Chapter 1 - Therapy

It has been asked: "Is reality real?" - that is - is it a rational entity that we perceive and experience, or an illusion that we create or perceive for some absurdly abstract purpose that defies logic? If Logic were personified, it would hate defiance. Therefore, everyone who is taught, from birth, to think and act in a logical and practical manner will begin to view the world and reality. If something can be perceived, it simply is real, or can become real. Those who refuse to accept this form of reality are subject to Logic's vengeance, and declared to be delusional or insane - and are promptly re-educated.

And that, is where our story begins; in a room where those who grapple with reality are sent: A therapist's office. Ash sat across from a one Dr. Song, whom he could tell was older from the occasional wisp of grey that ran through her short black hair. She occasionally glanced down at some papers through her thin-rimmed glasses, and would write something down. What she was writing puzzled Ash, but he didn't ask, and was reluctant to speak. He was one who was quiet, and spent much of his time in his mind, and few were privy to his thoughts.

Ash took in the details of the room around him; it had a distinctly neutral aura, with no bright colors and pictures of cows on the dimly-lit creme-colored walls. There was tissue dispenser - presumably for sobbing patients releasing their long-lost emotions - which was also a cow. It sat upon a little coffee-table, which held some medical-record papers, a book about cows, and a dark red pen. It wasn't immediately clear if the pen itself was simply red on the exterior, or if it also wrote out red ink. There were small tropical plastic plants that could never grow in New Jersey sprinkled around the room, three large windows on one wall, which were ever-so-slightly closed to keep the room from being "bright" or "dark", but neutral. On the opposite wall from the windows was the dark mahogany door, flanked by two bookcases filled with generic-looking nondescript books.

Around the coffee table, there were three chairs: in one of the chairs sat Ash, who stared blankly into space, but in the direction of Dr. Song, the smiling therapist who sat across from him. In between both of them sat Ash's mother, who sat cross-armed, with a look of absolute aggravation plastered on her face.

"Do you know why you are here today, Ash?" Dr. Song asked, looking directly at him.

Ash closed his eyes for a second and said "I... uhm... yes."

"Yes? And what is the reason?"

"I have some trouble with school." Ash replied in a monotone voice, without blinking.

"What sort of trouble?"

"Bad grades. Not talking to people."

"Alright," Dr. Song started, jotting something down on her notepad, "So what would you like to accomplish by coming here today?"

"My Mom wants me to talk to you." Ash replied, still maintaining an emotionless composure.

"Well, Ash... can I call you Ash?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Oh, how polite!" Dr. Song remarked, and turned to Mrs. Rice, Ash's mother, and asked "Is he always polite like this?"

In Dr. Song's view, nothing about Ash's demeanor or behavior suggested that he was rude, when he greeted her prior with a "pleasure to meet you", and frequently referring to her as "ma'am".

"He's polite when he speaks." Mrs. Rice explained, adding, "But he never talks. He won't talk to me anymore, or his teachers, or any of the other kids at school. I don't know what to do."

Ash said nothing, but sat as still as a mannequin.

Dr. Song turned her attention back to Ash and said "Well, Ash, I want to tell you something. I'm not, like, just some shrink who is here to just get you in and out of here. I want to help you. I'm here to listen and help you, and help you build relationships."

"I know." Ash replied quietly.

"So, Ash, what would you like to talk about?" Dr. Song asked, leaning back a bit and waiting for Ash to speak. There was a short silence.

"That pen." Ash remarked, glancing down at the dark red pen, "It writes with black ink, doesn't it?"

"Uhm, why yes it does. Why do you ask?"

"Sometimes colored pens have colored ink... so I was curious.", and there was a crack in Ash's robotic demeanor when he blinked a couple of times quickly, and he added "I brought a piece of paper."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a very small piece of blank white paper, then scribbled on it with the pen. He then set the pen down and sat back into his chair, once again saying nothing. This turn of events puzzled Dr. Song somewhat. According to her medical information on Ash, he had no history or signs of any kind of mental disability or handicap that would normally elicit such odd behavior. When working with people with obsessive-compulsive tendencies, Dr. Song thought, they would sometimes check things in the room to make themselves comfortable, but Ash and his mother both had maintained that he did not have such tendencies. Dr. Song had no choice but to ask Ash the obvious: "So, what is it about this pen that you find interesting?"

"Nothing." Ash said, blinking.

Ash's mother immediately knew something was amiss. Every time Ash lied, he would rapidly blink two or three times, or move his mouth slightly before speaking, and she had a sharp eye for such signals.

"This is ridiculous." Mrs. Rice said, interrupting the conversation, "We're not here to talk about pens. We're here to talk about why you won't... why you won't communicate. Ash... you can't have a conversation with someone about a pen. The world doesn't work that way. Tell her why you are having a hard time talking to people."

"I need to talk to her by myself." Ash said quietly.

Dr. Song could clearly tell that Mrs. Rice was past the breaking point of patience with Ash, but wasn't entirely sure why yet. There was still something missing from the puzzle. According to Dr. Song's notes, Ash had become violently ill when he was 14, and ever since, quickly became more and more introverted. She recalled her first meeting with Mrs. Rice.

Mrs. Maliha Rice came to the therapist's office a couple months beforehand, but because of her hectic work schedule, it took her a good deal of time to find a suitable date to meet with Dr. Song. Dr. Song was recommended to Maliha through a teacher son Asha's (Who preferred to go by Ash, because he felt the 'a' at the end made it sound too feminine, despite his mother Maliha's insistence that calling himself 'Ash' would make people think his name was 'Ashley' or 'Ashleigh') high school. Dr. Song was a free counselor who volunteered her time to low-income families. Maliha's family certainly qualified; although she had been re-married, her current husband had been laid off and unemployed for some time, and she worked two jobs to support Ash and her new baby daughter, Tara.

When she finally had time to visit Dr. Song, she began telling a story: "When Asha was little, he was very, very lively. He talked to everyone and was always smiling. I almost never saw him cry, even when when his father and I got divorced. I told him he wasn't going to see his daddy anymore, and he frowned and just looked down. He just asked me why, and he was just eight years old, so all I could think of was to say was something like... oh, what did I say? I said something like 'He doesn't love me anymore.' and then Asha asked me if I would ever stop loving him, and I said 'of course not. I'll always love you. You're my baby boy.'

He still was such a happy, smart little boy. He did so good in school, always an 'A' in every class. When I dropped him off at school, all the other little boys and girls would come running over to him because they loved him. He was an angel. When he was 14, he got so, so sick one day. I just saw him turn white and there like... beads of sweat on his head. It was like he got this fever from out of nowhere, and he couldn't talk, so I called 911. I'd never been that scared in my entire life - and I'm from Iran... and I was there, during the revolution, before my family left, and there were always men with guns looking for Pahlavi's men. At night you would hear them, and gunfire, then in morning, hear about someone you knew being assassinated. That was terrifying to me, but when I thought I could lose my little boy... it was so much... so when the doctor told me he was going to be okay, I just fell down on my knees and praised God.

After that, he slowly just stopped talking. He started avoiding people, and I don't know... I think he just became so afraid of germs and bacteria that he didn't want to get sick anymore. Something about that changed him. He didn't smile often anymore. His grades became so bad that I started to think he wasn't even trying anymore. I tried talking to him, but he wouldn't talk about school. His mind was like... it was like it was somewhere else. I would catch him staring off into space, and I would ask him what he was thinking about, and he would say nothing. It frustrated me to the point where I didn't know what to do. Now, my husband is telling me that we should just throw him out when he turns 18 next year if he doesn't get back in school and finish."

She continued, and Dr. Song inquired about Ash's medical history. Nothing was out of the ordinary. There was no family history of seizures, mental illnesses, cancers, or anything of the sort. Asha had never been to an emergency room before that day, and never went to one again after. Dr. Song asked if there was any mental, physical, or sexual abuse in Ash's past or present that Maliha was aware of. She was adamant that there was nothing of the sort, knowing full well that her new husband, Robert, was disgusted with Ash for having dropped out of high school. He routinely gave an unwelcome vibe to Ash at every opportunity, giving him dark and hostile looks, and spoke with a contentious and snappy tone that had the subtly of a bomb going off. Maliha and Robert argued about Ash frequently, and Maliha was left desperate to diffuse the situation.

Nevertheless, Maliha knew that people took time and patience to change. So, when Ash asked to speak with Dr. Song one-on-one, she ushered herself out of the therapist's room into the waiting room.

Dr. Song and Ash sat alone, face-to-face, silently.

"So," Dr. Song began, "What would you like to talk about?"

Ash leaned forward and spoke in a whisper, saying "She's listening."

Dr. Song nodded and whispered the question, "Are you uncomfortable with your mom listening?"

"Yes."

"Do you think that she wants you to be here today because she cares about you?"

"Yes."

"Alright, well, I'm glad you think that. Your mom and myself both want what's best for you. If there's something you want to say to me privately, I'll be here to listen."

"I know, thank you."

"So, what would you like to talk about?"

"Ask me."

"I'm sorry..." Dr. Song, said, taking off her glasses and polishing them over with the corner of her sweater, "Ask you?"

"The question you want to ask me." Ash replied.

Dr. Song was puzzled, so she decided to ask "I would like to ask you about when you got really sick. Tell me about that."

Ash lowered his voice again, and finally showed his first sign of emotion, which was what Dr. Song was probing for - albeit it being aggravation - when he said "I told her before... many, many times. I'm not afraid of germs. I'm not afraid of bacteria."

"Oh, so you're not afraid of germs? What are some of the things you might be afraid of?"

"Nothing except for rats. A rat by itself is fine, but when there is a number of rats, I become very uneasy. During World War I, soldiers sleeping would have someone stay awake, and they would sleep in shifts, because the rats could actually devour a whole man in his sleep."

"Really?" Dr. Song asked, with an eyebrow raised.

"It's actually just an urban myth. The rats would eat dead soldiers in no-man's land, though, starting with their eyes. Quite gruesome, actually. Winston Smith from George Orwell's 1984 was afraid of rats for that very reason - because they would attack the eyes."

"I see..." Dr. Song replied, jotting something down, "So, tell me, do you think your fear of rats has to do with some of your problems, maybe?"

"Yes. The day I got sick, the night before, I had a dream filled with thousands of rats. But it wasn't like a normal dream, it was very real. It scared because I knew it was a vision."

"A vision?"

"Yes. I told my mother this before, but she wouldn't listen to me. I have visions and can see the future, as clear as looking through a window. I told her this. She didn't believe me. No one believed me. You don't believe me."

"Well," Dr. Song replied, "I'm a little surprised by this. Your mom certainly didn't mention this to me before."

"Because she thinks it was me getting sick that made me like this. It wasn't that. It was what I saw in the future that made me upset. I was upset because no one believed me."

"Well, Ash, I'm not going to say you can't see the future, but it's not something that people expect another person to be able to do..."

"Well I can." Ash said sharply.

Dr. Song composed herself after being, again, puzzled for a moment, and asked "Well, then, as someone who wants to help you, I first have to ask: do you ever have hallucinations, like seeing things that aren't there, or hear voices, or feel like you're not yourself?"

"No, I only see reality."

"Well, what's real to you? Just give me an idea, if you don't mind." Dr. Song suggested in the most non-confrontational tone she could imagine, because she was certain there was a possible mental illness at work.

Ash, however, was certain that there was nothing of the sort. He pointed to one of the fake plants. "That," he explained "Is not a real plant. But it's really here in this room. It's like a placeholder for a real tropical plant of it's kind. We know that if a real tropical plant were brought here, it would die, so this will work for now."

"So," Dr. Song said with a little smile, "Do you think there will ever be a real plant to take it's place?"

"In this building? No."

"Never?"

"Never."

Ash reached into his pocket again and said "I have another piece of paper, and this one is for you. You can't open it until I see you again the next time." and he handed her a folded piece of paper with something written inside of it.

"Alright." Dr. Song said, taking the piece of paper and putting it in her jacket's pocket.

"I think that's everything I have to say for now. If you would like to talk with my mom again, that's fine." Ash said, and sat back into his chair.

Dr. Song smiled and said "Thank you." and led Ash to the door. He walked into the waiting room where Maliha was sitting. Maliha looked up, surprised. "You're done already?" She asked.

"Oh, yes..." Dr. Song said, "But there are a few things I'd like to go over from Ash's medical papers and some insurance documents with you, Mrs. Rice."

"Of course." Maliha replied, coming to her feet.

"You won't mind waiting a minute out here, would you, Ash?" Dr. Song asked.

"No, not at all." Ash replied, taking a seat.

And with that, Dr. Song ushered Maliha into her office and closed the door.