you keep it.  It's not that big a deal."  And with that, the old man walked away, bill in hand.  Maxwell continued on towards the restaurant.  It really was a big deal, actually.  Maxwell hardly ever had twenty dollars in his pocket.  He decided it'd be best not to mention this little incident to his mother because she was very conscientious of where their money was going.

            As the old man walked off, he continued talking to himself and when Maxwell was out of site, the old man walked over to an old abandoned building.  There in the building was a young girl who was very grimy and dressed in tatters.  She was sitting on a step outside the entrance, playing with her equally grimy younger brother. 

            The old man handed her the twenty dollar bill and walked off.

           

            "So, how'd the appointment go, Maxwell?"

            "Huh?", said Maxwell.  His mind, it should be no surprise, was in the clouds.

            "I was asking you how your doctor's appointment went.  What did you talk about?  What did he say?"

            "Oh, I guess I have something called post traumatic stress disorder.  I scheduled an appointment for next week, the receptionist told me if I couldn't make it, to just give her a call."

            "That's fine, I want you to go.  Did the doctor say anything about your twitch?  I notice it's still there."

            "Yeah, he said it's a result of the stress, and that it should be treatable.  He told me some relaxation methods that should help it out."

            "Well, I would recommend prayer.  The lord listens to those who call His name, and I've been praying for you, Maxwell, I hope you know that."

            'A lot of good that's done,' he mumbled.  He didn't intend for her to hear these words, but they were clearly audible.  The car was quiet for quite some time after that.

            "Well it's just my opinion, and Lord knows it ain't worth two licks, but when the soul gets lost, well, it has an effect on the body.  Try talking to God tonight, it might do you some good."

            Maxwell didn't say anything.  He would not be talking to God tonight.  'I might as well be talking to myself,' he thought. 

            "Mom, there's something else.  The post traumatic stress caused me to lose a large chunk of my memory.  Dr. Henry says this is common, and that people are sometimes triggered by certain things to cause them to relive these experiences.  He triggered me tonight, and I suddenly remembered how dad had died.  I had repressed 'everything' about dad!  How could I have done this?  How could I have forgotten him so easily?"

            "Max, if the doctor tells you your condition is common, then it probably is.  It's just a painful loss that your mind wasn't able to handle, so it got rid of it for a while."

           

            Once they were almost home, Maxwell decided to drop some more bad news, "Mom, I have something I need to tell you."

            "What is it Maxwell?" 

            "I got suspended today, I'm not going to go to school tomorrow, I punched a kid who was picking on Jimmy and this foreign exchange student in the face.  I didn't really know what was happening, and before I knew it, I laid him out on his back and his nose was bleeding."

            "Max, I already know all about it, okay?"  

            'How could she possibly already know about it?'  Maxwell had heard about mothers knowing everything, but gee-whiz!  He was in shock.  She wasn't even upset in the slightest.  

            She continued, "I received a phone call from your principal today.  He told me that he'd had to suspend you, but absolutely regretted doing so.  He told me the whole story, and he said that he really admired you for doing what you'd done.  He told me how you were a real stand up young man, and that he wishes he saw more kids like you in the youth of today.  It's okay son, I know it's really hard for you to tell me the truth about something such as this.  I'm not upset.  Try to get some sleep, okay?  Tomorrow will be a better day."

            Maxwell sat there completely stunned.  He had no idea that Dr. Schmidt would smooth things out like that, 'Crazy old man might be useful after all!'  He went inside, ate a bowl of cereal, then went to bed.