Trainwrecks and Apologies

Trainwrecks and Apologies

Jim is in the waiting room of a busy therapist's office. He looks around the room making eye contact with nobody but staring at everyone at their most vulnerable. He is expecting a stereotype of people holding soggy tissues, bleeding mascara, and people trembling or rocking in place and talking to imaginary people. But, to his surprise, these people look like normal people waiting to see any ordinary doctor or dentist. Other than, the teenage girl wearing too much eyeliner and too short of a skirt, in her apparent rebellious phase, Jim wouldn’t think anything was wrong with any of these people. Just ordinary people, the type that walks down the same aisle at the grocery store as him.

Jim, at the request of his family members, is seeing a therapist. He is 62 years old, three years from retirement (although he'll never admit it), and a man’s man. He loves football Sundays, drinking beer, and fixing cars classic cars on his off days. He’s never had a mental problem, until recently, and to him, he doesn’t have a problem. At least a problem he couldn’t figure out himself or one that a six-pack of cheap beer couldn’t help him forget about. But, here he is filling out, to him, evasive paperwork. He thinks to himself, why do they need to know this? Why am I here? Am I really that messed up?

So, after a moment of thought, Jim did what he always did on any hospital form, he filled out “No” for everything. He went up to the receptionist, an elderly woman with librarian glasses, and handed her his paperwork. After a quick glance, she gave him a questioning look.

“Everything alright?” Jim asks her politely.

“Sir, you’re sure about these answers?” The receptionist asks in a whispered tone.

“Yes. Is there a problem?” Jim begins losing his patience, which he has little of, to start with.

“Just a moment, sir. Arjun will be with you shortly.” Jim drummed a beat on the countertop, as it echoed off the eerily quiet but crowded waiting room.

Halfway through an article on a celebrity affair that Jim could care less about, the receptionist called out for him.

“Mr. Terger, Arjun will see you now.” Jim stood up, as the eyes of the waiting room followed his every movement. “Third door on your left, sir.”

He nods and continues walking past the tiny circular boxes on the floor with a whizzing sound playing out of them, helping to block out the noise of tears, outbursts, and God-knows-what-else. Approaching the door, with a transparent plastic mailbox attached and a large number three at its center, Jim suddenly thinks of bailing, but a kind-faced Indian man opens the door wearing a green cardigan and brown dress pants.

“Jim? Jim Terger? I am Arjun Patel, but everyone hear just calls me Arjun.” His accent is thick and infuriating to Jim. All he can think of is Apu from The Simpsons, he holds back his smile and lends out his hand to shake.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Terger we aren’t allowed to shake hands here.” Puzzled and angered Jim retracts his hand and puts it in his pocket. “Please, take a seat.” Jim walks in to find the room has a smell of incense and coffee. To Jim’s wonderment, there isn’t the stereotypical lye-down couch, with one headrest. Instead, there is a small computer desk with a beaten-to-hell office chair and a cozy loveseat opposite it.

“So, I was looking at your intake... the paper you filled out before coming here. And I must admit that there are some disagreements between your initial intake and now. Has there been a change? Something you’d like to share?”

“Listen, Doc. I’m going to be straightforward with you. I’m from the generation where going to see a shrink meant that you were coo-coo-cakchew, and you were to be put in a straight jacket and taken to the nut house. I also come from the generation where sharing your feelings was only for your significant other, and best friend, not some college boy being paid to listen to some jackass complain about his life to you and pretend like you actually give a damn.” Jim feels uncomfortable. The therapist say nothing and isn’t even phased by Jim’s comment. He just sat across from Jim with his leg crossed and his head resting in his hand. “Listen, Doc. I have friends, I don’t need someone to pretend to be one.”

Arjun looks at him bewildered. “Well, then who called and filled out this initial intake form? Was it your family member?”

“I guess... I don’t know.”

“Well, Mr. Terger. You know you don’t have to be here. I can’t make you stay. And if you here against your own will, well then, I legally can’t see you.”

Jim looks around the room and seems to be choosing his words carefully before he says his next.

“Every man is against his own will if he is married. Are you married?”

Arjun quietly chuckles, revealing an even quieter smile. “Yes. I am. But we're not here to talk about my marriage or my wife. We’re here to discuss you.”

Jim says nothing but looks around the room, a silent minute passes between them, which feels like a lifetime. Words are time killers; it’s when no one speaks when time is alive and present.

“If we're not going to talk about you. Let’s talk about what your wife thinks about you coming here. Obviously, you love her.” Argun broke the silence.

“We’ve been married for 40 years, doc. Is it still love or repetition?”

Arjun's eyebrow rises at the hidden pain and resentment behind Jim’s words. He looks to the clock and notices that it’s only been five minutes since Jim first walked into the room. Usually, when people enter Arjun's office people can’t stop talking about themselves, or have obvious problems they are dealing with; however, with Jim, he hasn’t revealed anything. Arjun has seen patients older and younger than Jim, but he hadn’t met the likes of Jim.

“Well, to me it’s obvious that you love your wife; otherwise, you wouldn’t be here. Unless you’re trying to hide from her.” Arjun grinned hoping to have some small crack in Jim’s impenetrable defense.

Jim chuckles, and an invisible heaviness is lifted off Arjun's chest. “I prefer to run away to the bar, where it’s a helluva lot cheaper, and where I don’t get overanalyzed.”

“Do you like to drink?” Arjun still trying to open the enigma that is Jim.

“Oh, I’m not here because I like to drink. I know I’m no alcoholic, Doc. I may prefer a drink here and there, but I haven’t been drunk since before I had kids.” Arjun is shut down again and looks to Jim’s intake sheet, lost for all hopes that Jim will admit his issues.

“Well, Mr. Terger. May, I call you Jim?”

“ Come on, doc. You have my entire medical history in front of you. You can probably see the video images of my colonoscopy. You think I mind if you call me, Jim?

“Let’s talk about this intake form. It says here, lost weight. Have you lost a significant amount of weight?”

“So what, I lost some weight the last few months, what of it? I’ve been eating more healthily and exercising, is that really a symptom. Hell, I should tell Hollywood or sell it to Jenny Craig.

“Yes, but too much weight too quick not healthy. I’m glad you’re eating healthy and exercising, but you’re a smart man Jim, you have to know that this is not healthy.”

Jim shakes his head and tells Arjun to keep reading the list off the intake sheet.

“Lost of interest in things… trouble sleeping… trouble concentrating... panic attacks.”

“You’ve just described the effects of aging, doc. I’m getting older I understand that. I’m not interested in things I used to do because they become hackneyed and worn-out. I have trouble sleeping like many men my age, and I’ve always had bouts of anxiety and panic attacks. That’s nothing new, but I know how to deal with my anxiety.”

“Crying spells… suicidal thoughts.”

“It says that?” Jim says in disbelief. He shakes his head into his hands. “God, why did she have to say that? 40 years of marriage, you think you can trust someone.”

“Jim, you can trust her, she only wants the best for you; that’s why she said it. She wants to help you and doesn’t know how. Marriage may be routine, but as routine, as it is, it’s those spontaneous moments that show that you love one another. This is one of those moments. A moment when she admitted she wasn’t capable of helping you in the way you needed help, so she did what I assume was tough for her, and asked for help.”

Jim looks out the second-story window imagining his wife making this phone call, the heartache and love pouring from each word as she described his symptoms to the operator.

“So, Jim, are these conditions true? Do you have suicidal thoughts?”

Jim takes a long and hard breath and rubs the top of his light blue jeans. “Yes. I have had some suicidal thoughts.”

“Okay, and what are these thoughts? Do you have a plan of action?”

“What do mean?”

“Do you have a plan about how you would kill yourself?”

“No. At least, nothing set in stone. I just think about killing myself, about how everyone would be better off without me. I just think that if I killed myself, it’d be what I deserved.”

Arjun looks puzzled and repeats what Jim said. “What you deserve? What do you mean? Why do you deserve to die?”

“Are you a religious man, Doc?” Jim says without looking Arjun.

“Yes, I tend to think of myself as a spiritual man. I may not be the best practicing Hindu Catholic, but I like to think that I am a God-fearing man.”

“Well, I guess that does make you Catholic then.” Jim and Arjun smile at their inside joke.

“The Old Testament believed in the code of an eye for an eye. And then there are Moses’ Ten Commandments and ‘Thou shalt not kill.’”

“Yes, I’m familiar with the writings. Are you saying that you killed someone? Is that why you think you deserve to die?”

The words felt like anchors being thrown off the Empire State Building. “He was just a kid. 18 years old.” Jim is sitting deep in the chair staring at Arjun's shoes, remembering the young boy's fresh white shoes covered in dirt and a rust-colored red, off and away from his body. Arjun is writing in his notepad. “Now, Jim. You can tell me anything. I am bound by the legal requirement to not repeat what you say here to any authorities.”

“The authorities know about it. I was the one that called them. It was almost a year ago that it happened.”

“Was it an accident?”

Jim nods his head and covers his mouth.

“What happened, Jim?”

“I can’t... It’s too tough to discuss.” Arjun kept prying though. The riddle and mystery of Jim had been cracked but not decoded. It was like seeing a new painting, but underneath it was a new canvas that revealed it’s true portrait.

“Jim, do this for your wife. I can’t help you if you don't tell me.”

“I am a train conductor for SEPTA. I've been since I got out of high school. I loved my job and never had an accident. Sure, I had a couple of close calls, forgotten stops, but nothing like that night.”

Arjun continues writing on his legal pad. “Keep going, Jim. What happened?”

“I just finished my shift, when I found out that one of the night conductors called out. I needed the overtime to pay for my daughter’s college loans. But, something in my gut told me to just say no. But, I didn’t listen. I stayed. I got onboard the train and began my shift like any other shift. The one tough thing after working for 16 hours straight is staying alert. Even though we have that bright light in front of the train our vision is still limited. On my last stop of the night, I let my guard down and closed my eyes for a second, and when I opened them, there he was. A deer caught in the lights. It was only not even a second, but I remember it as if it happened in slow motion. He wasn’t sure what was happening, or where he was. I put on the brake, but I knew it was too late. I pulled the brake as far as it could back, trying and hoping that the train would stop by sheer willpower. The train stopped, but it stopped 30 feet too late. I could hear the angry shouts and screams from the few passengers aboard, as they were just as confused as the young boy on the tracks. I stepped out of the train and could hear the sound of scrambling footsteps against the rocks. ‘Asan! Asan!’ Some boys cried out.”

Arjun drops down his pen, and stopped writing and looked into Jim’s mist-filled eyes.

“What was his name, again?”

“I didn't find out until later. It was Nasan. Nasan Patel. That name will be forever sketched in my brain. He was 18 years old, with a scholarship to Brown for the fall. The cops said he and the other teenagers were partying and celebrating in the woods, just doing what teenagers do, drinking and trying to makeout with girls. The boys who ran to their friend reeked of cheap beer and rum. I pushed the boys aside and went to see if the boy was ok.” Jim began breaking down, his misty eyes were now full and flowing with a steady stream.

“Keep going, Jim. I need to know.” Arjun’s voice was stern.

“What?” Jim whimpered out.

“Keep going!” Arjun sharply roared out.

“He was dead! OKAY?! On the tracks, his body just laid there. The force of the train had knocked him out of his shoes, and almost out of his socks. His eyes were open looking out unto the night sky. Some of the boys ran away, while others stayed and began crying and cursing at me, unsure of their own emotions. I didn’t blame the boys and still don’t. They saw what few actually get to see at their age or any age for that matter.”

“So, what did you?”

“The police came, and the passengers got off the train while others peered out the windows. Even though the Nasan was bloodied and damaged from the train, he was still a good-looking kid. I imagine it was easy for him to get girls and I like to think that he had a great future ahead of him.”

“Sounds like he did. Brown is a good school.” Arjun stated.

“He did. Funny enough he was wearing a Brown University t-shirt, wearing his highest hopes closest to his chest, I guess. I can still see that he had a small smirk on his face. I’m not sure if that’s just how it was because of the impact, but I like to think it was because he was thinking about something or someone he liked before he passed. I asked the police if he suffered any, but they all said no. That between the amount of alcohol and how fast the train was moving, he most likely didn’t even feel it or know what happened. I closed his eyes before the police got there. He looked so peaceful, and at rest. It looked like he was having..."

"A good dream." Arjun finished Jim's words, choking back tears of his own.

“Yeah... I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make you upset. I mean, aren’t therapists supposed to be like, emotionless corpses?” Jim asked, unsure of Arjun’s therapeutic tactic.

Arjun clears his throat and dries his eyes on his cardigan. “Please, continue.”

“I wrapped his body in my Septa jacket, to respect his dignity. As a parent, I couldn’t help but think, what if, you know? What if, it was my daughter or my son? Would I ever be able to forgive the man that was driving the train? I went to the boy’s funeral, but I couldn’t get myself to go in. I tried, then, as I was about to leave my car, I saw what I suspect was his mother come out and begin weeping uncontrollably. I couldn’t stomach it. I couldn’t face it. After the family left, I did pay my respects to the poor boy and grabbed a prayer card.” Jimmy reached into his wallet. “I keep it with me, every day. I don’t know why, but I keep it. My wife has tried to throw it away, so many times. But I, I just can’t. It's like if I toss it away, I am tossing him away, you know? I feel as if he is still living precariously through me and this card.”

“May I see it?” Arjun asked. Jimmy was hesitant at first, but after he practically screamed at Jimmy to continue on with the story, he felt he could trust him.

“Please, be careful with it.”

Arjun gasped with shock and fright.

“What? What is it?” Jimmy asked. Arjun said nothing but kept a steady eye on Jimmy. “What? Doc, talk to me?” But Arjun said nothing. He silently got up from his chair and walked into his closet. He grabbed something and hung his head down low for a moment. Jim couldn't see what Arjun was holding.

“I believe this is yours.” Arjun casually threw a jacket at Jimmy. But it wasn’t any jacket; it was Jimmy’s SEPTA jacket that he laid down on Nasan.

Jimmy stumbled for words, as an infant stumbles for his first steps. “But… how?… you?… Nasan?” Jimmy was now standing at his feet, gripping the jacket tighter than a vice.

“Nasan, was and still is my son.” Arjun said.

“Still? What do you mean? Is he still alive?” He innocently asked.

“In memory and thoughts. Nasan will always be alive; he will always be my son. He shall be like a favorite stuffed animal that I take with me everywhere I go. But, as my memory fades so will his appearance, and eventually, when my memory is gone, he will still live on and be passed on. From person to person.” Arjun slowly sat down and crossed his legs.

Jim's fight or flight kicked in. Not knowing if he should sit, run, or walk Jim stood and fought for words to form an apology. “I am so sorry. I can’t begin to describe how sorry I am. I mean… your boy. Your son, I took him away from you.”

“No, you didn’t. The train took him away, and the amount of alcohol that slowed his movements took my son away, and his poor judgment was what took him away. You, Jim, you did not take my son away.”

“No, but I was driving the train. I was driving the thing that took him, that took his life away, that ruined you and your family's lives.”

“Jim, please have a seat,” Arjun said calmly. Jim complied with Arjun's request. “Jim, we’ve all had our time to grieve. Some of my family members are still coming to grips with Nasan’s early departure from our lives, but eventually, they will move on too.

“I can’t accept this. I just can’t.” Jim begins to break down into a sob. “Why couldn’t it have been me? Why did I have to accept that shift? Nasan would be here now with you and your wife.”

Arjun grabbed Jim’s arm gently, breaking a standard no-touch rule in therapeutic practices, “Jim, please. Life is full of answerless questions. I ask them all the time myself. Many of those questions are asked right here on this couch. The point I try to instill in everyone is that we’re never going to get the answers that we want. Things just happen because they do. Some people believe in a God or many gods to explain why things happen. But, in reality, things just happen. It’s not because you walked under a ladder or broke a mirror. Sometimes, in life, there are horrible consequences for no actions.”

Jim sobs into the blood-stained jacket, and Arjun continues to hold him in his chair.

“Jim, I would give anything to get my son back. I mean, God and gods help me, I mean ANYTHING to get him back. But I can’t. What I do have, what we have, is something most people don’t get. I have a chance to listen to those actual last moments of my son, and I get to know that he was taken care of in his last moments by a good man. And most of all I get to meet the man that was driving that train that night and tell him from both Nasan, myself, and my entire family, we forgive you.”