Paul moved to the town of York when he was only twenty-three years old. He quickly made a home and many, many friends with whom he chatted amongst daily. He was a well liked man in his new home and was committed to further advancing of his authority.
The town of York was very different from other towns. It was filled with social problems and temporary solutions, and everyone who resided there seemed lost most of the time and no one really knew why that was.
Paul grew up in a different town. It too was small, but the people there had a certain amount of freedom. Something that York could never supply.
The town where Paul grew up had the typical general store, dockyards and slaughterhouse. The sun always rose with similiar persuasion over the small hilltops to the east, and if you looked hard enough you could see Paul's house clinging to the side of town's only mountain.
Paul had somehow lived through his childhood without incident, or so he thought. No one ever thought that anything might be wrong with him until Paul was about to turn eleven. That's when everything changed. Until then, he had managed to fool everyone, and sometimes even himself. His mother and his friends were none the wiser to Paul's emotional darkness. He was a fabulous actor with an active imagination, and could have easily been a big hollywood star.
Paul never did have that love and affection that psychiatrists say human kind so desperately need to grow into emotionally healthy members of society.
His father was a town merchant. He was big, wealthy and fat. He was inattentive to family life and spent most of his time at the sawmill.
His absence was okay with Paul and his mother. When the old man was home, things were often violent; a quality that only Paul and his mother knew he had.
Paul remembered the time when his father came home drunk as usual, and started beating his mother. She was late with supper and five minutes was too long to wait. Paul, who was then nine, tried to help his mother but was easily thrown into the sturdy brick wall. That night Paul ran into the forest.
Paul had fallen asleep under one of the giant red oaks which filled the forest.
He awoke in the morning to the voices of hikers on the trails.
He did not want to go back, but he did. He knew that he would be getting a beating once he got home, but he was hungry and cold and the memory of yesterday had faded a little.
Paul had a deep hatred towards his father. He had planned the murder of his father a million times in his disorderly brain. He had poisoned and stabbed his father more times than Paul could count, but could never actually do the deed. Instead, Paul would go through his days praying for his father's death.
The happiest day of Paul's life was when his father died.
His father died when Paul was on the cusp of his eleventh year. Fifty years of poor eating habits had finally caught up with the man. He had a massive heart attack and no chance. That's what the doctors said. They said it was better to let him pass on to a new place.
From that day on, Paul was never the same. He knew that he didn't have to pretend anymore, and he didn't.
As time passed, Paul's mother began to worry about the boy. She knew that he had been traumatized as she had been, but didn't know the extent of his trauma until one day when she found Paul slowly twisting a screw into his arm. She became very frightened for him but was afraid to do anything about his situation. She ignored it, hoping all the time that things would get better. Things never did get better, they only became worse.
There was one road which led into the town of York. It was old and looked a lot like the road Paul had known so well as a child. Paul became very familiar with this road. He would wake up very early, rain or shine and take a walk through Miss Anderson's backyard, underneath the blackberry bush and over the abandoned CN rail tracks that led to the highway. He walked for miles down that empty highway, always stepping over the same broken beer bottles and loose debris which was scattered all over the road.
At forty-five years of age, Paul had never married and never had a real job. He had once worked for Mr. Dikstra at the old corner store. He carried odds and ends all day long. The work was hard and the pay was little and he soon quit.
"I am too smart for this place. I am wasting all my knowledge here when I could be wasting it somewhere else." He would tell Mr. Dikstra.
"Where would that be Paul? What job do you think you can do?"
"I want to be a doctor. I want to be someone important." Paul would say.
"Good luck to you, Paul."
Mr. Dikstra went back to his odds and ends and Paul walked back home to tell his mother the good news.
He walked through the front door with a grin on his face that stretched from ear to ear and trampled through the entire house in search of his mother. He finally found her sleeping on a lawn chair out in the backyard.
"What......what.... are you doing here Paul"?
"I'm going to become a doctor". He said joyfully.
"That's just fine, Paul". She replied and then went back to sleep.
Paul smiled enthusiastically and from then on never stopped mentioning his aspirations. It was this aspiration that led him into the town of York.
He first learned about York on his twenty-third birthday. A nice, shiny white van stopped in front of Paul's house. Paul was sitting on the front porch as he usually did during the early afternoon hours. Two tall and very strong looking men jumped out of the vehicle and asked for Paul.
"That's me. He said with smile. What can I do for you".
"Well Paul, we've come to take you to the hospital".
Paul smiled and said. "What's the emergency"?
"Problem with a patient, we need your expertise down there as soon as possible".
Paul immediately headed for the van and took a seat at the back.
"Carry on". He said, and they drove away.
He quickly became an accomplished doctor in the hospital. Some have even said that he was the best in his field. Perhaps he was, he certainly was very well liked by all. He always had a large caseload, and always had time for his patients.
Paul was a different kind of doctor and his patients knew and appreciated his difference. He was very approachable and easy going, unlike the rest of the doctors at that hospital. Paul tried very hard not to be detached from his patients. He had always hated doctors who were more like cyborgs rather than humans.
There were days when Paul stared through the grilled windows and out onto the courtyard. There was a lonely birdhouse which Paul would watch for hours on end. Every time he looked out, he would see a small sparrow picking seeds from the forest down the road and then bring them back to the birdhouse. Paul smiled as the little wings fluttered in the gleaming sun. He loved to watch the bird flying about the courtyard.
Paul would often sit amongst everyone, laughingly drinking his orange juice while discussing his medical expertise with anyone who was willing to listen. He seemed to fit in very well with the rest of the gang, and at times, even Paul felt like he was one of them. This feeling always frightened him, but it never stopped him from being himself.
Many awkward things continually occurred in the town of York. People would just flip out and go completely insane for no apparent reason. Yep! This was definitely a bad neighborhood. Drugs were everywhere which attracted many lunatics, police officers and ambulance drivers. This always created havoc amongst the rest of the sane ones who were passing through the little town.
Paul was highly regarded at the hospital by patients and doctors. He was a very good fit for this environment and always felt at home in a weird sort of way.
He felt no surprise for choosing psychiatry as a profession because deep down inside, he always wanted to know what made him tick, what made him think the way he did. So it only made sense to him that that route be taken.
At first, Paul did not go into his field to help anyone. Actually, his reasons were purely selfish in nature.
"Oh father. He often mumbled. If you could only see the progress that I have made. You would not think me worthless".
Time was a marvelous cure for many things, and although time could not cure all ills, it did make burdens a little easier. Paul had a lot of time on his hands.
Many rumors began surfacing about Paul and Drugs. Paul had already confessed to his cleanliness. Many people were saying that Paul was actually a drug addict. Paul would always say. "I am clean like Javax bleach and Sunday mornings! Won't someone just listen to me"?
Even the suppliers who seemed calm and proper most of the time, had their suspicious ways and moods. Paul was smart and could see right through them, and he told them so. When the drug dealers became angry, Paul would instantaniously revert back into the person the dealers loved so much. The person who lived on the effects of chemicals.
Paul had an amazing way of concealing things, which stemmed from great information learned as part of his medical training, he supposed. He was always very good at keeping things to himself. A tactic which was learned at a very young age.
People often told Paul that all of his sadness originated from his childhood. Back in that little town he so often tried to forget. Back in that little town that was so far away now, yet never far enough.
One day as Paul was getting ready to play dominoes with his colleagues, he noticed that a new doctor was now seemingly taking over his position by moving into his office. Paul was extremely angry and flipped out.
"Who the hell does he think he is, going into my office! I have to teach this guy a lesson that he will never forget'! He screamed.
Paul quickly got up from his chair, throwing it back onto the floor and into the wall across the room. People were running, some away from Paul and others towards him. Before the uniformed people could reach Paul and his intensifying display of insanity, he was in his office threatening the invader.
"Who do you think you are!" He screamed as his face reddened with anger and the distance between the two men became smaller and smaller.
The new and balding man became very scared of Paul and immediately retreated to a corner, putting his thin arms over his head as if trying to protect himself. Paul clenched his fist and struck the man on the ridges of his forehead. The force was stronger than Paul could have imagined and blood began running down the face of the newcomer. Paul pulled his clenched fist back and was reloading to strike again as the man wimpered in his corner. The people who were designated for these types of situations, grabbed Paul from behind and dragged him into the elevator.
"We're going to take a little trip downstairs Paul. Come on son."
"You fucken' f*****s! Don't call me son! No one has the right to call me that! You fucken' f*****s'! Paul screamed.
"Just relax Paul, and we won't call you son". One of the two men said.
"OK, OK. Just don't do it again". replied Paul in a soft tone.
Downstairs in the emergency ward is where new folks in town first arrive and the ones who don't seem to cope, depart. It was essential that they avoid the vomit and ashtray near the water faucet.
"Shut up or I'll kill ya all." Echoed a newcomer's hoarse voice in from behind the two automatic glass doors.
Paul had once entered this way, dressed in a white overcoat and smoking a king size cigarette. Those were the days he thought. Free furnished apartments and all possibilities at arm's reach.
Now on exit, his mode of transportation was less comfortable. Instead of padded cushions, were cold leather harnesses. Instead of cigarettes, were powerful tranquilizers. Paul knew his fate was sealed and began thinking about ways to escape. He struggled with the large men who were holding him.
"Let me go, Let me go! he screamed.
Paul's screams and dead legs were testing the patience of the big men. One snapped at Paul "relax already!"
Paul spit violently on the newly polished hall tiles and continued to struggle with the men. Then a lady dressed in a white overcoat walked up to the three men and stuck a needle in Paul's arm.
Paul left York and was last seen hitchhiking along the new expressway. He was never seen or heard from again.
Many years had passed since Paul's departure, but his colleagues would still talk about their old friend. Always wondering if he had finally accomplished his life's goal.
Outside in the courtyard the lonely birdhouse stood. Another sparrow crawled in but didn't crawl out. Everyone stared out and waited but there never was a return. They thought about Paul and his adventures down the new expressway which led to a different town. One that wasn't quite as nice as York.
The end:
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