A Bruised Mind and a Man Adrift

Light rain, barely more than a mist, fell from platinum-colored clouds filling the sky. Had the scene been a photograph, even a pair of well-trained eyes would have had difficulty discerning what season it was. Was it early spring? Could it be late fall? The toss of a coin had as much of a chance of picking the correct season as a pair of eyes.

Samuel Weston was lost in thought as he plodded his way along the old abandoned railroad tracks. It was quiet here, peaceful. He often thought of this stretch of tracks as his because it was not very often that he would come across other people out here. When he needed to think and be alone, this is where he went.

Now in his early forties, he could still remember, barely, the last time a train traveled these tracks. It had been on his seventh birthday, and his mother had made a big fuss about it.

“The train is coming through on your birthday”, she had said, “obviously it is coming though for you! I wrote a letter to the railroad and asked them to make a special detour through town on their last trip. I thought it would be a special treat for your birthday” she had said.

“Don’t tell him that nonsense” his father had said, slurring his words, his tongue thick from drinking. “And quit coddling him too. He is never going to amount to anything anyway, he’ll have no chance if you don’t let him grow up.”

“Richard!” his mother exclaimed as his father teetered down the hallway towards their bedroom.

Reflecting back on that day now, as he walked along the tracks, he thought what audacity his mother had had. Not that it was a difficult task to sell a lie to a child of his age, but she had done her job and sold it well. He had believed her, too, just as he had believed her about Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny all being real. He supposed most parents told those lies to their children, and the children gullibly believed them too.

He never truly understood why parents lied to their children about such trivial things. Was it because their parents had lied to them, so this was their form of revenge? Now he was perplexed. He really wanted an answer to his question. Stopping, Samuel pulled a small, dog-eared notepad out of his jacket pocket, and wrote down his question just like Ingrid had suggested.

Thumbing through the pages of his small notepad, he realized that he had a long list of questions to ask Ingrid during his next session. Silently, he hoped there would be enough time to ask all of them. He liked Ingrid; she was pretty. Closing the notepad, he returned it and his pencil to the breast pocket of his coat. Inserting his hands into the pockets, his hand found then gripped the object in the right pocket, instantly bringing him a sense of comfort. Samuel began walking again.

Forty minutes later, he reached his destination. Madison Bridge, a rust-covered iron trestle bridge forgotten long ago like the old railroad line itself, spanned the Pine River more than three hundred feet below. Samuel continued walking until he reached the midpoint of the span, and sat down.

The view from the bridge down into the gorge below always astounded him. It was easy for him to get lost in thought, both good and bad, while he was here. Time seemed to get away from him on the bridge. More than once, he had walked off the bridge as dusk began to settle. Also, on more than one occasion, he had sat on the bridge and thought about walking off and falling down into the gorge. He imagined that he would feel freer than he ever had in his life. Sometimes, he wished that he could just let this life go. He was tired of dealing with his anxieties and insecurities. Perhaps, in another life, things might be different. Maybe.

 An hour later, full of despair and his mind filled with negative thoughts, tears silently streamed down his face. Eventually, Samuel stood and stretched his legs to get the blood flowing again. Letting out a heavy sigh, he reached into the pocket of his jacket, and pulled out the object that had brought him comfort earlier. Looking it over, he opened it, checked the contents and, once satisfied, closed it again. He stared into the horizon, took a deep breath then put the pistol to the side of his head, and squeezed.

Click. Click. Click.

The following Thursday afternoon Samuel left work early, it was time for his weekly appointment.

“Hi Samuel” said Janet, the effervescent receptionist, as he entered. “It’s always such a pleasure to see you” she continued. “Please, have a seat. Ingrid will be with you in a few minutes. Is there anything that I can get you? Would you like some water?” she asked.

“Good afternoon, Miss Janet” he mumbled back. “No, thank you.”

“Now Samuel, I’ve told you before, you don’t need to be so formal.”

“Yes, ma’am” he replied, as his eyes searched the floor for an escape. His was anxiety building; he hoped that it wouldn’t be too much longer before Ingrid came for him. The floor was not going to open up and swallow him, unfortunately, so instead, he sat down on the couch and waited.

 A few minutes later, his prayers were answered.

“Samuel, so good to see you” Ingrid said, appearing from the hallway. “Let’s go back to my office, shall we?” she said, leading him from the waiting room.

They walked down the hall and into her office, the walls painted a dusty-blue color that Samuel had always found soothing. He sat down across from her desk in a dark brown, over-sized leather chair that, once seated, felt like he was surrounded by soft pillows.

“Now,” she said, “good afternoon, Samuel. How are you feeling today?”

“I feel okay” he replied.

“Have you had any issues since we met last week?”

“Yes” he said, then related his recent walk along the old abandoned railroad tracks.

“Samuel” she said, “we have discussed this before. Why do you insist on carrying that pistol with you?”

“For protection.”

“Protection from what?” she inquired. “A gun offers no protection when there is no ammunition for the gun. NOT that I am advocating you buying ammunition, I most certainly do not recommend that.”

“I know that, and you know that, but the people that tease me endlessly or make fun of the way I dress don’t know that. They stop talking very quickly when there is a gun pointed at them.”

“Samuel, sooner or later someone is going to report you for pointing a gun at them. The police will get involved and you don’t want that.”

“I looked into that, and it is legal to carry a firearm in this state. I even have a permit to carry a concealed weapon” he said, a broad grin on his face.

“Alright, let’s talk about something other than the empty pistol that you carry when you walk along the old railroad tracks.”

“Well,” he said, “while I was out walking, the railroad tracks triggered a memory that I had forgotten about.”

“Go on.”

“It was another lie my mother told me. In this particular case, I remember her telling me she had written and asked the railroad company to send the train through town on its last trip as a special birthday treat for me. Later, I found out that the train didn’t make a special trip through town for me, it was part of its final route anyway. It made me think about a few of the other lies she told me, specifically in relation to holidays. Why do parents lie to their children about little, imaginary things like Santa Claus and the like,” he asked.

“I’m sorry, Samuel. There is no universal answer to that question. Everyone has a different reason.”

“Don’t they realize the damage that can cause? I was teased and ridiculed mercilessly for two years in school because I, believing what my mother had told me, insisted that Santa Claus was real. It didn’t stop there either; the teasing continued until I graduated. What I was teased about changed over the years, but the teasing itself did not. Looking back, as I often do now, I think a good portion, if not the entire reason, I have had so much difficulty in making friends, social connections or how I view myself, stem from the lies I was fed. The alcoholic wasn’t any help either.”

Wisely, Ingrid did not mention Samuel’s father, but she knew a discussion regarding both he and Samuel’s repressed memories was looming. The remainder of the session was spent reenforcing the good steps that he had taken during this past week. Ingrid believed it was best for clients to end sessions on a positive note.

Saturday morning came with a crispness in the air and a light frost covered the ground. Colder temperatures and heavier frosts would arrive soon.

“Hey” a voice called out as Samuel was leaving Kinch’s, the local grocery store. “Long time, no see.” He kept walking, no one ever called out to him.

“Hey, Samuel. How have you been?”

Samuel stopped and turned his head in the direction of the voice. Dread instantly filled the pit of his stomach; it was Tyler Cranston. Tyler had teased him more than anyone else back in school. His anxiety instantly went up a few notches.

“Are you going to the class reunion tonight?” Tyler asked.

“No, I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Aww, that’s too bad, man. I heard that Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny were going to be there. The Tooth Fairy couldn’t make it though, sorry” Tyler said, bursting into laughter.

Rage consumed Samuel in an instant, like flames tasting wood that hadn’t seen moisture in years. Without thinking, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his pistol and pointed it directly at Tyler’s head. Not a word was said.

In the blink of an eye, Tyler’s eyes grew to the size of saucers, as he stared open-mouthed at the gun facing him. The shock wore off quickly as he fixed his eyes on the man behind the gun. “Go ahead, Sammy” he said, a mocking sneer in his voice. “You don’t have the guts to pull the trigger. Nothing has changed, you’re still a spineless wannabe who hasn’t amounted to anything.”

Samuel stood there, listening to the taunts and jeers, remembering how back in school, Tyler’s barbs had a unique way of getting directly under his skin. Unable to control himself, he began to shake. Then he heard it.

Click.

“Seriously?” Tyler asked. “You carry around an unloaded gun?” then burst into the loudest, deepest laughter that Samuel had ever heard. “Was that a present from Santa Claus?” Tyler jeered.

Samuel was humiliated. He knew how to fix his problems. Thrusting the grocery bags into his car, the windows thankfully muting Tyler’s unrelenting taunts, he drove off. He had one more stop to make.

Two hours later, he was nearly running along the railroad tracks on his way to Madison Bridge, his safe haven. Still upset from his earlier encounter with Tyler, Samuel did not notice the young couple hiking along the tracks as well.

Reaching the bridge, he went directly to the center point of the span, and sat down, his legs hanging over the side.

Pulling his pistol from one pocket, he carefully set it down. From his other pocket, he removed the box of ammunition he had recently purchased. Slowly, he began loading the gun. True, he did not carry a loaded gun around with him, but that did not mean that he had never fired his gun before, or any other gun for that matter. He had fired his pistol many times; the recoil bothered him though. It was difficult for him to keep under control.

Practice would take care of that problem.

The echoes of gun fire firing filled the air. Birds took flight from nearby trees; squirrels and other small wildlife vanished into thin air. They knew when to stay hidden.

The sun marched slowly across the sky, as oblivious to Samuel and his pistol as he was to it. So focused on what he was doing, trying to improve his aim and lessen the movement of the pistol after each shot fired, he never heard anyone approaching.

Unbeknownst to Samuel, the young couple had heard the random gunshots followed by unintelligible utterances. They had been too far away to clearly hear what Samuel was saying, however, seeing a lone man talking out loud and firing a gun raised their suspicions. They hastened their way out of earshot, and called the police, reporting what they believed to be a potential suicidal individual.

Captain Grady arrived at the scene along with two sharpshooters and the departments hostage negotiator.  

“Excuse me, son, would you mind setting your pistol down so we can talk” Captain Grady said into the bullhorn he carried.

Startled, Samuel suddenly jerked to his right, in the direction the voice came from. Unfortunately for him, he was right-handed, and the pistol swung in the direction of Captain Grady.

“DROP YOUR PISTOL!” came the command.

“Leave me alone!” Samuel shouted.

“I can’t do that right now” he responded. “Look, I don’t want you to get hurt, so why don’t you just put the pistol down, and we’ll talk.”

“No. It’s a free country and I’m not hurting anyone.”

A tree branch snapped behind Samuel, and he whirled around at the noise. Behind him, he saw a man dressed in black ducking behind a tree.

Without any thought, Samuel quickly raised his pistol to the side of his head. “Back off!” he yelled to Captain Grady. “I won’t talk to you. I won’t talk to anyone but Ingrid!”

“Alright,” he responded, “but it will take some time. Why don’t you lower your pistol while we wait?” he asked.

“No.”

Captain Grady retreated about twenty yards from Madison Bridge, took out his cell phone, and dialed.

Forty-five minutes later, Samuel was still on the bridge, the pistol against his head. A patrolman escorted Ingrid along the railroad tracks to the scene.

“Hi” Captain Grady said when she had stopped next to him. “I think he is one of yours”

           “Yes, he is. Let me get closer and talk to him.”

           “Do you think that is wise? He has a gun.”

           “He doesn’t own ammunition for it.”

           “He does now.”

           Slowly, Ingrid walked closer to the bridge; Samuel watched her approach.

           “Hi Samuel, how are you?” she asked.

           “I’m sorry, Ingrid, I really am” he responded, his eyes beginning to fill with tears. “I just wanted to come up here and be alone.”

           “Why did you buy the ammunition, Samuel?”

           “I don’t know” he replied. “I was mad, I guess.”

           “Do you mind telling me what happened?” she said, in her soft, soothing voice.

           Pausing for a moment, as if considering the question, Samuel explained what had happened earlier, how Tyler had teased and taunted him again, just like he had years before. “And then, I guess I just snapped” he said, tears streaming down his face now.

           “Your reaction was natural, Samuel. Would you please do me a favor? I’m afraid of heights so please come off of the bridge and we will find a place where we can sit and talk. Could you do that for me, please?”

           Ingrid held her breath as the seconds passed; to her, each second seemed to last for hours. Slowly, Samuel lowered the pistol, stood, and bleary eyed, walked towards Ingrid and solid ground. He was exhausted; it had been a long day and he realized that he still had a long road ahead of him.