Razor Ch. 01

If you haven't read my previous stories -- River, Hunger and Flower -- and you're thinking that you might just read those stories after you've read this one, I would ask you to reconsider. There are some loose ends from the previous stories that will be tied up in this one. But then again, Lit is a pretty free country, and free will is important, so go ahead and do whatever you want!

/M

- - - - -

It's true what they say, that you cannot fully understand another human being until you've lived his or her life, walked in that person's shoes, spent some time in that special someone's mind. At first a newfound friend can seem like a creature from an entirely different species, but as you get to know each other you find things that you can relate to, you find that you're perhaps not so different after all.

If you've managed to find friends who build you up and whom you truly care for, you should hold on tight and not let go, because true, long-lasting friendship has many benefits, not least for your mental and physical health. If you have friends who you can talk to about anything, where there's no need for lies or exaggerations, you're lucky indeed. And if you've been friends for years and years, perhaps since you were children or teenagers, you will all probably have different personalities, but you will all fit perfectly in the friendship puzzle you've helped create over the years.

Do friends always tell each other everything, or are there things that should remain hidden even from your closest friends? Does the true measure of friendship always depend on how truthful you are, or can secrets sometimes help strengthen your relationship? What if you feel that your friendship is the only thing that makes life worth living? What if your secrets are so dark, that you're afraid you'll lose your friends if you tell them?

Let's try to get to know a group of women; their thoughts, their feelings, their secrets and their innermost dreams.

Meet Sarah, who goes through life spreading happiness with her good cheer and warm-heartedness; who is not afraid to love and love deeply.

And Susan, a strong, self-reliant woman who never lets anyone get too close because people can't hurt you if you don't give them the chance.

And beautiful, well-dressed, smiling Rose who wants everyone to be happy and lives what appears to be the perfect life.

And Mary, laughing, all-seeing Mary, who wants to protect the ones she loves, but who also wants to keep them away, afraid that she will hurt them if they get too close.

- - - - -

Some days were just a little bit harder to endure than others and this was just one of those days. It had started with a long discussion with my daughters about the need to go to school, where arguments like "the government and the laws say you have to" or "don't you want to learn new things" didn't quite cut it. The sheer effort it took to coax two unwilling soon-to-be-teenagers to put clothes on, pack their bags and go to school had to be worth some sort of medal. The winning text "the proud father of the pre-teen super twins of the year" had a ring to it, with a slightly off key tone.

I liked my job, most of the time, I liked its comfortable sameness, sitting in the same room, listening to normal people talking about everyday problems, almost always things I could easily relate to, some that I could even help find ways to overcome. Working with, and helping, people was what I had wanted to do all my life, even if the initial plan had been a slightly different one. This was where I belonged, this was where I could help make a difference, this was also the safe way, the smart choice.

Walking in after a stressful morning, expecting to sit down quietly, listening to the thoughts of the people who came to see me, trying to help by just being there for them or reaching out with simple advice, but instead being surprised by a hysterically crying woman, needing true comfort and deeper, more complicated spoken truths, it took my day another step higher on the "just tough it out" scale. And the day just kept on in that strange fashion, with surprising revelations and a general need for higher attention, and more active guidance.

The call just after lunch from school asking me to come by for another "small talk" about the twins sent the day to an all-time high, and I gladly greeted the last appointment, knowing with absolute certainty that there would be no surprises, no strange revelations, no crying, no emotions whatsoever for at least an hour.

I greeted the woman in her customary jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt attire, her long copper-blonde hair tucked in messy knot at the back of her head, basically looking just the same as she had every time I'd met her these past few months. She said "hello" as she usually did, before she settled down in her usual soft chair. As I settled down in my chair, pen and paper in my hands, she looked up at me with a quick smile and then started talking. And I knew she would keep talking about her life and her friends for at least half an hour, so I settled in, trying to keep one ear focused on what she was saying, but my mind too full with spinning thoughts about my day to put in a real effort. Just speaking about everyday things seemed enough for her, and there were signs of her relaxing, her shoulders lowering slightly and her breaths slowing, after just a few sentences.

I couldn't help thinking about the kids, wondering what they'd been up to this time. Being the single father of two too smart, too curious, too active twins was turning my hair gray, and I was just waiting for that one day when I was standing by the door, waiting for them to "just do one more thing" before we could go, that day when I fell down from a combined stroke and heart attack... and... what was the woman talking about?

"... and then the mommy monkey and daddy monkey made many baby monkeys, and when the baby monkeys grew up, they started making their own baby monkeys... and that's how humans were eventually made..."

"Whaaat?" I said, my voice a bit sharp, the shock of her not so very usual statement shaking me to the core.

"I could tell you were kind of far away, and thought that I'd see how long I could keep talking about random silly things before you noticed..." she said with a smile I hadn't seen her use before, soft but wide, her glittering eyes telling me she was laughing silently at the whole situation.

"I'm sorry..." I said, my voice low "it's just been one of those days..."

"It seems to me that you've been having a lot of those days lately..." she answered, looking down at her hands.

I didn't know what to say, so I looked at her for a moment. I realized I hadn't even noted the text that was printed on her black t-shirt, even though it was usually the first thing I saw when she entered the room, the only thing that wasn't exactly the same when I met her for our weekly appointments. Today's t-shirt said "I Just Wanna Live" and I quickly scribbled it down on the paper in front of me. I heard her sigh and when I turned my eyes her way, she was looking at me, her face thoughtful.

"I can tell that you're worried about something, because... that's sort of my thing" she told me, her voice slow, as thoughtful as her facial expression.

"Your hands in particular give away clues about what you're thinking and feeling. When you're drawing eyes, you're thinking about something that puzzles you, you're trying to figure out if and how to solve it."

I looked at her and down at the paper in my hands, seeing eyes that I'd been drawing in the top corner of it. But she couldn't possibly see the paper, how did she know what I'd been drawing?

"No I can't see the paper," she confirmed "but I can see your hand move in certain patterns..."

She showed me with her right hand and arm the movements when drawing a symbol and I realized that she was right, it was probably theoretically possible to see what was being drawn, if you just concentrated hard enough, but for longer periods of time? No, surely not?

"When you're writing numbers, you're worried about money. When you're drawing flowers, you're sad, perhaps thinking about someone you miss a lot. When you let your pen follow the printed lines on the paper, drawing squares and triangles, you're mostly bored" she said, her voice low and hesitant.

I stared at her in disbelief, my mouth slightly open, thinking that what she was saying couldn't possibly be right. I shook my head at her and she nodded slowly.

"That first month when I came here, you mostly did a lot of numbers and eyes, four weeks ago you drew flowers and these last few weeks you've been doing eyes and squares. So yes, your hand speaks, but so does your face and your body..." she continued.

Disbelief was turning into an uncomfortable feeling of being studied, like a bug, and that feeling turned into something that felt surprisingly much like fear. As a therapist there were times when I couldn't show my immediate reactions to what someone was saying, and I'd always prided myself in my ability to control my movements and facial expressions. I knew that I was good at not showing any of my thoughts on the outside, and now this strange woman was telling me that I really wasn't that good at it?

"Oh, I'm not saying you're easy to read," she hurriedly said "I'm just saying that I've found a way. Without the hand and the paper, it would probably be really hard to do it..."

I put the paper and the pen down and looked her square in the eyes, challenging her to try to scan and analyze me without it. She nodded and continued talking.

"The first time I came here, I did it because I was curious about you, a single parent with an obvious need for money," she said, pointing at the paper in front me, looking at me with lifted eyebrows.

"I wanted to meet the person who said 'thanks, but no thanks' to a well-paid job offer from an organization known for its charitable work. I guess I wanted to understand the reasons behind that first 'no', that second 'hell no' and that third 'look I said no, stop bothering me', when the benefits for both you and society would be so much greater if you accepted the offer..."

I stood up, instantly annoyed by what she was saying.

"Look," I said, my voice a bit sharp once more "I said I wasn't interested and you've wasted yours and my time enough, please..."

"Yes, please is the right word," she answered back, her voice still soft and calm "please sit down again, because I'm not done talking, and there's more to the story..."

I sat down, still annoyed, and looked at her, scanning her face and body, trying to read her as she had been reading me for too many weeks. Her face looked calm, but her shoulders were slightly elevated, she held her arms close to her body, she held her left hand in her right, fingers white and tense and she was leaning slightly away from me. She was afraid of me? I took one deep calming breath after the other and let go of my anger. I didn't want her to be frightened of me. She sighed softly once more and started talking again.

"I kept coming here for two reasons, the first one pretty obvious and in line with what I've been telling you just now, because of your very quiet, almost unreadable personality. I suppose curiosity is still what it is though. The other reason is something that's more in line with what you'd expect from a person seeing a therapist. I realized that the time I spent here, with you, had an instant, calming effect. And sure, perhaps it was curiosity once more that made me ask to see you once a week, to see if it was just a one-time thing, but in the end it was that calming effect that made me want to keep seeing you. I need the calm of this one hour a week, more than you can possibly know..."

I looked at her, her body still slightly tense, but no longer leaning away from me. Her calm face didn't show any signs of emotions, but her body was somehow pleading for me to understand her, either that or my mind was playing tricks on me based on what she'd been telling me. Her words, that she needed this hour, was said without emotions as well, but somehow I could feel something hidden beneath it. She continued speaking, her voice low and serious.

"I'm not what you would call 'a normal person', which is an expression I dislike just as much as its companion 'a special person', but still there are worse words that can be used: different, strange, weird, fundamentally flawed..." she said before throwing a quick, crooked smile my way.

"Every society sets the rules for these so called 'normal persons', simple rules that it's very easy for most people to adapt to, the social and legal norms. When you grow up this set of 'normalization rules', is pushed on you from all sides by your family, friends, teachers and yes, pretty much every member of that specific society. Some people truly adapt and find happiness inside those restrictions, some people seem to adapt, making sure they always wear a mask of perfect normality, and some people never learn, or just refuse to either adapt or pretend..."

She didn't look at me, but kept her eyes fixed on her hands, hands that I could tell they were shaking slightly.

"So what we end up with is the normals, the pretenders and the specials. It's a very general and rough description of it, but as a quick introduction to my thoughts around it, I suppose it'll have to do."

She shook her head slightly but kept talking.

"Humans are fundamentally social creatures, most of us have a need to be a part of smaller social groups, we have a need to belong. Those smaller groups have their own 'rules', and if you fit the pattern you're welcome to join. If you don't fit in... don't bother. As you can imagine those three different types of people have very different ways to find and approach a social group, some won't even bother trying, some try too hard, it almost becomes an obsession. But the need to belong, to interact with other humans is fundamental. And not belonging, not fitting in, is the one of the biggest reasons that so many people have mental health problems. There's also a strong link between these feelings of exclusion and addiction."

She looked up at me, her green eyes still, but somehow I got the feeling she was scanning me, trying to read my reactions, my emotions. She looked down at my hands, which I had forced myself to keep still since she'd told me about her profiling abilities and she smiled a small smile and continued.

"Society's normalization standards and our need for other people, our need to belong, causes a lot of anxiety and stress. That's why we need all of you psychologists and therapists, to help us find a way to cope with it all. By telling you that I can read your mood and your thoughts I have now outed myself as one of the specials... or, I grant you, based on our previous meetings, one of the pretenders. If I would guess what kind of people you meet here, every day, I'd say you probably meet a lot of pretenders, some specials and almost no normals?" she paused and looked at me, the question visible in her eyes.

I shook my head, putting people in neatly marked containers based on their personalities really wasn't my thing. Every person was after all unique, even though the problems they faced were sometimes very similar to other people's. The unique way every person had of approaching life, facing difficulties, reacting unconsciously and acting consciously was one of the most interesting and puzzling things in the world.

I looked up, seeing a small smile on her lips again. It was almost as if her face was saying "that got you thinking, didn't it?". I shook my head once more and she continued.

"It's harder to define what you are. You've got this one 'ability' that goes beyond normal pretending. Actually it's kind of funny... if this was a super hero comic book or movie, we'd be the hero and the anti-hero, with our two opposing abilities. I'm just not sure who'd be the good guy and who'd be the bad...?"

She laughed a warm, raspy laughter and looked at me, her eyes sparkling with a wicked sort of humor. She had gone from a collected, well-spoken, kind of boring person to a vividly warm and provoking one in just under fifteen minutes. But life did have a tendency to throw you those kinds of surprises now and then, didn't it?

"Anyways... what I noticed from my first visit with you was that I was much calmer after just one hour, very much so. And that didn't seem logical somehow, because all we did was say hi, and then you let me talk about basically anything. But talking about everyday things somehow made me find solutions to problems that I'd been worrying about, and things started to just click smoothly in place. I could breathe so much easier after I left your office, and considering my 'special' personality traits, it's probably what's kept me sane these last few months."

She paused and looked at me, her facial expression calm but serious, not a smile in sight.

"I just wanted to ask you to please, please let me continue our talks, I really do need it..." she said softly, a pleading note sending my mind spinning away from my instinctive 'absolutely not' answer.

I looked at her, scanning her body and her features. She seemed sincere, but having her constantly analyzing me made me feel extremely self-conscious. Frankly it made my skin crawl. Her eyes looked straight into mine, and I felt every single hair on my body stand as if I'd been hit by electricity. It was a strange combination of excitement and fear. The old longing to learn new things had me almost drooling to find out more about her "condition", but at the same time I didn't want her reading me, I didn't want to unconsciously reveal anything more about myself. But then again, I had chosen this profession to be able to help people, not just normal people with normal problems, but to really help anyone and everyone that needed my help. And perhaps we had reached a point where we could start digging into her life and her problems, to help her find a more long-lasting calm than just one hour a week? I took a deep breath and started talking, aware that my decision might be something I would come to regret.

"If you want to keep our weekly appointments, you do realize that you can't keep talking about your friends, casually listing what's been going on in your life, don't you? You do realize that we need to start from the beginning and work our way through your thoughts, your feelings, your reactions and your conscious actions?" I told her, keeping my tone calm but firm.

She laughed softly and shook her head before she looked at me with that crooked smile on her face again, now accompanied by one lifted eyebrow.

"So, what you're saying is that if I start telling you everything about myself, I'll be allowed to keep my appointments, but only then?" she said.

"Yes" I answered, challenging her, not sure if I was hoping that she'd say yes or no.

"And when I've started telling my story, when I've opened myself up to you, how will I then know that you'll allow me to keep seeing you? What if the things that I have to say will upset you as much as what my revelations today did? Before I promise to tell you anything, I want your promise to keep seeing me, no matter what..." she said, her eyes staring unblinkingly straight into mine.

"I promise to..." I started saying.

"I want you to promise to keep seeing me, no matter what..." she said, counting something on her fingers "the next four weeks. Promise that you'll give me four more appointments, and I'll tell you everything about me, all the dirty little secrets."

"I promise you'll have four more hours with me, no matter what!" I answered with a sharp nod.

She stood up and looked at me, her calm face turning serious.

"Then in the next four weeks I will tell you about four significant chapters of my life, and I hope that'll be enough..." she said with a soft whisper.