Last Night I Sang to the Monster (25 page)

I read the letter over and over and over. And then I opened his journal and I saw he’d written his cell phone number and his address. I thought of the imaginary goodbye scene that Rafael had written.
I will see you again because I want to see you again.

For a moment, I thought of the word
happy
and it was a word that just, well, it felt like it was visiting me. I knew it wouldn’t last for very long and I’d be sad again and then it would be worse because it’s one thing to be sad and it’s another thing to be sad once you’ve been happy. Being sad after you’ve been happy is the worst thing in the world.

I must have been smiling because Amit asked me, “What are you smiling about?”

“I was just thinking.”

“Well, I don’t know what you have to smile about after the shitty way you treated Rafael in group. I mean, dude, that really sucked.”

I didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry I behaved like a five-year-old. I’m sorry.”

Amit smiled. “Yeah, just like Rafael said.”

“Yeah, just like Rafael said. I’ll make amends to the group.”

“I’ll remind you. In case you forget.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Good.” Amit studied his painting. “What do you think?” He held up his painting. It was a road. It didn’t look like my road. Well, why should it? It was
his
road. There were tepees and cacti and all kinds of stuff on either side of the road. His painting was a lot more complicated than mine.

“You want to tell me what it means?”

“I’m taking it into Group.”

I was glad Amit wasn’t mad at me anymore. It was weird, but I felt like talking. Maybe I was tired of my internal life. My sad internal life. “Amit? What’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to you?”

He got this look on his face, like maybe he didn’t want to answer. But he
did
answer. “In prison—well, bad things happened.”

I think I knew what he was telling me. “Do you think about it a lot?”

“Sometimes, I have dreams.”

I nodded. I didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry those bad things happened.”

He nodded. “Sometimes I wish it would all go away.”

“Yeah.”

“But I guess things don’t go away just because we want them to.”

“Guess not.”

“What’s the worst thing that happened to you?”

“I lost my parents.” I didn’t know I was going to say that. I didn’t even know if that was true. But I knew it
was
true. I’d never said it before.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No,” I said. “I can’t.” I thought of what Rafael had said, that I should be put on contract regarding the two words
I can’t.

“That’s cool.” Amit kept staring at his painting as if he were trying to analyze himself. “You wanna go have a cigarette?”

“Yeah,” I said.

When we stepped out into the night air, I could hear Amit talking to me. I mean, it was good to hear a human voice. It was good that the voice was right there next to me. But I wasn’t really listening to what he was saying. I thought of Rafael and I kept seeing him as he sang to his monster. I kept seeing Adam’s face and it was a kind face, a good face, and I kept seeing tears on Lizzie’s face and I thought she must have been really pretty when she was young and I wondered where I was going. I thought of the road in my drawing.

As we reached the smoking pit, I heard Amit say that the weather was changing. “It’s like you can almost feel winter going away.”

That was a nice thought. A good thought. A beautiful thought.

Summertime
. It was a song. It was a season. I wondered if that season would ever live inside of me.

“I keep having this dream. You’re in it, and Rafael’s in it, and my dad’s in it.”

“What’s the dream?”

So I told him all about the dream.

“Are you mad at me in the dream?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“I’m the guy that’s making you decide. Is that how you see me—as the guy that’s making you choose between—,” Adam stopped. He looked at me. “Let’s forget about me for just—tell me, what does your father represent in the dream?”

“He’s my father. My father represents my father.”

“But you said you really wanted to go with Rafael.”

“I do. I mean, in the dream I do. In the dream, I want to choose him. But I don’t. I wind up going with my father.”

“You choose drinking.”

“Well, no, I choose my father. But, well, yeah, I guess I mean that’s how it turns out.”

“You choose your father. You choose drinking. Your father represents what, Zach?”

“My old life.”

“And Rafael represents what?”

“My new life, I guess.”

“Yes, I think so. And in the dream you choose your old life over your new life. How does that make you feel?”

“But he’s my father. I’m supposed to pick my father.”

“Are you?”

I just looked at Adam. “Yes.”

“Zach, the last time you were in my office—”

“When I sort of fell apart.”

“Yeah, when you sort of fell apart. You said you missed your father. You said it hurt.”

“Yeah.”

“Can I ask you a question?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “Do you believe you’ll see Rafael again?”

“Yes. I guess I do. I hope so. I’d like to.”

“What will stop you from seeing him again?”

“Nothing—I guess.”

“You guess? Don’t you know how to get in touch with him?”

“Sure I do. I can reach him if I want.”

“Do you want?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. And do you believe you’ll see your father again?”

I couldn’t answer his question. I didn’t know how to answer it.

Adam was studying my face. “You avoid questions about your family.”

“I guess I do.”

“Yeah, I guess you do. Can I ask you something, Zach? Can I be really honest with you?”

“Yeah, you can be honest.”

“How much longer are you going to put off dealing with what got you here?”

“I’m trying.”

“The sketch was good work. It was, Zach. And the work you did with Rafael, that was good work.”

“What do you mean the work I did with Rafael? Rafael’s my friend.”

Adam looked at me. He had that careful look on his face and then he said, “You let yourself love him. That’s good work for someone who doesn’t like to feel.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I said. “But I didn’t say goodbye to him.”

“I know. Can you tell me why?”

“Don’t you have a theory about that?”

“I don’t care about my theory.”

“It hurt too much—to say goodbye.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Because—”

“Will you do something for me, Zach?”

“Sure.”

“Repeat after me.
I
.”

“I.”

“
Love
.”

“Love.”

“
Rafael
.”

“Rafael.”

“
I love Rafael.
”

“I love Rafael.”

Adam nodded and looked straight at me. “That’s hard for you to say, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it’s hard.”

“Even though it’s true, it’s hard.”

“Yes.”

“It’s normal to love people, Zach.”

“I’m not normal, Adam.”

“I get that. But I think you fight—.” He stopped and searched for a word or a thought. “You fight yourself, Zach. And you keep fighting yourself. And it’s killing you because you’re fighting the best part of yourself.”

“I—” I didn’t even know what I wanted to say. I was staring at the floor again. I was back to that.

“Do you believe that Rafael loves you? Do you think that’s true?”

“That’s what he said. But what does that mean?”

“Could it mean he cares about you? Could it mean that he thinks what happens to you matters?”

“Yes. I guess so.”

“You guess so? Let’s just say Rafael loves you. Why? Why does he love you? Does he have ulterior motives? Does he have selfish or unhealthy intentions? Is he some kind of pervert?”

“Is that what you think?”

“No. That’s not what I think. I want to know what you think, Zach. Why does Rafael love you? What’s your theory?”

“Because I remind him of his son. Because he could be a father to me. And he always wanted that—to be a father.”

“Yes. Yes, I think that’s true. But you think that’s the only reason?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it possible that Rafael sees you?”

“Yes. It’s possible.”

“You know what I’m making up? I’m making up that Rafael left you his journal because he believed that you’d find something in there that would help you.” Adam got this look on his face, the look that said an idea had just entered his head. “The road in your sketch—it’s going somewhere. You don’t know where. I don’t know where. No one knows, Zach. And Rafael’s journal, that’s his map, that’s his road. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“That road, where you’re lying next to your dead dog Lilly, that road led you here, Zach. And it’s going to lead somewhere else after you leave. You gotta get up, Zach. You’re not dead. The road is waiting for you.”

“Keep breathing, Zach, you’re doing just fine.” Susan’s voice was firm but soft as I breathed. I focused on bringing the air out of my feet to the top of my head. When I’d brought up all the air out of my body, I’d let it out. Not too fast, not too slow. Steady. My arms and hands were numb but that’s what always happened in Breathwork, parts of my body began to feel tingly, numb and other parts felt heavy. I had my eyes closed and thought of nothing else but my breathing. I was vaguely aware of Susan’s presence. During our sessions, she only spoke when she sensed I needed encouragement.

And then something happened that had never happened before. There it was right in front of me. My brother with a gun, a grin on his face. And then I could see blood on the floor, like spilled water. Santiago pointed the gun at me, then laughed, then pointed the gun at himself, then laughed and then the whole scene turned blank and all I could see was red. I felt Susan’s hand lightly running over my arm. “It’s okay, Zach,” she whispered. “It’s okay. Do you want to stop?” I kept breathing, just kept breathing.

My mother’s eyes were open. They were as grey as a cloud. My father was still, motionless. The world was quiet. And there was an explosion. And my brother was wearing a strange smile. I heard Susan’s voice. “Let’s stop now, Zach. What’s your body telling you?”

“There’s something pushing down,” I said, “on my chest. On my arms, on my hands, on my legs. I can’t move.”

“You
can,
Zach. Move your legs.”

I opened my eyes and lifted one leg, then the other.

“Now move your arms, Zach.”

I lifted my arms toward the sky, then let them drop. “I guess I
can
move.”

“Are you okay?”

“I have a headache.”

“How bad? Scale of 1 to 10? How bad?”

“10.”

“Okay, Zach, close your eyes.” I did what she said. God, my head felt like it was going to break in half.

“I can tell you’re in pain. Just relax your face, Zach. Take a breath and relax your face.”

I took a breath and let the muscles of my face relax. And then something happened. There was a slight breeze that moved through my body and left through my temples. And then I saw a gun lying on the floor.

The headache was gone. I opened my eyes.

I walked back to Cabin 9 after my breathing session with Susan. I walked slowly, unsteady on my feet. I felt as if my whole body was trembling. The ground beneath me felt like a cloud and I thought I was going to fall through the earth. I managed to get to my room.

I sat at my desk.
Write whatever comes to your mind when you get back to your cabin, Zach. It’s important
. I could still hear Susan’s instructions, the serious look on her face, the concern. It was odd, how the therapists cared. I wondered about that. I wondered about myself. I wondered about everything. My life had been so strange since coming here. Nothing was the same. It was like I was changing. But it was odd, so odd and weird and I felt lost but not in a bad way.

I took out my journal and began to write in it. I didn’t want to think. I just wanted to write whatever came out of me.

I felt a little weak after the session with Susan. It’s strange, all this Breathwork. I’ve grown to really like it which is really weird. Weird and amazing and fantastic. The Breathwork makes something happen inside me. It makes my body feel different. And it’s like, I have a body and I like having one. Imagine Zach liking the fact that he has a body. Fucking wow. I keep hearing Susan’s voice inside me.

I remember telling Adam that I didn’t think Susan was real. I was wrong about her. I’m wrong about a lot of things. I think I’m mostly wrong about me. I’m going to write this down so I can see the words: I don’t hate myself anymore. I’m going to write it again: I don’t hate myself anymore.

Zach doesn’t hate Zach. Zach, I see you. Zach sees Zach.