The Memoirs of a Forgotten Man

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six

Part Seven

I was back in Alicia's office. If that's what you call it? She had books – lots of books – in the bookcases lining the wall behind her. There was a small desk and her laptop over beside the entrance. A couple of seats, of which Alicia occupied one. Did anyone ever make use of the other one? I suppose some people prefer that over the sofa that I found myself seated on. This option just seemed more comfortable to me. More appealing. But how would I really know if I've not tried the seat? Mental note to self – try the seat next time.

So it does pass the office test. But it also has the feel of someone's study. Did she set it up like that deliberately? Is that a lesson she received in her Psychology studies? 'The Perfect Office Set Up?' I'm sure the first point would have been to establish just what defines an office. Or is that just me? Nit picking at something until it reveals some deeper layer of itself. Always the investigator. And here I was with Alicia – always the psychologist. Seated in front of me waiting for me to get comfortable. But I already was. I suppose my mental fidgeting was showing itself externally. Breath Aidan, focus. My mantra for when I lose sight of myself in the external chaos of my world. It's not that I stop breathing. That would be a problem. I just seem to forget it is something I do all the time. Bringing my attention back to it just seems to remind me of who I am and where I am.

And I am here, in Alicia's office, for my second visit. She wanted to look further into the dream that once had me feeling paralysed as a child. More to the point – I want to look into the dream. I want to understand its significance in my life. It didn't just appear out of a vacuum. It had to have come from somewhere, to have been driven by some hidden influence. Or is that just the suspicious detective's mind working overtime? And the dream itself isn't the real issue. What I can't get my head around – what I have never been able to get my head around – is why was it so laden with intense emotion? Nothing seemed to occur in the dream. It's just me, and a room. A door appeared later. Probably influenced by the case I was working on. The re-emergence of the dream seemed to be due to the case. But that doesn't explain it's first appearance. Why it appeared at all.

“Tell me about your childhood, Aidan.” Alicia's question was important. But it still grates on me. My childhood, my ancient history. The time before this me existed. Another me, one I have lost touch with – that was his home. Ask him what it was like. Unfortunately the only way to get to him is through me. Who appointed me the gatekeeper?

She wants to know about my childhood. Of course she does. It is relevant. It is where I would have started also. Understand background, look for possible motive, find connections. Except this is not a criminal investigation, and I am not a suspect. But the similarities exist, nonetheless. And she has a way of asking. No fuss, no unnecessary wording – 'tell me about your childhood.' One could almost get the impression that Alicia was a little cold. But she is anything but. Her eyes have an intensity to them that has caused me to lower my gaze several times. A look that penetrates. And her questions behave in the same manner. Their power lies in the way that she delivers them – with intent. I'm not the lead investigator here. Not any more.

“Weren't we going to look at the dream? Wasn't that to be the start point.” I'm not sure why I felt the need to challenge her. I did have a genuine confusion on this point. But it wasn't that big a deal. Maybe it will bring more clarity.

“The dream is important, clearly. We will be focusing upon that in our time together. But I need some context for it. From your perspective.” Alicia spoke with conviction. It was truth, and I was just playing for time – again. Why wouldn't I want to discuss my childhood? Well we know why. I nodded at her, somewhat hesitantly, to indicate my understanding.

“I genuinely don't recall much of my childhood. Not before I was around ten years of age. Except the dream episodes. They stand out.” I was a little rusty when it came to discussing my early years. I hadn't looked there – not properly – in many years. I thought I knew why. I thought it was because there was nothing worth looking at from those years. I wonder if that is true. “But even the dream disappeared from conscious memory for many years. That only just returned to my awareness.”

“That's okay. Tell me what you do remember. Even if it's hazy, just what you recall from your childhood. I just want to see if we can get a generalised picture of those years.” Alicia spoke, not with coldness, but with compassion. Subtle, but it was there. She seems to have a good grasp on the nuanced approach to leading another person where they don't really wish to go.

“I was the middle child, of three. A brother older, and a sister younger than me. My father did some sort of office work. Insurance, accounting, something like that. It involved numbers, but not me. Not us kids. We were never allowed to interfere in his work. Looking back I believe he was in some form of middle management work. He had aspirations to go higher. Or I should say, my mother had aspirations for him to rise up the corporate ladder. But I don't think he ever did. If their constant arguments and verbal exchanges were any indication.”

“My mother resented my father, this became very clear to me over the years. Was it because she saw him as a failure work-wise? Did she feel humiliated around the other women in her group? I only have my observations to go on, and these are mostly from later childhood. Her resentment brought out a rage in my father that mostly made its way to us three children. Usually when alcohol was involved. When we smelt the booze then we knew there was trouble.”

“There were beatings. That much I do remember. And they always had a way to explain them away to their friends. In their church group gatherings. Just childhood rough and tumble – you know how kids are.”

“What else can I tell you, there was the usual – school, family gatherings, church. Always involving orders to be on your best behaviour. Threats – often made real – to be on your best behaviour, or else.” I didn't really want to go on any more. I was starting to depress even myself. No wonder I couldn't recall too many specifics. Seems it may have been a wise decision.

“Do you recall any positive incidents, even small?”

“Not from the adults around me. Sometimes from my brother and sister. But even those relationships grew strained. And how could they not – with the role models we had. I haven't spoken to my brother in several years. I know he is still alive, but that's about it. And things are superficial between me and my sister.”

“What are their names - your brother and sister?” Their names? They had become the unnamed in my story. I hadn't noticed until Alicia pointed that out with her keen observation.

“Josh and Rachel. My parents had names too. Not that I ever used them.”

“You said there were some positive experiences between you and Josh and Rachel. But nothing from your parents? Or from any other adult in your childhood?”

“No, not that jump to mind. I don't think I would bury positive experiences. Would I?” Did she have me questioning my own memories? Or was this normal, to blow off the dust that had settled on them. Surely I wouldn't suppress the good. Or does that just happen automatically when we suppress the bad? When we lock the past away does it all get locked away? Does that explain why I don't recall much from the early years of my life? Nothing too specific.

“It's possible. As a result of any overall suppression that may have occurred.” Possible, but not definite. So there was still a chance that my childhood was the dark place I have envisioned it to be all these years. Although part of me wants to be wrong on this. I want to believe in the possibility that I twisted things around, covered things up, altered reality – all to fit what the story I have allowed myself to believe really happened. But how likely is that? Or we can have the alternative where good things did occur. Happy moments do exist in my memories. That's the other possibility. And if that is so then why would I hide them?

“I honestly don't recall any interactions with any adult figure in my early years that would fit the description of being positive. All the adults seemed to have their problems and difficulties, and I always felt like I was one of them – one of their problems. You fade away into the background eventually when you feel that way. Try to disappear. To become nothing. That's how I feel when thinking about my childhood.”

Alicia looked at her notes, scanning through what she had written until her eyes showed a slight glimmer of recognition. She looked up at me, and paused for a moment. There was a question forming in her mind, awaiting it's own moment of unveiling. Something I said had impinged upon her. Something I had clearly missed. “When you described the dream to me last time, you said you felt like you 'shrank drastically'. Did you feel like you were disappearing? Would that be an apt description?”

“It would be,” I thought about her question some more, starting to see the link she was highlighting. “Yes it did feel like I was disappearing.”

“Like how your role models made you feel in real life – like you needed to disappear?”

“Yes, that is correct.” I was following her train of thought. But did she think the dreams were just a representation of how I felt externally? She didn't say that exactly. Now I am putting words in her mouth. “Do you think...” I paused long enough to allow her to jump in. I didn't particularly wish to finish the statement I had started.

“I don't have any preconceived thoughts. Nor have I reached any conclusions. Too early for that. But there is clearly a parallel. And we will need to look into that and what is behind that.” Alicia was reassuring in her assessment. But clearly this was important. Wasn't it? “The dream and your childhood are related, and even intertwined. The key question at this point is – 'What would disappearing help you accomplish?' And as we look at your dream, why does the act of disappearing produce such terror? You want to disappear from real life, yet in the dream that very act is producing the emotional state that has scarred you to this day. I would like to look into that.”

Pushed out of the real world, and into the dream world, a world that holds such terror, darkness and uncertainty. Is it any wonder I don't like to think about my childhood?

---

This fiction is my own work, written for Steemit
Image Credit: Unsplash.com

---

Thank you for taking the time to read this. If you liked it please give an upvote, and feel free to leave a comment. Follow Me

Visit my blog for more of my writings (mostly fiction and poetry).

---

Bad Trip	My Sister's Keeper	The Memoirs of a Forgotten Man
Chapter One	Chapter One & Two	Chapter One
Chapter Two	Chapter Three & Four	Chapter Two
Chapter Three	Chapter Five & Six	Chapter Three
Chapter Four	Chapter Seven	Chapter Four
Chapter Five	Chapter Eight	Chapter Five
Chapter Six	Chapter Nine	Chapter Six
Chapter Seven	Chapter Ten
Chapter Eight	Chapter Eleven
Chapter Nine	Chapter Twelve
Chapter Ten	Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Eleven	Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Twelve	Chapter Fifteen
Short Fiction	Chapter Sixteen & Seventeen
The Fountain of Youth	Chapter Eighteen
Bang Bang You're Dead	Chapter Nineteen
Where Did the Time Go?	Chapter Twenty
Run From the Screams	Chapter Twenty One & Twenty Two
Saved By the Rain	Chapter Twenty Three & Twenty Four
I Think I've Remembered This Before	Chapter Twenty Five
A Mother's Love	Chapter Twenty Six
	Chapter Twenty Seven & Twenty Eight
	Chapter Twenty Nine & Thirty
	Chapter Thirty One
	Chapter Thirty Two