The Call

My mind is like a minefield, carefully stepping around thoughts to avoid the explosions of pain that would leave me a bolognese. Don’t remember, don’t remember, don’t re—

“Isaac?”

Silence.

“Sorry. Yes, Therapist?”

“Thought I lost you there for a second, Isaac. Were you finally starting to remember?”

Remember… remember… no.

“Where is Rebecca? You said she was coming to get me. How much longer is this going to last?”

“As I said in the beginning, Isaac. How long this lasts is entirely up to you.”

“Where is Rebecca?”

His therapist sighs. “What’s the last thing you remember? Now really try this time.”

The room smells like dust and antiseptic. The lights flicker, humming like they’re tired. Thoughts. Memories. No. The forest.

“The forest. I was in the forest…”

“With…?”

“Rebecca.”

He scribbles notes.

“And what were you doing in the forest?”

Foliage? No… not fall. Summer.

“Hiking. We were hiking. But it was different. We had to talk. How long is this going to last? I don’t want to be here!”

“You’ve asked me that since you first saw me. No matter the problem, the answer is the same. It’s all up to you. What was it that you two had to talk about?”

Pain. Pain. No.

“I…”

“You do know.”

“No, I don’t!”

“You loved her. You loved her more than anything. So why? Why didn’t you just let her go?”

Isaac begins sobbing.

“Ah. That makes sense. Rejection. Betrayal. You were just tired of these things. Tired of being the good guy.”

More scribbling.

Why… why did this happen? My whole life… why me?

“We’re just good people in a bad world. But you stooped to that level anyway. No one deserves to pay for their feelings, Isaac. Especially when it wasn’t her that failed.”

“How do you know?!” Isaac spits through tears.

“My God. At first I thought I was just a constructive coping mechanism. A process for you to untangle your own bed of weeds. But you’ve reduced me to another delusion. Before we end this session, I’m going to suggest you do the right thing.”

His therapist reaches into his pocket, pulling out a phone. He tosses it onto Isaac’s lap.

“Make the call, Isaac.”

Isaac looks down. The phone is familiar. Pressing the power button, the screen flashes to life. Him and Rebecca, smiling on the lock screen.

“How? How did you get my phone? I need to call Rebecca. Have her get me out of this place!”

Isaac opens the phone, rising from his chair, making his way to the door.

“You can leave this room of yours, Isaac. But it won’t change a thing.”

The moment he touches the handle, he’s back in his seat.

Isaac grips his head in anguish. He cries for an audience of one.

“Make the call, Isaac.”

Tears slip through the cracks of his hands. Wiping them, he dials.

Ringing. Ringing.

“911, what is your emergency?”

Now he pleads for an audience of two.