chapter seven

Chapter Seven

            Maxwell had no idea why he was going to go see the principal again.  He'd already made it through the hard part, hadn't he?   It was entirely possible that he was going to get reprimanded for readjusting Phil's face, but why all this waffling?  If you hit somebody in the face, you get punished.  That's what's supposed to happen, right?

            But Maxwell wasn't really sure.  He felt like he almost had an ally in Dr. Schmidt, someone who was kind of looking out for him.  If Dr. Schmidt was who Maxwell really thought he was, what a powerful friend that would be.

            He knocked on Dr. Schmidt's door.

            "Come on in, Maxwell.  Make it quick!" 

            It was as if the voice of God himself had spoken.  Maxwell was pretty sure he felt the earth tremble again.  A terrible feeling of nausea crept inside him.  He had absolutely no choice but to face up to the fact that he might very well still be properly screwed.

            Maxwell opened the door.

            "Well, come on over here, ... quick now, hurry up!"  Dr. Schmidt was sitting at his computer. 

            'What in the world's going to happen?,' Maxwell thought as the eye-ticking started to intensify.  It had been very subtle for about a day now.  He approached the behemoth in front of him.

            "Okay, look at this, ... look!"

            Maxwell looked at the computer screen.  Apparently Dr. Schmidt had discovered 'YouTube'.  On his computer screen was a picture of a prairie dog or some other sundry vermin that was making a really strange face.  Maxwell had seen this video a long time ago and didn't really know quite how this related to his being in the principal's office at the moment, although he was growing accustomed to such non relating matters.

            "HAHAHAGH!!!"  Dr. Schmidt completely lost it, "Did you see that?, did you see what he just did, BAAHAHAHAGH!!!"

            Perhaps this isn't actually the guy I need to have as my friend, after all.  Politely, he smiled and drummed up a fake laugh, "Hehe, yeah, look at his face."

            "I know, right?  It's freaking hilarious!  What will they think of next?!"  

            Immediately and out of nowhere, Dr. Schmidt shifted gears, "Okay, we need to have a sit down.  Here's the straight dope.  Phil's mother, Janice Dick, called me this morning and told me she was going to be a thorn in my side if I didn't punish you “adequately enough” for what you did to her son on Friday afternoon.  She was hysterical and I just wanted to get her off the phone as quickly as I could.  I told her that I already scolded you, that we'd had a sit down, but that wasn't good enough for her.  So I told her that I was going to proceed to the next level.  This conversation is that next level.  Lesson learned, right?  Anyhow, this calmed her down a bit, so in case she checks up with us we had a little discussion, okay?  And by discussion, I mean I ripped you a new one, capice?"

            Maxwell's eye was blinking uncontrollably.

            "I know, right?, 'wink wink', hahaha.  Okay, that's settled, but really Maxwell, did you have to start fisticuffs with the Dick boy?  You know his mother is clinically insane, don't you?  She's also on the school board, and she's done nothing but make my job miserable.  She's single handedly responsible for about ninety-five percent of the paperwork I have to fill out on a daily basis!

            It appeared to Maxwell that Dr. Schmidt didn't really come across as all that stressed out about this fact.  He hadn't seen him doing anything remotely resembling any kind of paperwork either time he'd been in his office.  What a strange, strange man, Maxwell thought to himself as he left.

            It dawned on Maxwell as he was walking back to Ms. Butternut’s classroom that perhaps Phil was the driving force behind this last trip to the principal’s.  He mentioned to his mother how I didn't get in trouble for breaking his nose, knowing she'd make sure that it'd all be coming back on me.  Guess the joke's on him now!

            When Maxwell got back to the room, everyone was looking at him.  He could only imagine what his classmates where thinking now as he glanced around at all the curious faces surrounding him.  Had he ever been this paranoid before?  He was sure that his suspicions were warranted.  He felt as though he was in a Petri dish under a microscope.  When he finally got to his desk, he found a paper on it.  He flipped it over.  It was his quiz from last week.  The one he hadn't studied for in the slightest.  He held his breath and closed his eyes before mustering the courage to see what damage he had done.  Lo and behold, in red ink across the top, it read, 100%!  You read the text very thoroughly.

            As luck would have it, he'd received the only 'A' in the entire class!  This was a very pleasant surprise, indeed.  What dumb luck that he should get a perfect score when he hadn't even read the chapter.  It was, for lack of a better word, a real miracle!  If only he'd believed in such things.  It was clearly a fluke, one of those very rare incidents.  He didn’t even remember the last minute prayer he threw up before taking the quiz.

            And so class went on according to routine and it was awful, and Maxwell, as usual, found himself thinking of other things.  He recalled what Primi told him.  Your eyes are expressing?  Are my eyes really saying something?  Something that I haven't realized?  The twitching quickened. 

            Then he recalled what Father Wimbly had told him.  The holy ghost speaks to the body, okay, whatever that means.  I've never seen a ghost, and I seriously doubt anyone else has either!  Know thyself?  I'm Christopher Maxwell House, age twelve.  My life is a joke for the most part.  How's that for knowing myself?  He put his hand up to his face and touched his eyelids.  He could feel them fluttering away.  He looked at the clock, and seeing that it would be a while before the day was over, he sighed.

            Lunch came not nearly soon enough, and Jimmy put his tray on the table next to Maxwell.  "What's up Lucy?  I didn't get a chance to tell you how awesome it was that you burned Phil this morning!  What's gotten into you, man?  It's like I don't even know this guy anymore!"

            "Jimmy, it's nothing.  He was running his stupid mouth and I wasn't going to put up with it anymore.  And after how he treated Premi, well, I am just finished with his b.s.

            "Yeah, well speaking of Premi, she totally dug you man!  You really made a big impression on her when you punched Phil in the nose.  She might not speak English that good," Jimmy said in a thick southern drawl for effect, "but she definitely knew she was being made fun of.  She acted so worried when she didn't get a chance to talk to you when you were suddenly whisked away to the principal's office!  Did you get yelled at?  What was it like?  Does the principal have torture devices in there?  Did they sequester you?"

            Jimmy had never been this fascinated with Maxwell's life, ever.  It was both neat and annoying simultaneously.  Maxwell decided not to say too much about what had happened in the principal's office, and it drove Jimmy all the crazier.  He was too preoccupied to go into the details anyway.  He was more concerned about Premi.  

            "Do you know where she is now?"

            "Oh, I guess she went back to India.  You'll probably never see her again.  She's on the other side of the world, and there are sooooo many people over there you'd never find her."

            Maxwell's heart was crushed by this.  He might as well get used to the cold hard truth.  He was never going to see her again.

            As Maxwell walked back to class, his heart felt as if a four hundred pound fat lady had sat on it and squashed it.  He glanced over at Phil's desk.  Phil was looking at him and had a very deviant smile across his face.  Maxwell took his seat and smiled back.  Phil didn't know what to think of this, and that made Maxwell smile even more.  Phil shook his head and once again, turned back around in his chair.  The lecture continued.  

            Maxwell was sure Ms. Butternut was talking about something truly enthralling.  Probably not, but he simply had too much on his mind to be listening to this geriatric talk about prepositions and fragmented sentences.  His mind was racing with thoughts, Why do I miss Premi so much?  My eyes are expressing, my eyes are expressing, know thyself, my eyes are expressing.  Why in the world are lightbulbs going out all the time?  Did the dream have any relationship with what's going on presently, all of the weirdness?  Do dreams have anything to do with the real world, or are they just some kind of synaptic gibberish left over from the previous day's events?, ... of course the dream couldn't have really meant anything, could it?'    

            Then there was the matter of God and religion.  Maxwell was beginning to think that everyone was just a little crazy, thinking that there was some kind of invisible force that guided each and every action from day to day.  The concept of an all powerful, all knowing, imaginary friend seemed to Maxwell to be somewhat of a cop-out for people who didn't want to think about difficult or complicating questions.  Of course the question that was most pressing of all in Maxwell's mind remained, 'WHY THE HELL IS MY EYELID STILL TWITCHING!?!?'

            Just as he thought this, the over-com blasted, "Christopher House, please report to the principal's office at this time, thank you." 

            Maxwell's face went flush-red, What is it NOW?!  He got out of his seat and briskly walked out of the classroom and down the hall.  As he approached the principal's office, Jan, his secretary, looked terrified.  This made Maxwell wonder, and then he heard noises coming from the office.  It almost sounded as if there were a jungle on the other side of the door.  Maxwell glanced back at Jan, she was staring at Maxwell, "You can go on in, but please, be careful.  I'm sorry."  This didn't look or sound good at all.

            Maxwell opened the door and there was an old school drum and bass beat being played through the computer speakers.  Dr. Schmidt was in the corner of his office, sharpening his knife, which looked like it could cut through titanium.  He was dressed in his old military camouflage, and it appeared that he even had some blood or at least red marker smeared across his face.  This conjured up memories of a movie he had once seen with his mother called, 'Apocalypse Now'.  She thought it was going to be a movie about the return of Jesus, instead it was a war movie that ended with Marlon Brando beating a cow to death.  Even though she was really disappointed afterwards, Maxwell very much enjoyed it.

 

            "Maxie Max, my boy!  Howya-doin'?"

            "Um, I suppose I'm doing okay, sir.  Not a lot has happened since I was in here earlier this morning."

            "Yeah, about that, ... ," for a good half minute he just looked at his desk with a very distant look, "I just remembered something," he continued, "back when I was in Iraq, my platoon was doing some patrolling.  We always had some grunt go in first, he was our lead guy.  Somebody had to clear the rooms before we could be sure of a safe entry.  We were very good at our job, trust me, 'very' good, but on this particular mission one of the guys didn't have his head on straight.  Maybe he got a little too cocky.  He forgot to check in one of the cupboards, and of course there was this haji in there with a towel wrapped around his head and an AK-47 in his grubby pagan hands.  Well, he just starts unloading on us, 'ka-ka-ka-ka-kak!!'  Just unleashes all hell and I'm diving for cover and trying to get my men out of there as quickly as possible.  So you know what I do?  Do you?  Hmm?!  Guess what I did!"  The way he was presenting the story made him think of an over-eager, bumbling G. W. Bush, but with a much deeper voice.

            "Sir, I, umm, I really have no idea what you did, will you please tell me?"

            "I sure will, thanks for asking!," he paused for a second, then he grinned, "You're a very polite and well mannered young man, you know that?  Your mother should be proud of herself!  Maxwell gulped.

            Anyhow, bullets were whizzing by my head.  Mortars were exploding in the background.  Obviously we'd been ambushed.  Not an ideal situation to find oneself in. So I pull out my Desert Eagle. I never leave home without one, see?"  He pointed towards the table and there it was, a huge, shiny gun that said '.50' on the barrel.  "I'll be damned if I didn't put a couple rounds in that sombitch’s turban." Dr. Schmidt’s eyes were huge.  Maxwell could tell he really loved talking about his exploits.  "At this point I'm shot in the shoulder, I'll show you the scar sometime.  Just nicked me really, and I bolt out of the house while my security element is blasting away at these insurgents.  We eventually cleared out and firebombed the area.  I lost nine of my very best friends that day.  I can't believe I'd forgotten that!"

            In that very moment, Dr. Schmidt had a discernable hint of sadness on his face.  Maxwell didn't think this man had any emotion.  In fact, he thought, he might as well be a robot for all I know. 

            "Would you like to talk about it more?", Maxwell asked.

            "Nah, I don't want to trouble you with all this.  Its really, ... its really nothing you see?"  His face however, looked on the verge of tearing up.

            "Well, is there anything else that you wanted to tell me?  Why did you send for me?  You couldn't have asked me into your office just to tell me this story."

            "Oh yeah.  You’re suspended."  Dr. Schmidt said it completely matter of factly.    "I'm sorry, but Phil's mom called again to check on how much I had punished you.  I told her I suspended you because, we have no room for violence like that in our schools, and then she says, oh yeah? ... I just checked with your secretery and she said you sent Maxwell House off without any punishment at all!, then she starts screaming and jabbering on and on about this and that, and I'm thinking that I am going to accidently “forget” to get my secretary a birthday present for this.” 

            “So I am like, look lady, this is MY school, do you mind letting me handle business the way I deem appropriate?, and she was like, sure, you go ahead and do that.  In the meantime, I'm going to call the rest of the school board and the superintendent and let them know my son was brutalized on Friday, and that his nose was broken, and that nothing whatsoever was done to remedy the situation.  You go ahead and do your job, Dr. Schmidt, and I'm like, Roger That, and I hang up the phone. 

            So you see, Maxwell, there are times in life when we have to make tough decisions.  I tried to go to bat for you, I really did.  But if this were to get out to the board and the superintendent, I'd definitely be receiving some serious flak.  My ass would be on the hot seat for sure, you trackin?"

            "Yes," Maxwell said, showing absolutely no emotion.  Inside though, he was completely crushed.  Okay, so I'm suspended, no big deal, I get to stay at home for a few days, school sucks anyhow, he thought, but how's mom going to take all of this?  She thinks I'm her perfect little son, she's going to be completely crushed.  He could see the disappointment on her face already.

            "Good, I'm glad you understand, and again, I'm really sorry.  You're a standup kid in my book, and this won't reflect on your record, I promise you that."

            "Alright,"  Maxwell said, and he put his hands in his pockets and his head down and prepared to leave.  Just as he was about to exit the office door, several loud sounds shot through the computer speakers.

            FWAP!!  FWAP! FWAPPP!!!

            Immediately Dr. Schmidt sprung to action.  "GET DOWN!", he bellowed as he jumped from his seat and threw Maxwell to the floor, as if trying to save him from some kind of an ambush.  He hovered over Maxwell on his hands and knees as if trying to protect him.  He looked around the office suspiciously, the vein in his forehead throbbing.

            "Uhh, ... umm, are you okay, sir?", Maxwell inquired.

            "Ummm, yeah, I'm okay, ... I thought we were under attack.  That part always gets me, sorry little buddy."  He helped Maxwell to his feet.  The speakers kept making strange beats and noises.  "Okay Maxwell, I'm glad we had this discussion.  I'll see you later."

            Maxwell went back to class with the knowledge that he'd just been suspended.  Even though he had Dr. Schmidt backing him up, it wasn't going to save him from the fact that his mother was going to be seriously disappointed in him.  Furthermore, she was going to wonder why he hadn't told her that Friday what had happened once it happened.  She didn't like him keeping secrets from her to begin with.  Anxiety began to fill up every corner of his body.  Since he'd been performing so poorly in school, he'd promised his mother that he'd start turning things around, grade-wise.  The miraculous perfect quiz was nice, and it would look good when he showed her, but it wasn’t going to counteract the horror of finding out her son was a violent criminal.  He'd been trying his hardest in school, but his good intentions simply weren't enough. 

            So now on top of his crap grades, he now was in trouble for fighting.  This injustice, in Maxwell's point of view, was just another sign that prayer and belief in a just and caring God was simply a load of crap.  He didn't feel like he was a bad kid at all, and he definitely didn't think he was wrong for punching a bully either.  It was very frustrating for him to stand up for the little guy and get nothing but shat on in return!

            It just didn't add up, and the more Maxwell thought about it, the more it pissed him off.  The reason he wasn't getting good grades was because he was interested in things that the school just didn't teach.  I know what I like learning about!  Why can't I just focus on those topics!?  That way I'd have something substantial, something that could be applied to my college studies, or better yet, to my career!  It wasn't even that he wasn't interested in learning about English or Social Studies, but generally the material was very bland and uninspiring in a very “dumbed-down” sort of way.  These things made it difficult for Maxwell to concentrate.  He took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind and almost instantly felt better.  This too, shall pass.  Maxwell walked back into the classroom, all eyes on him, and took his seat. 

            About an hour later Ms. Butternut finished talking about whatever it was she'd been talking about, and then attempted to regain the classroom's attention.  "Okay children, settle down.  Settle down now children.  We only have two weeks of school left, so," the classroom erupted as the students started cheering and causing a commotion.  "Quiet down!  Settle down for a minute, we still have two weeks of school left, so this brings us to our final project.  It'll be a group effort, and you'll be grading each other on it.  Of course I'll be grading you too, so don't think you can grade someone you don't like and fail them regardless of their performance."  Again the class erupted in complete commotion.  There were boo's, cheers, clapping, desk pounding, and all around pandemonium.

            "Settle down now children, quiet down now."  This was how it always went in Ms. Butternut's class, and was just one of the many reasons Maxwell hated going to this school in the first place.  It was like a circus every single day.

            "The school board has decided that we're going to discuss the origin of the human species.  There's great indecision about which method to teach; that of evolution or that of creation."

            This caused Maxwell's ears to perk up.

            "I'll be creating two teams.  Each team will work amongst themselves to create a case for their own side, either evolution or creation.  There'll be a debate.  Each team will choose a representative to speak on their behalf.  Before we begin making teams I need to give you a little background, because ultimately it will be you who will be choosing the sides.  So for now, as decreed by the school board, I'll start by teaching both versions."  Ms Butternut went ahead and explained that evolution is the belief that all life began on earth from a single source, and through the process of natural selection, or Darwinian selection, life has become more and more complex throughout the eons.  This means that all life began from one strand of RNA or DNA, the essential building template for reproductive organisms, and that these strands would ultimately end up as the vast ecosphere that exists here on Earth today.

            The creationist's point of view, then, suggests that all the life that exists on planet Earth is the product of one divine intelligence, that intelligence being namely God.  First there was God, who separated night from day, and then created the heavens and the earth and so forth. 

           

            Very unusually, Ms. Butternut had the class paying very close attention to her on this day.  They all seemed very interested and very opinionated, so when it came time for the class to choose their teams, it shaped up something with creation consisting of twenty five students, with evolution consisting of five students. 

            Maxwell was the first person to choose evolution.  Obviously, Jimmy joined him.  So did Frank Workman, who always had the best grades in the class and didn't have any friends at all, just like Maxwell and Jimmy.  Foster Wilson, a kid that everyone in the class liked and got along with, also chose evolution.  It was looking like it was going to be only the four of them until the last person decided, and it was none other than 'the' Jenna Myers.  Maxwell's heart skipped a beat when he heard her lovely voice say 'evolution'

            Maxwell wasn't exactly sure why she chose this particular team, maybe she didn't want to compete against twenty-five other voices.  Perhaps she really was a staunch supporter of evolution, but Maxwell doubted she had much of an opinion one way or the other, 'Maybe she just wants an easy 'A'?' 

            As it turned out, Maxwell wasn't the only one to be shocked about Jenna's decision.  Her boyfriend William was clearly shocked and disconcerted with this prospect.  Of course he'd decided to be on Team 'C', team creation (Team 'E'  naturally being that of team evolution).  It was so typically North Laurel, where everyone in the community was firmly associated with the church, so it was no surprise that William would decide to join Team 'C' like everyone else.       Maxwell could see William angrily confronting Jenna.  She had a look of hurt on her face, as if William were saying some very nasty things.  Maxwell wanted to go over and save her, but he couldn't.  He didn't believe in himself enough.  He could've felt excited about getting to collaborate with the prettiest girl in school, but he mostly felt anxious and apprehensive about the prospect of working on this project with his dream girl.  He'd never talked to her before, and he was going to have to talk to her now.  She undoubtedly knew that every guy in the class thought she was the hottest girl around, so that automatically put her in a position of unattainability.  Maxwell figured he'd probably feel like a clown the whole time because she'd be so far out of his league.  All these thoughts created much discomfort and anxiety.

           

            The school bell rang and the day was over.  Maxwell was excited, thinking at first how he'd get to go home.  No sooner than he was joining Jimmy at the playground did he realize he was supposed to walk to the doctor's office, remembering that his mother had scheduled him an appointment .  The sunlight was still shining and the weather was beginning to warm up from the coldsnap.  Maxwell's mother would be working late again, she was pulling extra shifts to make ends meet.  So after the appointment was over, he was supposed to get himself a bite to eat and then wait for his mother to come and pick him up from the library.

            The boys would get a chance to work on the wall across the street, however.  Just as Maxwell had requested, Jimmy brought a yellow spray can.  “Its starting to take shape,” Jimmy commented as Maxwell applied yellow highlights here and there.  After a couple more moments, Jimmy had to leave, and so Maxwell was left to walk alone to the clinic.   

            When Maxwell got to the doctor's office, he walked inside and went to the front desk.  The secretary was a small woman in her mid-thirties who looked like she'd consumed a few too many caffeinated beverages.   Her eyes were huge and she appeared to be shaking in her seat.

            She was listening to Phil Collins, 'Sussudio' to be exact, and shifting around a lot making weird dancing gyrations.  She was also chomping away at a huge piece of bubblegum, occasionally blowing bubbles and then quickly popping them when they were complete. This was one of Maxwell's bugaboos, 'excessively loud chewing'.  All he could imagine was the thought of a cow chewing its cud, the thought of which made Maxwell laugh out loud.

            "You okay, honey?  What'cha here for?"  To complete this caricature of a person, she had a nasal accent that spot on resembled Fran Dresher's. 

            "Umm, ... hello.  I'm here for an appointment.  My name is Maxwell." 

            The secretary lady started typing away at her keyboard, "Yep, you've got an appointment to see Doctor Henry in fifteen minutes.  Go ahead and take a seat and we'll be out to get you shortly, okay hun?" 

            Maxwell nodded and then sat down in the waiting room.  There were all sorts of plants and really old furnishings around.  It was a very fascinating room filled with random odds and ends that Maxwell had never seen before.   Max took a seat and looked through the magazines that were laid out on the table in front of him.  They all had celebrities on the covers that told stories of how interesting it is to be a star, chronicling their exploits and expensive lives of lust and debauchery.  Maxwell felt stupid reading the articles, for he secretly wished that he could be so important himself.  He knew that it was only a pipe dream, but he wished he could be charming and attractive and well liked all the same, 'Afterall, there are kids my age in the movies, right?  What makes them so special that they get to be so famous and rich?'

            "Maxwell House?"  A voice came from behind the door.  A middle aged man appeared in the doorway, dressed in a shirt and tie and looked very much like the perfect stereotype of a modern day intellectual.  He was balding with a beard, and had a very trendy set of glasses on his face that gave him a sophisticated air.  "Come on back, Maxwell.  My name's Doctor Henry and I'll be seeing you today." 

            Maxwell walked with him to his office.  There was a desk that Doctor Henry sat down behind, "Go ahead and have a seat, Maxwell, or would you prefer to be called Christopher?"  

            “It doesn’t matter, sir.” Maxwell had two plush chairs to choose from.  He sat down in one and then slowly looked around the room.  'Something's different', he thought.  "This isn't like most doctor's offices I've been to, don't I have to get undressed and sit on a plastic bed with paper covering it?," he asked. 

            Doctor Henry only smiled, "This is a different kind of doctor's office.  We want you to feel more comfortable.  Do you feel comfortable, Christopher?"

            Maxwell nodded.  He could hear soothing classical music that playing in the background.  The doctor's voice also seemed very calm and disarming, almost as if he were some kind of robot.      "Okay, lets see.  How old are you, Maxwell?" 

            "Twelve." 

            "Are you having difficulty sleeping?" 

            "No, not usually."  Maxwell didn’t know if he should mention the strange dreams he'd been having lately.  He didn't see how this could apply to his health, or rather even why a doctor should want to know that he'd “started dreaming” out of the blue to begin with, so he kept it to himself.

            "Do you consume any alcoholic beverages throughout the week?" 

            "Umm, ... I 'm only twelve." 

            "Do you use any illicit drugs for recreation?"

            'What kind of a doctor is this, anyhow?', Maxwell thought.  "Yes, I do crystal-meth," he paused and strained his face as if in deep thought, "oh, and also a little PCP, but only on the weekends.  I love me some of that quality angel-dust."

            "You're joking, I presume?"

            "Um, yes.  I'm only twelve."

            "You'd be surprised," Doctor Henry said as he scribbled down some notes onto his paper.

            "How is school going for you Maxwell?"

            "Well, school is school.  I don't know what you want me to say about it.  I don't like it very much.  I'm having a harder time paying attention lately, and I seem to miss details like reading assignments and test dates."

            "What are you thinking about when you struggle to concentrate?"

            "What don't I think about!  That's a better question.  I think about the different kids in my class and what it'd be like to be someone else.  I think about what it'd be like if I had money.  I think about other stuff too, like how we're all made of a bunch of cells.  Tiny, individual, fragile little cells.  Just how do they all come together to make a human being? And then I think, if I hit my hand like that, why don't they just fall apart like pouring a bag of flour?  What holds the cells together?  And then I think about baseball statistics.  I think about time travel, too.  I think about all sorts of things but almost never what the teacher is actually talking about."

            "It sounds as if you have a lot on your mind."

            "I guess I do."

            "How'd you say you feel on a daily basis?"

            Maxwell didn't know how to answer this.  He was beginning to realize that this was no ordinary doctor.  He was also beginning to think that his mother had actually brought him to this place because she thought he was going a bit nutty.

            "How do I feel?  I feel awful.  I don't know why.  You know what, thats actually a lie, I do know why.  I wake up, I go to school.  Nobody really likes me, nobody really understands me.  People don't treat me with any kind of respect.  Kids don't respect me because I'm poor.  Adults don't respect me because I'm a kid.  I'm average in just about every way.  I have acne all over my face.  My clothes are all cheap and barely fit.  I have one friend, and he has all the video games and all the toys I wish I had.  He doesn't like coming over to my house because its so boring.  I'm a lame-o, I mean, come on.  What kind of a doctor are you anyhow?  What's this all about?" 

            Maxwell was beginning to feel panic.  His palms were sweating and the room around him started to spin.  The lights which had been calming and ambient only moments before, suddenly seemed incredibly bright, and everything around him seemed incredibly harsh at the same time.  Harsh in the sense that nothing was “right” anymore.  It seemed as if he could only get rid of the desk and the chairs and the diplomas and the plants, that he'd somehow feel a lot better.  He was having a real anxiety attack.  

            "Try to calm down Maxwell."   

            "Try to calm down?!"  For no explanation, anger was surging through his veins.  His heart rate quickened.  He took a deep breath and focused his mind down to a single point.  He imagined his entire brain to be the size of the period at the end of this sentence.  His head was pounding.  He imagined his world and everything in it along with all the people he knew to be the size of a single solitary atom.  He was, in fact, small like this himself, was he not?  As he thought these strange thoughts in an attempt to chill out, he was actually met with a measure of peace.  The tidal wave of rage and panic crept away like cockroaches in the dark scattering from a light being turned on.  The light.

            In an instant, the room got visibly brighter.  It wasn't just him who noticed it either.  Doctor Henry glanced around with a look of puzzlement.

            "Must be a breaker problem.  Are you going to be alright, Christopher?"

            "Do I even have a choice?"

            "Do you have any visual disturbances right now?"

            Maxwell knew if he answered this question honestly that he was definitely going to sound like a nut job for sure.  He wanted to lie and say he wasn't seeing things like auras and shifting beasts in the night, but he had no choice other than to be completely and utterly honest, "I see lights.  I'll be sitting here looking at the wall, and there'll be flickering lights towards my periphery for a couple of seconds.  Not only that, but I see a glowing light coming out of some people's bodies.  It is very strange and I don’t really care for it.  Do you prescribe glasses?"

            "No Maxwell, I'm not that kind of a doctor," Doctor Henry assured him.

            "Well then, what kind of doctor are you?  I've never in my life been to a doctor that asked me so many questions!  What's going on here?"

            "Maxwell, I'm a psychiatrist.  I treat the mind.  You're here because you have certain symptoms that we feel like we can help you with.  It's nothing to be upset about.  We want to help you.  You want to feel better yourself, don't you?"

            Maxwell still felt uncertain.  He had the slightest suspicion that Dr. Henry was a quack with an M.D. in monkey dung.  However hesitant though he was, he found his head nodding in agreement, 'Perhaps this psychiatrist might actually be able to help me,' he thought, 'best to give it a try, as nothing else seems to be working.'

            "I see you have a little bit of a nervous tick.  How long has that been going on?"

            "Oh, only a couple of days or so."

            "Has anything especially stressful happened to you recently?"

            "No, nothing unusual.  I stress out about everything, so that's a silly question."

            "Have you been sleeping well?"

            "I've been having some crazy dreams lately.  Before a couple of days ago I never dreamt at all, or at least not that I can remember.  I went to sleep and simply felt emotions."

            "You dreamt emotions?"

            "Yes, just emotion.  Now I dream like everyone else."

            "That's interesting, hmm, ... ," he said.  There was a pause, then he looked up at Maxwell, "It says here that your mother is a widow.  Do you want to talk to me about your father?"

 

            'BAM!'  

            From Maxwell's perspective, the room started bobbing until it was completely distorted. "Excuse me, what did you just say?"

            "When your father passed away, how'd you feel following such a traumatic loss?"

            Maxwell wasn't processing anything that Dr. Henry was saying at all at this point.  He immediately began feeling dizzy again.  His entire field of vision crunched together and swirled around so that there were a bunch of indistinguishable colors swirling clockwise and then counterclockwise, until the room slowly returned to normal.  His twitching eylids flapped dramatically, and then, in a flash he had a moment of extreme clarity.  "My father died?,"  Maxwell asked, as if he'd never known of this simple fact in all his life.

           

            It all started to come back to him.  Hundreds if not thousands of images began rushing in front of Maxwell's eyes.  It was all inside his head now.  An entire lifetime of memories that had been completely erased, completely blocked from Maxwell's surface consciousness.   He really did have a father, and his name was 'James Maxwell'.  

           

            "Interesting, ... very interesting."  Doctor Henry began jotting down some more notes onto his paper.