04
When I am at sea, I am not lost.
I thought to myself, staring blankly at the text on the page. I didn’t know the time but suspected it was some time around 4am. The sun would be rising soon and with it masses of people going about their lives. I could feel a pain growing inside my head. What would I do today? Where would I go? I lay in bed restlessly until hours later the phone rang.“Sultan? It’s your aunt, Josephine. Today we should speak with your social worker about getting you some survivor’s income. Are you ready to do that today, Sultan?”
I looked downwards at nothing in particular and reacted with automation.
“Sure.” I was gazing at the cover of my journal.
“Terrific, Sultan, that’s just terrific. I’ll be by around 10 to pick you up.”
I then abruptly walked over to the window in my bedroom and watched the sun as it rose over some grass fields far off in the distance. I was sharply interrupted by the sound of my aunt’s voice once again.
“Sultan?”
“Oh, right. Okay, see you at 10.”
When my aunt came by she brought cinnamon buns and coffee with her.
“A little treat for you and me, Sultan.”
“You know, Sultan, I’m very proud of you. And I know that Latika is too. She is looking down on us from above with love in her heart.”
I looked at my aunt, bit into the bun, and my eyes began to sting.
Minutes later Aunt Josephine and I were on the way into the city to speak with my social worker at the Centre for Economic Recovery. Trees, buildings, and street lamps whizzed in and out of field of vision as cool air washed my face as we sped by. When we arrived it was raining and Aunt Josephine pushed open a small black umbrella and huddled next to me as we walked. I kept my hands out of my pockets so I could feel the rain droplets splash against my hand as they fell from the umbrella’s brim. Inside the Centre, a big clock above the receptionist desk watched over us. Each second that passed was marked by a strike of a big red arrow in the centre of the clock, gently rocking as it reached its next position only to be pushed forward a mere second later. A mother and her baby were playing with blocks in the corner of the holding room, building tiny red and yellow cabins. Or were they castles? A man holding a Kleenex box sat in the seat beside us, occasionally blowing his nose. The receptionist wore low hanging rock earrings and blue glasses and was frantically typing on her keyboard, stopping intermittently to look up and smile at her hostages.
“Sultan, Dr. Ritter is ready for you now,” the receptionist said about 20 minutes later.
“Thank you,” Aunt Josephine said, placing the Cosmopolitan magazine she was reading back into a wooden holding box before rising to her feet to take her coat off.
We walked down the hallway and entered Dr. Ritter’s office. On one wall hung various certificates and accreditations of Dr. Ritter’s, on the other hung three art pieces of different landscapes; a desert on the right, a mountain in the middle, and a rainforest on the left. Beside the rainforest were the faint markings of a black square the same size as the other paintings. An awkward amount of space was left between the edge of the wall and the rainforest painting and a perimeter of residual dust could be distinguished if one looked at the wall with scrutiny. It was clear that a painting had been removed.
Dr. Ritter was a professional woman and, apart from the blemish on the wall, her office matched her appearance, clean and organized. She spoke softly as she addressed us.
“Hello Sultan. Hello Josephine, so nice to see you both again. Sultan, how have you been? Have you been doing the homework I suggested?”
My “homework” was to interact with strangers. Book appointments, go grocery shopping, attend the local YMCA, things like that.
“Yes.”
“Good!” Dr. Ritter said emphatically. I didn’t turn my head but I could tell Aunt Josephine was nodding in approval in my direction. Josephine kind of looks like a turtle when she smiles, the way their mouths curve upward a little bit into their cheeks; exactly like that.
“Well do you have anything you’d like to share before we do our tests?” Dr. Ritter asked.
I don’t like it here.
I want to go home.
Where is the missing painting? What is it of?
“No.”
“Very well. Well then, give me your arm please, Sultan.”
The session continued with Dr. Ritter poking needles into my body and shining tiny lights into various orifices on my body. Aunt Josephine would occasionally stand from her chair to hold my hand and smile, only looking away once I acknowledged her presence. The whole affair lasted about 20 minutes.
“In addition to continuing with the homework I assigned you last week, there is something else I would like you to do, Sultan,” Dr. Ritter said.
“I want you to answer this questionnaire.”
Dr. Ritter then handed me a boxed list of questions printed on a small package of several stapled pages.
“Wow, this really is homework.” I said.
Aunt Josephine and Dr. Ritter laughed, though I wasn’t offering a joke. Only I knew that, though.