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The Meeting

He reclined on the couch holding a small bulb in each hand. Every few seconds the bulbs vibrated, first one side, then the other. The music was melodic.  She had taken him back to a memory they had discussed in a previous session. He relived it as if he was there, along with a monstrous flood of emotion. It ripped him apart.  

“Is it true?” 

“No.” 

“Why do you suppose she said those things?” 

“Because she wasn’t happy.” 

“What did you want her to do?” 

“Hold me. Tell me she loved me.” 

“But she couldn’t do that, and you were just a boy. It’s not your fault. It wasn’t about you. It was about her. Her pain.” 

The boy sobbed.  

“I want you to see that boy. Can you see him?” 

“Yes.” 

“Give him what he wants. As you are now, take that boy and hold him, and tell him that you love him.” 

And so he did. He imagined himself hugging that boy and telling him he loved him and that he was special. The session was draining. 

“Are you seeing anyone?” she asked.