He was silent. Skeptical.
“Okay. Why are you here?”
But I could tell from his eyes that he was thinking. He had those kind of eyes like an open door into an illustrious hallway. Of course, you wanted to enter. That was not my job. I was waiting for him to step out.
He was staring but not blankly. I could tell he was making assessments, taking stock. Fine. I could wait. It was my job to outlast him. Sure, I wanted to know, but I am willing to do whatever it takes for disclosure, full disclosure.
I must admit there was a part of me that knew even then that whatever this young man was going through, it was connected with something creative. Maybe whatever brought him here was attached to something great? Would health destroy it? Of course, he might just be an ordinary patient. I was just passing the time in thought.
Thirty five minutes had passed in his forty minute session. I began to adjust myself in my chair, getting ready to wrap things up, invite him back next week. Say something like, “Sometimes sitting in silence in a protected place is just as important as talking.”
He looked at me with those sharp eyes of his.
“I hate and I love. I guess you’ll want to know why. I don’t know. I just feel it happening to me, and I can’t take it.”
With that, he stood up, shook my hand, and left.