Projection

Gena’s problem was that she couldn’t understand. The tapping of the group therapist’s pen chimed hollow; it pulsed dullness and dim cognition. No one was going to get better.

“How are we today?” Eric asked the group. His eyes had that particular color of maybe grey, maybe a speck of color, but no one was going to look at his eyes, just the chart he tapped.

Ermine and Vic, the red group’s brothers spoke at the same time, “We need a ping-pong table.”

“Is this how both of you feel? I’d like to hear from each of you individually,” Eric said.

Ermine and Vic crossed their arms and slumped in their chairs simultaneously. Gena saw their blue heart lines pumping to the exact same beat. They thought they were the same person, but had been whipped into speaking as “we” since they were toddlers.

“Nothing else?” Eric made some notes on the chart. The scritch and scratch of his pen called out weight and arrogance. The pen seemed to glow a bit to Gena’s eyes, like it was feeding. “I’m sure individual letters submitted by the both of you would work wonders on the funding of extracurriculars.” The brothers weren’t biting. They’d set out their hopes and had them properly dashed. “Too bad. Well, let’s have Vic stand up and find a separate seat, please. You know we’re working on not sitting next to each other.”

The brothers pretended to not hear.

“I could tap on the glass and get Mat in here if that’s something you boys are interested in doing today.”

They looked at each other and nodded at the same time. They both stood up and walked to the center of the group, turned back to back then perfectly split, both walking over to another chair opposite. They stared at each other across the void. There was no space between them.

“Well, Samantha, how are you feeling on this fine morning?” Eric asked a little perkier. The whites of his teeth were brighter. Samantha hated that name, she was Stolt to herself and everyone else and wouldn’t respond to anything otherwise. Stolt crossed her legs, the white hospital pants and shirt she wore wrinkled from her motion and made hollow, scrunched sounds.

Eric waited patiently, he was paid to be there. Everyone sighed because everyone had tried the waiting game with Eric and it never worked. He’d make marks on his chart. The silence would crescendo over the course of the hour and consume all the group’s thoughts. The silence had to be filled. But no one wanted to fill it. The hungry silence ate and ate and ate all their hearts.

“Hey Stolt,” Gena leaned over and nudged her knee, “how was your terrible morning?”

Stolt, jostled from her defiance looked up at Gena. Stolt saw something there, a shimmer of color, a note of humanity.

“My morning began with the rising sun. It was orange from a purple night. It burned my eyes and I knew I was still alive. I closed them to keep out the burning though I longed for it to consume my soul. To die in the fire of the sun would be a great honor.” A grim smile completed her litany.

“A witch, before they killed her,” Gena said with her eyes askew from Eric, “told me that sunshine and fire are one and the same in all places across the universe.”

“Do you think about death often, Samantha?” Eric jumped in.

“Dude, she likes being called Stolt. Even my third grade teacher asked what names we preferred being called and he molested me, alright?” Viv’s lips glowed with rivalry. She had a voice which could be heard from across the greatest din, a triangle chiming from the back of an orchestra.

“Speak when it’s your turn, Vivian.” Eric turned his attention back to Stolt, “Samantha is your real name. That’s the person who is going to walk out from this hospital, a woman who knows who she is and understands how to live in this world. Samantha’s persona is the cause which resulted her being here. And I’ll not feed such malediction.”

Stolt raised her shoulders in defense. Somewhere another chord from another name zapped into her mind. Two songs played across her soul. “Sa-man-tha,” she said like there was a bad taste in her mouth.

Eric looked at her quizzically. “Yes, she’s the girl we’re looking for. Likes butterflies, paints rolling landscapes, studies everything about Australia. Would you like to fulfill your dream of going to Australia, Samantha?”

She shook her head, “Butterflies are weak.” Stolt then closed her eyes to meditate somewhere far away, where waves crashed like swords crossing and the sun poured molten, down from heaven.

“I guess we should move on. Gena, you seem particularly interested today, would you like to share how you are this morning?” Eric clicked his pen several times over.

“Do I get good marks if I say I feel okay?” Gena asked.

Snickers and empty guffaws made their way around. Tim and Ermine motioned at each other like they’d had the balls to ask about the chart.

“Now Gena, we don’t ask about what I mark down. What I put here doesn’t matter. It’s about how you’re actually feeling.”

Gena rolled her eyes against the bullshit, “That’s like saying it doesn’t matter if I swallow razorblades or coffee.”

The fluorescent lights hummed and burned Gena’s vision. This whole institution was meant to deaden and destroy the human spirit. Why would anyone think they could get better in such a dreary place?

Eric made a note on his chart, “Anyone else projecting that it is because of me they are being kept here?”

Time slowed and tension thrummed low and hostile. Stolt, Viv, Vic, and Ermine all raised their hands. Gena saw their arms moving in perfect unison, as if the same song of gallows stabbed into their spines simultaneously.

Gena saw the group circle and the four hands floating up to their apex. If she lifted her hand too, they’d create the five points of the pentagram. Stay in shadows, but misery. Risk it all and reveal yourself to freedom.

Gena raised her hand with the group. They were all outsiders. They were all one foot in this world and one foot out. They couldn’t see the vibrations like Gena could. But it didn’t matter. Gena’s hand reached into the void and her hand completed the five points of the star.

A strum of shock and beauty coursed through the five, like a splitting tree or a flower petal being ripped in the name of love. Eric dropped his pen to the floor and as Gena stood so did the rest.

The air became fresh. Their voices called high and low like the wind over empty bottles. The glass and walls and fluorescent lights and concrete floor melted away.

“Don’t break the circle!” Gena cried as they shimmered away from the world.

Grass and sunshine suddenly came to be. Clouds and trees and the hawk crying. Heart beats and smiles. The group looked around at one another.

Eric knelt and touched the ground, “How, where... What did you do?”

Gena looked down on him with glee, “You were right, Eric. It wasn’t because of you we were stuck there. Thank you for pointing out that was merely our projection.”