Johnny & Mary

A click and snap of a ballpoint pen brings Johnny’s attention forward and away from the window. A small stream of light tries to sneak through the space between the blind and the sill. 

           “How has today been so far?” The older man asks, a hand hovering his papers, ready to write.

           “Did they tell you to ask me first?” Johnny’s voice has a touch of edge to it, “The people planning the end of the world know I’m on to them. They want me gone. I knew I was right when I said I wouldn’t make it through to the end of days.”

           “Those workers have been a concern of yours for a while now. Have they started to reveal themselves to you in a new way besides visual contact and words? Perhaps they have reported to you about when your demise is scheduled?”

           Johnny wipes nervous hands on his disheveled shirt and walks a few steps away. The room isn’t big enough for him to go far in his path. Despite this, the person writing follows his trek through the room. Johnny almost reaches the wall where diplomas hang. His observer notices his own breath hitch, a nervous anticipation toward the framed documents’ safety. In his notes, he describes Johnny’s tense pace and uneasy steps. Additionally, he refers in his papers to Johnny’s appearance of sunken eyes and tense body posture. It’s the look of someone who hasn’t slept consistently for at least a week, he guesses. 

           “I’m not the only one who feels this way, right? The world enders have alluded to the fact that they tell chosen people. All of those doomsday preppers can’t supposedly exist for nothing,” Johnny asks. His body language indicates his last words to be more of a demand than a question.

           The other man doesn’t answer at first. Another figure from another chair stirs instead. Her head jerks around, making the wooden furniture scrape on the rug below it. Anyone else who saw her would think she was looking at Johnny, but the person watching her knows better. He knows she’s looking for something in particular, never caring for the various objects that have decorated the room in recent weeks. Instead, she always focuses on something else. The observer watches her in careful silence. He decides to give her a few moments before speaking, having become familiar with her abrasive nature and harsh voice over time. 

           “How many walls Mary?”

           She snaps her body to face him. 

“Seven today. Seven’s a good number. But like I’ve told you before, it’s too many for this room. Johnny’s worries should lessen soon you know. He wears himself out a lot quicker these days. I think it’s that special diet and routine you gave us.”

           The gentleman looks at his notes and clipboard and smiles. I’m very familiar with Johnny’s grandiose worries. And Mary’s sharp dismissive nature of him in them. He jots down a quick observational summary.

           TUESDAY, MAY FOURTH: JOHNNY CONTINUES PREOCCUPATION WITH WORLD’S END. MARY STILL NOT ACKNOLWEDGING HER OWN DELUSIONAL COUNT OF WALLS. 

           He hears Mary sigh then. She’s growing bored. Well, she’s nothing if not consistent in her doing that. His watch remains unchecked due to Mary’s reactions becoming the more faithful timepiece for him in these sessions. 

           “Of course, he’s so erratic, his panics may even revert to that old-fashioned favorite about aliens taking over the world before long,” she says. Her tone is bitter, without a shred of warmth or compassion.

           “All my worries are valid Mary!” Johnny suddenly cries out from where he is in the room. “You’ve known me long enough to be careful. I’m trying to protect you and all the rest of this poor planet. I don’t want anyone to die. We all can’t die.”

           He hugs his arms at the shoulders, whimpering with child-like terror. Mary sighs again, turning her body away in obvious contempt. She pulls out a hair pick and begins twisting the bent teeth through the ends of her long, frayed black strands.  She gets a few pulls finished before the man in front of her notices and clears his throat.

           “Mary. You know items like that are contraband during these meetings and prohibited from the building itself,” he says with admonishment.

           She scoffs and reluctantly hands the item to him. He feels the worn metal teeth and notices the jagged tears on the handle. Perhaps Mary is more worried than she lets on? But she’s not wanting to validate Johnny somehow? He makes another note before putting the hair pick on the floor under his chair. While doing this, a scent from Mary’s hair lingers from the item hits his face. It’s strong enough that despite the faint power, he can identify how little she has been washing her hair. A wrinkle of his nose confirms Mary has most likely not been caring for any of her hygiene in the past week. He debates questioning Mary on this contradiction in her nature. Why would she want to sneak in an illegal item if she’s not using it the proper way?

           “He’s still the same overall since last time, as I’m sure you noticed.” Mary’s shrill voice interrupts his thoughts.

           Yes, he confirms. It’s not a good time to challenge Mary’s cleanliness practices.

           “Pardon?”

           “He’s still obsessed with his worries that people will find out what he did to get put in these sessions,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone.

           “I’m sick of your disbelief Mary!” Johnny erupts and he slams his chair on the floor. A leg in the back of it cracks and splits nearly in half. He jabs his finger toward the directions of both her and the other man, but he singles out the older gentleman.  

“Will you please explain to her why all the dangers of the world have to be taken seriously? No one is safe!”

           The older man watches Mary’s attention inch away as she prepares to count again. They’re reverting to their own individual ways to cope, distancing themselves from each other and the others’ stress. He blinks and chooses a careful response.

           “I see you both have your stressors. You’ve shown that to me in very clear ways today. I would like now to help access your ways to cope—“

           “But he lacks such a sense of proportion on these things!” Mary yells in interruption, voice screeching like a record pulled from a turntable without removing the needle.

           The two figures then start to scream over each other. Their voices blend into a cacophonous disaster despite their mediator’s multiple attempts for interruption and to bring peace. After his fourth failure, he can’t take it anymore. Before he can stop himself, he hurls his clipboard toward the wall beside his desk. It crashes, breaking the hard plastic and spilling the notes onto the floor. It does not, however, deter their argument.

           “ENOUGH!” He bellows. “We need Robert now. He can help me quiet your petty squabbles. I need to tell him that integration is still not an option yet anyway.”

           In an instant, the voices stop. A calm figure now stands between the fighting and sparing was previously occurring. He looks at the white-coated professional whose face is reddening by the second. Under the desk, his left foot twitches slightly. The older man ignores this movement and focuses his attention on Robert and his next comment. Once Robert starts to speak, his voice is even, controlled, and not skittish or piercing as the others used earlier.

           “I’m sorry Doctor Mason. They told me today was going to be a more cooperative meeting. They even told me I would be able to take a break and not stress over their interactions. It seems Mary’s good at lying when it comes to having what she likes to call group sessions with herself and Johnny.”

           “It’s okay Robert. Thank you for coming forward among them and the other more silent alters. You have grown in your control in the years since we first started trying to help you and the others. If I recall right, weren’t there six more arguing people trying to fight for control then?”

           Robert nods, “You’ve been with me a long time. I don’t think I would have survived all of their drama without you. I know for sure I would not have the consistency I have without your help. Sometimes I think they have some good points though. I sometimes think Johnny may not be out of left field with his ‘it’s the end of the world and we shouldn’t feel fine’ idea. You know?”

           Dr. Mason doesn’t answer.

I made a vow to Robert when I started treating his personal crises that I wouldn’t discuss any of his other alter’s thoughts with him or another unless he or she gave me permission. Not even if the one in control brought the other into it.

           “Anyway, same time next week I guess?” Robert looks over the room and moves his head up and down in a silent count off.

When he speaks next, a slight edge to his voice sneaks in, “Five, six, seven walls.”

           Dr. Mason ignores the count. Instead, he smiles and shakes Robert’s hand. He notices that the younger man seems unaware of his last comment as he makes his departure from the room. Once he ensures his patient is completely gone, Dr. Mason retrieves his notes from near the wall. He mutters about having to replace another clipboard and probably a chair while he adds details of Mary’s last comment to the papers he organizes from the floor.