prison. She's out. She's ... somewhere. Is she staying in the state? She can't teach anymore, so what is she doing? What about her husband? The article is a piss-poor source of information.
I lock the safe again, now including the new clipping, then cover it with its camouflage, lie back, and drift off to sleep, flickers sparking and wheeling off into the dark.
Session Transcript: #1
Dr. Kennedy: My name is Dr. Kennedy. I don't know if you remember, but I saw you at the courthouse the other day. Do you remember that?
J. Mendel: Yeah. What's your name?
Kennedy: I just told you: Dr. Kennedy.
Mendel: That's not what I mean. What's your first name? You know mine.
Kennedy: My first name is Gene. Do you always want to know adults' first names?
Mendel: I don't know.
Kennedy: Can we talk a little bit about Mrs. Sherman?
Mendel: No.
Kennedy: Don't you want to know why I want to talk about her?
Mendel: It's like the police and my parents. You want to know everything.
Kennedy: Well, look. I want to know things, but only so that I can help you.
Mendel: I don't need help.
Kennedy: Do you understand what's happened to you?
Mendel: I'm not stupid.
Kennedy: I didn't say you were. Your grades are very good—
Mendel: Do you have everything about me in that file?
Kennedy: Not everything. Not the important things. I need you to tell those things to me.
Mendel: I don't want to.
Kennedy: Well, let's start slow. Why don't you just tell me how it started?
Mendel: Are you going to tell everyone else? Are you going to tell my parents?
Kennedy: Oh, is that what you're—? No. There's something called ... Do you know what doctor-patient privilege is?
Mendel: Yeah. I saw it on TV.
Kennedy: Well, that's what we have between us. Anything you tell me, I can't tell anyone else. Not the judge. Not your parents.
Mendel: But you tape-record it.
Kennedy: What?
Mendel: You tape-record it. I saw you push the button before. Anyone can listen to what I say.
Kennedy: The tapes are just to help me remember what you say. That's all. See this door here? See the lock? I'm the only one with the key. Your tapes will be locked up at all times. No one will get to them.
Mendel: I want them.
Kennedy: Excuse me?
Mendel: I want copies. Of the tapes.
Kennedy: That's not—
Mendel: That's how I want it. I'll tell you everything, but I get copies of the tapes. This way, if you tell someone what I said someday and you lie, I'll have proof.
Chapter 5
Waking Games
I awaken to the sounds. I hate it when this happens.
Through the ductwork that runs along the ceiling of the house, you can hear a lot at night when it's still. And, yes, that means I can hear my parents having what they call sex.
This isn't quite as creepy as it seems; I've been hearing this every once in a while as long as I can remember, though the frequency over the past few years has been nearly nonexistent. It usually doesn't keep me up, but tonight I must be on edge, every nerve ready to fire, as if someone's stalking me.
After some rustling of bedclothes and squeaking of bed-springs, there's silence until Mom starts to complain and Dad says, "I'm sorry, honey. I'm sorry," and I turn over in bed, pull the pillow around my ears, and force myself back into sleep before I can finish the thought, before I can finish thinking,
I do it better.
Later, bang! I'm up again, suddenly, as if an alarm's gone off in my skull. Clock says it's three a.m. My brain is fuzzing and buzzing. I don't even remember sleeping, but I guess I must have been. The house is quiet, still. It's like there's no one here at all. or maybe like the entire world disappeared while I was asleep, leaving nothing but a silent black void outside my bedroom door.
Through the vent, Dad snorts out a sudden burst of ragged breath that ends as soon as it began. The world is still out there.
Remorseful.
What the hell does that actually
mean,
anyway? How did she say that? Did she actually say, "I'm remorseful for
I lock the safe again, now including the new clipping, then cover it with its camouflage, lie back, and drift off to sleep, flickers sparking and wheeling off into the dark.
Session Transcript: #1
Dr. Kennedy: My name is Dr. Kennedy. I don't know if you remember, but I saw you at the courthouse the other day. Do you remember that?
J. Mendel: Yeah. What's your name?
Kennedy: I just told you: Dr. Kennedy.
Mendel: That's not what I mean. What's your first name? You know mine.
Kennedy: My first name is Gene. Do you always want to know adults' first names?
Mendel: I don't know.
Kennedy: Can we talk a little bit about Mrs. Sherman?
Mendel: No.
Kennedy: Don't you want to know why I want to talk about her?
Mendel: It's like the police and my parents. You want to know everything.
Kennedy: Well, look. I want to know things, but only so that I can help you.
Mendel: I don't need help.
Kennedy: Do you understand what's happened to you?
Mendel: I'm not stupid.
Kennedy: I didn't say you were. Your grades are very good—
Mendel: Do you have everything about me in that file?
Kennedy: Not everything. Not the important things. I need you to tell those things to me.
Mendel: I don't want to.
Kennedy: Well, let's start slow. Why don't you just tell me how it started?
Mendel: Are you going to tell everyone else? Are you going to tell my parents?
Kennedy: Oh, is that what you're—? No. There's something called ... Do you know what doctor-patient privilege is?
Mendel: Yeah. I saw it on TV.
Kennedy: Well, that's what we have between us. Anything you tell me, I can't tell anyone else. Not the judge. Not your parents.
Mendel: But you tape-record it.
Kennedy: What?
Mendel: You tape-record it. I saw you push the button before. Anyone can listen to what I say.
Kennedy: The tapes are just to help me remember what you say. That's all. See this door here? See the lock? I'm the only one with the key. Your tapes will be locked up at all times. No one will get to them.
Mendel: I want them.
Kennedy: Excuse me?
Mendel: I want copies. Of the tapes.
Kennedy: That's not—
Mendel: That's how I want it. I'll tell you everything, but I get copies of the tapes. This way, if you tell someone what I said someday and you lie, I'll have proof.
Chapter 5
Waking Games
I awaken to the sounds. I hate it when this happens.
Through the ductwork that runs along the ceiling of the house, you can hear a lot at night when it's still. And, yes, that means I can hear my parents having what they call sex.
This isn't quite as creepy as it seems; I've been hearing this every once in a while as long as I can remember, though the frequency over the past few years has been nearly nonexistent. It usually doesn't keep me up, but tonight I must be on edge, every nerve ready to fire, as if someone's stalking me.
After some rustling of bedclothes and squeaking of bed-springs, there's silence until Mom starts to complain and Dad says, "I'm sorry, honey. I'm sorry," and I turn over in bed, pull the pillow around my ears, and force myself back into sleep before I can finish the thought, before I can finish thinking,
I do it better.
Later, bang! I'm up again, suddenly, as if an alarm's gone off in my skull. Clock says it's three a.m. My brain is fuzzing and buzzing. I don't even remember sleeping, but I guess I must have been. The house is quiet, still. It's like there's no one here at all. or maybe like the entire world disappeared while I was asleep, leaving nothing but a silent black void outside my bedroom door.
Through the vent, Dad snorts out a sudden burst of ragged breath that ends as soon as it began. The world is still out there.
Remorseful.
What the hell does that actually
mean,
anyway? How did she say that? Did she actually say, "I'm remorseful for
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