CHAPTER
19 - FUZZY MEMORIES
* *
*
This chapter is Rated: EVERYONE
Just then, my Dad, dressed in a nice business suit stepped in to see Tricia still hovering over me, "Who are you ?" he demanded.
"I'm Nancy - err - I mean Tricia, David's supervisor at BBI. I'm the one
that called you earlier." she held out a friendly hand to my Dad, but
he did not take it.
Instead he went into business mode and curled up a tight fist against
his waist and asked in a tense voice, "Can you tell me precisely what
happened that would cause him to wind up in the hospital like this !?"
It was then that Tricia noted one of my Dad's cufflinks was clearly
MENSAN. She would have to be careful as anyone a member of this
organization was considered the upper 2% of the most intelligent people
on Earth through a rigorous testing procedural.
"Yessir," she started nervously and fished out a printed plan of the 3rd
floor as a reference from her violet skirt. Apparently she was prepared
for this.
"Your son, David - he - ahhm - as near as we can tell he started to
leave the building HERE," and she pointed to the part of the blueprint
showing the elevator that I exited when we closed for the day.
"But then APPARENTLY for some reason returned and instead of taking the
elevator to go down, maybe it was full or he just wanted the walk, he
took the stairs HERE," and she pointed to the steps nearby the elevator
from the floor plan printout.
"He then apparently tripped and fell on the last landing of the stairs
HERE," she said quieter adding concern to her voice, which wasn't
difficult for her as she was still shaken by the event, as was I.
My Dad nodded for her to continue.
He watched her carefully as she spoke. She added nervously, "We surmise
now he fell directly on his head, but instead of contacting someone
about his injury, he continued to walk down the hall and then fell down
right HERE," and she punctuated her finger on the floorplan.
"Apparently
losing consciousness from his severe concussion." and she pointed to
the place outside the women's restroom where she dragged me from the
earlier brawl.
Unknown to Tricia, my Dad was in addition to being MENSAN also a trained
and licensed Ph.D. psychologist. While he couldn't tell flat out she
was lying since this was his first meeting with her, he did see
something - something - was amiss with her story.
But he initially brushed it off as nervousness on her part as it was clear she wanted to defend the company she worked for.
"I see." Dad said carefully. "Now what do YOU plan to do about it ?"
Tricia got defensive, "Sir ! We're not going to stand by and do nothing !
We are going to CHECK those stairs very carefully for any faults,
especially the handrailings, although we ARE prepared to settle this out
of court at this time for this - figure ?"
And she reached in her skirt and handed Dad a slip of yellow paper. Dad looked at it and spoke.
"This would just be about enough to cover the hospital bills here." he said evenly not terribly impressed.
"Oh nossir !" she said correcting him, "We are ALREADY paying for Mr.
Wicker's entire stay during his recuperation, no matter how long it
takes. This money is for -ahh- recompense, for his injury."
"I see." Dad said, taking the yellow slip as evidence of a clear bribe,
but perhaps one to be followed through nonetheless, "Will this affect
his employment ?"
Tricia was caught off-guard knowing full well that today was my last day
here and that she was trying to get me reinstated but it was clear to
her NOW that =I= hadn't told my Dad about being let go of the job as it
was a temporary assignment.
"We - " she paused to think for a moment to find the right words, "don't
have all the details regarding this. I will tell you, as his direct
supervisor, I will tell you that he does exemplary work and is a merit
and credit to the company so - provided - there are no complications,"
And
she slowed to emphasize the next word nodding on it, "HERE - he is more
than welcome to continue his work for BBI once he has recovered."
"Hum ! ..." Dad grumphed but it sounded more like an angry sputter from
an engine. Tricia tightened her toes up a bit in her high-heeled shoes
nervously making a soft squeak. Dad immediately noticed this but once
again disregarded this as nervousness on her part.
"Andrew ?" Dad spoke carefully to me, to see if I was awake and listening, but I wasn't. I was still unconscious.
Tricia didn't really want my Dad talking to me until I was prompted a
bit better on what to say so she interrupted him, "Sir ? Mr. Wicker ?"
Dad turned his head and looked fiercely at her, "Dr. Wicker, miss."
"A doctor !" she said and caught herself from laughing in a panic - with
all these cards stacked against her, but she controlled herself. Dad
narrowed his eyes at seeing her stop herself from laughing, another
piece of body language to the puzzle he carefully noted, nodding
slightly.
"DR. Wicker," she said emphasizing the first word, "Your son, David, has
been through a lot." Then her voice went towards sympathy, "Wouldn't it
be better to let him rest and maybe talk to him later, perhaps tomorrow ?"
* * *
"No I don't think so." Dad said evenly. "You see, I've heard your side
of the story, and I KNOW my son can't lie at all," and he looked away
mysteriously for a moment as if he thought she was aware he was somehow
connected to this complete absence of independent thought.
Dad coughed to clear his thoughts. "In any case, I've heard your side,
now I want to hear HIS." He went to the bed I was in and put his hand on
my forehead.
"Son ? Andrew ? Can you wake up a moment ? It's your Dad !" he said in his best friendly tone.
I woke groggily, "Nancy ?" I whispered.
Nancy quickly high-heeled to the other side, the right side, of the bed
to take my hand which Dad permitted. Cautiously she 'accidentally'
tripped the covers over our hands so he couldn't see them.
"No, it's me, your Father. What happened, tiger ? What do you remember ?" he implored kindly.
I started, "Well, I was outside the bathroom when - " but I didn't get
very far because Tricia suddenly dug her sharp nails straight into my
hand hidden under the covers as a distinct warning that THIS was not the
story to tell.
I looked up at the ceiling for a moment and bit my lip in frustration. I
knew I couldn't lie.
There was - something - in me that prevented it -
from years ago. I talked to a few friends I had in school years ago and
they all agreed that since my Dad was a Dr of psychology that he
'whammied' me years ago into not lying. Even my Dr. today thinks there
may be some validity to this.
"Do the right thing." Dad said in a firm voice. "Tell the truth, son." He saw I was hesitating.
"It's so - fuzzy." I said carefully and kept my voice quiet because I
was definitely tired and I wanted to impress that fact to him.
"Can't we talk later ?" I said and turned my head to look at Tricia. She
carefully tapped her soft fingertip against my palm under the covers
signifying that was a good way to get past this.
"No I don't think so." Dad said forcing me to turn my head back and
regard him. "Tricia," and he craned his head up to look at her as she
suddenly shot him a naive and friendly look.
"Yes, her." Dad said with complete mistrust, "She told me what happened. I just want to confirm what she said."
"What did she say ?" I asked innocently, so I could parrot what she said.
Tricia dug another sharp nail in my wrist to let me know once again, this was NOT the question to ask him.
"I mean - " I started. But I couldn't continue.
Dad looked at me a moment with concern, "I know you're tired son. I know
you've been through a lot, but you've GOT to tell me what happened so I
know where to go from here. It's all up to you now, son."
"After that, I'll let you sleep, I promise." he added and caressed my head soothingly.
"Well - " I said. And I thought of the events that occurred and tried to
word them so they came out the way Dad could interpret them but at the
same time remember what actually happened.
So what I did was speak exactly what happened but I left out the words in the parentheses to complete the sentence.
"I left work (on a stretcher)."
"I was on the elevator (arriving to work)."
"I came back down the stairs (after lunch cause it was full of returning employees)."
"I fell down (after being battered into the women's bathroom door headfirst by Barbara)."
"I got back up (once inside the women's restroom to run to the stall)."
"I walked a ways (I did a lotta walking that day, that was no lie)."
"I fell down again (when Tricia asked me if I could stand, and she dragged me outside the bathroom)."
"And then I wound up here." I said with bit of triumph to my voice at having told him to this point.
Dad looked at me carefully. What I said was 100% true. What I didn't tell him was that they were perfectly incomplete sentences.
Tricia tickled my hand under the covers with two of her delicate fingers
to let me know that was excellent what I said to him, to cover up what
actually happened in there.
"Thanks for letting me know." Dad said looking at me slightly sideways. And caressed my hair some more.
Now that was something - Dad - did to me
years ago. (My Real Mom Rachel, said that Dad did that to hypnotize me
years ago so I would always do what he wanted, by caressing my hair).
Honestly, I didn't know, but as I am seeing a psychologist
NOW every week to find out just what happened then with my Dad years ago
and the 'relaxation sessions.' we had together where he taught me
obedience, we are investigating it through hypnotherapy. Anyways back to
the story.
"Well," Dad said standing back up again. "I already spoke with the
doctor. You don't just have a concussion, you're going to get stitches,
too. You need more surgery."
"Aww ..." I trilled out uncomfortably in my best disappointed kid's
voice. Tricia pulled her hand out from under the covers seeing the tense
moment of story time was over.
* * *
Dad smiled seeing I always would be a child in his eyes and I would
allow myself to be so for him, "Now, it's not as bad as all that. You
won't even feel it. You'll be asleep. As for me - I - need to take care
of some paperwork for what happened here."
Dad looked at me again trying to glean out a clearer story and changed
his tone to an odd one, not so much entirely of disbelief but of
surprise, both of these. "Really quite - careless of you to fall like
that on the stairs, son. You're going to be here for a few days because
of this. Understand ?"
"Yeah," I commented quietly, "I must've tripped." Now I didn't say I
DID, I said I must have, which to me was still safe and not at all lying
to Dad. Cause I had tripped on those stairs before, just not that day.
"Hmm ..." Dad said wrinkling his forehead and lips up at me, apparently satisfied with my recollection.
"Tricia is it ?" Dad said.
"Yessir ?" she said attentively.
"Let's talk outside for a moment."
"Okay," she said then turned to me and said, "Bye honey !" and then
immediately regretted it because she knew my Dad wouldn't understand the
work relationship we had and she DEFINITELY didn't want to let him know
of the 'Nancy Principle' contract I signed earlier.
Dad nodded his head again. There was too much body language here and it
was clear she was more than just fond of me as a hard worker. He now
mistrusted her entirely. It was time to get serious with her.
I leaned back in my pillow, my head still ached quite a bit - so I slept.
Outside the room my Dad soundlessly closed the big soundproof door. Then
he grilled Tricia almost like playing a card game, and he was going to
play a bluff, a hard one on a very weak hand.
He raised his voice dramatically at her outside my room. He WANTED to
see her flinch, "What the hell was going on in there with you two !?"
"What are you talking about !?" Tricia said with almost as much indignation and certainly, surprise.
Dad boomed his voice at her, "My son has never been so - cloudy - in
explaining ANYTHING to me before ! Now did YOU or did you NOT prompt him
to say what he did before I got there ? You had better tell me what
REALLY happened to him at work !"
Nancy narrowed her eyes unable to speak at my Dad, surprised at this
sudden turn of rage of his. He fumed on in her confused silence, "The
truth D****T ! Or I swear to God I'm going to sue BBI for all it's worth for this little 'accident' you set up for him !"
"Dr. Wicker," she said through clenched teeth finally finding her voice
raised it up against his. "Your son, your LOVING son has been through
quite an ordeal today ! Don't you think it's possible that maybe just
MAYBE, he can't think very clearly right now because of his head injury
!?"
Dad looked a moment crestfallen, a rare thing as he was almost always
right about everything, and if he wasn't, he CHANGED reality or the
perception of others so that he was correct in all cases.
That
was his way. He did it with me several times and I still have delusions
about things today that are magical. But he couldn't do that with this
situation, not at the moment.
"DOCTOR - Wicker," she said almost being sarcastic when she said the
first word. "You're a doctor ! You said you are ! What do you think
happened here ?"
Dad looked uncomfortably at the floor, but fortunately, Tricia relented
and softened her tone leaning forward to show she was being supportive
now.
"I understand you are upset about what happened. But lashing out at me in a blind anger
or at the company I work for isn't going to solve this problem. Your son
NEEDS you right now. I agree - he's going to be okay. It's lucky he
didn't hurt himself anymore than he did."
"Luck ... ?" Dad said. It was not as if he was questioning what she was
saying but that the particular word was not even in his vocabulary. And
it was true. My Father's luck all his life had been especially good. And
if it wasn't, he MADE it so. Luck, the very word had no meaning to him.
"Lucky." Tricia said hardening her voice again. "He's lucky. I would
hate to think what would've happened - " but she couldn't continue
talking for fear of betraying her affection for me, and she was certain
Dad would attack her on that bit of weakness.
Suddenly a nurse came up to Tricia saving her from trying to explain further. "You have a phone call miss Candy." she told her.
Tricia nodded at her and continued, "Look Dr. Wicker. I need to go. Our
phone number is listed on that proposed payment I gave you. We'd - like
to keep this out of the court if we can. If you have any further
questions, feel free to contact us there. Thank you."
She paused for a moment, "I have to leave now." she was going to say
more but Dad was making her nervous, and rightly so as he was suspicious
and skeptical of just about anything and everything. A true mark to a
MENSAN member.
* * *
Now, to clarify a bit, while this
particular chapter is fictional, I am taking references to a time when I
was in the hospital from banging my head earlier at a different
computer job, which is what I do to relieve stress. my sister I believe
was still living in Philadelphia at the time. So it was just me and Dad.
Rachel my Real Mom had also left the state sometime ago
when we had our mental 'showdown' and she wasn't permitted to see me
anymore anyways from past abuse - so it was just Dad to figure out what
happened.
Rose, however, was very much in the picture at this
time, and Dad did let her know what happened at work, and of course,
within a few hours, her having first made a stop to my apartment to pick
up Susan, my favorite Teddy Bear, using a copy of the house key I had
given her earlier, she had driven over to see me in the hospital.
Rose gave me Susan, which was wonderful.
Rose also promised to keep vigil over me so Dad could go
home, contact his lawyers, and find out what they thought of this whole
nasty affair.
Rose was right by my side throughout the night. And now I was torn. I
loved Rose - but I also loved Nancy. My brain was wreaked in turmoil
trying to decide what to say or what to do at this point.
And
oddly enough, Rose never asked me what happened at work. It was like
that was a forbidden subject for her, and I was glad, because I already
felt terrible for not telling Dad the absolute truth of the situation,
let alone Rose.
The closest comfort I could get when I was puzzled like this, like work,
was in banging my head (from the back) against a solid wall until I
couldn't think straight and forgot what it was that bothered me.
While
I had done this at other jobs, I never felt the need to at BBI since
Nancy was always there to comfort me when I got distressed. This one one
of many reasons I was so very fond of Nancy.
But banging my head had always made me feel better, yet I doubted they
would let me get away with that in this hospital and likely I would've
been shifted to a different medical facility, one for mental patients.
END
OF CHAPTER 19
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