The Labyrinth

Embarrassment washed over me. I knew therapy was needed, but I felt incapable of tearing my eyes away from the sky blue carpet, clasping my hands together.

“Well, more than anything else, I feel anxious. I can’t think, yet my mind is racing.”

“I see. How long have you felt that way?”

I looked up. Dr. Patel probably knew I was struggling to relax. Even maintaining eye contact was hard. She smiled, and I couldn’t help but smile back. Her kind, amber eyes were hidden slightly by thick, brown locks of wavy hair.

“A couple weeks now” I answered.

Time felt like it came to a stand-still the minute I bought a $5 scratch card from my local newsagent’s. I still chuckle at the memory. Realising I won the jackpot, my hands started trembling. I dropped the card and became incapable of picking it up off the ground for some time.

“Have you told your family and friends about the money?” Dr. Patel asked.

“No. I can barely come to terms with it myself.” I sighed, taking a deep breath in while closing my eyes. “Doctor, would it be wise to tell them? I’m worried. I can’t sleep. How are they gonna react?”

“I can’t predict that, but it would be helpful if I knew more about your familial relationships. Give me a sec-”

“No worries. You make a fair po-” I stopped, understanding that she was searching for something. I could hear her muttering about a disappearing notepad and her resulting frustration. My gaze drifted toward the window, with rays of sunlight illuminating the cosy office space.

“It can’t be helped. I’ll just use this.” She reached in her purse, pulling out a traditional black notebook. She moved the elastic band, unsealing the book, and uncovering the ivory-coloured paper within.

“Oh…” I leaned forward, “are you gonna take notes or something?” The notion made me feel uncomfortable, but I appreciated it was common practice during therapy.

“I am indeed” she stated. “It’s very useful, serving as both a prompt and point of reference in future sessions. Now, if you’re happy to, let’s talk about your family, Marco. Are you close with your parents at all?”

“To be honest, I’m closer with my mum. I don’t speak to my dad at all. He distanced himself from our family a few years ago. Maybe it’s more accurate to say Mum kicked him out, but he never came back to make things right. It always felt like he cared more about staying drunk than being a good father. I don’t know, I’m not exactly close with my mum either. I can’t open up to her.”

After taking a pause, I noticed Dr. Patel was still jotting down notes and nodding. Curiosity almost overtook me, as I thought about what else she was jotting down, her black ballpoint pen dancing across the page. I waited to hear her response. “Is there anyone you feel you can confide in?”

“No. In fact, that’s kinda why I came here. I don’t think I can trust anyone. What if people tell me I don’t deserve the money? It’s like I’m caught between screaming for help and wanting no-one to hear me for fear of judgement and criticism. Honestly, it’s easier to tell the animals I look after at the local sanctuary!”

Dr. Patel closed her notebook and gave me a reassuring look. “Marco, you have to know you’ve done nothing wrong. In fact, plenty of people feel the way you do when they come into sudden wealth. Many feel disconnected from their peers, or guilty that they were blessed with a financial windfall. Now, I can see on your form that you have no history of depression or anxiety. You’ve touched on it already, but how does this issue affect how you feel about yourself?”

I grimaced. Her question put me on a cliff’s edge. This was it. I was going to be completely vulnerable for the first time; stripping away all pretence and bravado, I decided to take the leap.

“I don’t feel good enough. That’s the gist of it. I don’t feel strong enough to take on all the challenges that’ll come with this money. I don’t feel intelligent enough to know how to keep it. Hell, I’m stuck on what I wanna eat for dinner most days! I can’t do this. I feel... paralysed!”

“Confronting and understanding your feelings is progress. You need to work through them, and I’m right here to help you do that.”

She spoke with such a comforting tone that I felt at ease. I relaxed, sinking into the dark red chaise longue. I wanted so badly to believe I had the strength to persevere. The lounge was so cosy I felt my eyelids drooping, and I needed to focus on what Dr. Patel was saying.

“Sorry Doctor, could you repeat that?” I said.

“I didn’t say anything Marco. I think it’s your phone. A case of butt-dialling it seems.”

“Oh God! I thought I turned my phone off. Sorry! I’ll make sure it’s a quick conversation.”

“Hello! Marco, honey! Can you hear me?”

“Hi Ma. I’m at an appointment right now. I can’t really chat unless it’s urgent.”

“You didn’t tell me you were ill, darling! What’s wrong? Are you eating enough? Listen, your father and I have been talking for the past week. He’s at the house today. I’ll tell you more when you get home, but he found your scratch card, and -”

My eyes widened. “He what? But-but why was he in my room?”

“That doesn’t matter. What we both want to know is why you hid the thing. Why didn’t you tell us, honey?”

“Ma, I was gonna tell you eventually. I swear!” I said, in a high-pitched tone.

“Marco Ricci! Don’t you lie to me! We deserve to know. It’s $20,000! This could change things for us. You know how much your mother needs to pay off that credit card debt. Your father says he needs help with his car payments too.” I could hear our family dog, Bruce, barking in the background as my mother raised her voice to compensate.

“Just come home honey, I’ll make dinner and we can talk about this, okay? You can hear me right?”

“Yes Ma.”

“Alright then. Take care and get home safe.”

“Okay, I will. I’ve got to go now. Bye.” After ending the call, and this time making sure my phone was off, I turned to Dr. Patel. “While that phone call probably gave you more insight into my life, I promise it wasn’t planned!”

Her eyes, which were fixated on that little black book, conveyed pain and sympathy as they returned my gaze. “I can see why you struggled with telling them. I’m sorry they found out like that. But the conversation must happen. Tell your parents why you felt the way you did. A sensible, even-tempered approach is the best way to go. Then ask if they can give their reaction without being critical.”

I snorted. ”You don’t know them at all, doctor. That’s a car crash waiting to happen. I can’t go home. I know I’ll have to eventually, but I need time. I-”

Before I could finish, the sound of chirping birds and crackling leaves filled the room.

“Speaking of time constraints, it appears your hour is up.” Dr. Patel glanced at the LED alarm clock placed on her bookshelf. She left her notebook on her chair and went to turn it off. “There’s one big issue we touched on today Marco, and that’s vulnerability. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. It’s also very important to talk about it. Suppressing your emotions isn’t only unhealthy, but destructive. I’m glad you came to see me, but until you open up to family and friends, you cannot truly acknowledge your situation as reality. Your duty to yourself means letting go of that burden. Theirs is to listen and offer unconditional support.”

“That won’t happen doctor. Mum will interrupt and tell me how disappointed she is, expecting I listen to her, and God only knows what my dad will say. You know what? I might have a drink to calm my nerves. Raised By Wolves is just around the corner. This place is way too close to home!”

“You never know. Perhaps they’ll surprise you. Shall we?” Dr Patel motioned to the door. “If you’re happy, I’d like to book an appointment for next week. How does Thursday afternoon sound?”

“Yeah, sounds good doctor. I’ll keep you posted if I can’t make it.”

“Alright. Take care now. Enjoy your drink!”

“Thanks. I’ll try.”

I laughed as I left the office. Peace of mind seemed an impossibility, but I was preoccupied with imagining a cold pale ale in front of me, taking my first sip, and feeling my worries melt away. For a short while, I would be content. My body responded in kind, with more power injected in every step I took. Rush hour turned Willow Street into a hive of activity. Cars were grinding to a halt. Pizza delivery drivers were hopping on scooters and joining the heavy traffic. I made my way to a marked crosswalk, and pushed the button. I was finally opposite my favourite place of respite. It didn’t look like much: tiny, but well-stocked. You had comfort, a good selection of drinks, and a jukebox on the left hand side. What more could anyone ask for? As the light turned green, I strolled across and went inside. Then, my heart dropped.

“Hey Marco! What’s this I’m hearing about a scratch card? Did you get lucky?” said Sarah, while wiping down a glass.

I grimaced as my dad swivelled the bar stool around to face me. He put his pint down hard, beer sloshing over the edge.

“Son! We did it! I know you’ll be there for the family.”

“I just… I need some time.” I only took a few steps in, but I already felt suffocated. While backing out, I bumped into someone, which thankfully forced me to turn away. I could hear Sarah calling for me, but the sound of my heartbeat took centre stage very quickly. I ran outside, hunched over and panting. Of course he’d be here now. He never did anything else. It’s been years. Too long.

I straightened up and turned right, now en route toward the boardwalk, seeking refuge not only from my family, but my own thoughts. Any bar would do, although hunger pangs pushed me to favouring a restaurant. Nevertheless, I kept walking, wanting to put as much distance between my dad and I as possible. With each passing minute, I paid less attention to my surroundings, helplessly focusing on the bomb dropped into my life.

I turned a corner, and came face-to-face with a man in all-black attire, including his sunglasses. We both tried side-stepping each other, only to enter into an awkward dance that landed us back to square one.

“This would be easier if you were heading to the casino bud.” He said.

“The casino? You know, I never pay much attention to it but…” the minute my eyes were hit by flashing lights, I was transfixed. A neon sign spelled “The Labyrinth” overhead. It looked bright. Temperate. Slot machines were visible from the sidewalk, inviting you to take a seat.

“Well, as long as you haven’t been black-booked, you should go on in! See what all the fuss is about.”

“Black-booked? I don’t know what that is, but I’ve never been here.”

“Then you’re good. If you were on our list, trust me, you would know. You’ve just got happy-hour to worry about my friend!”

Yes. This could work, for a little while. I’d figure things out here. As we went inside, the man put his hand on my shoulder and smirked. “Stay as long as you want. We’re open all night.”