A Session with Myself: An Introspective Memoir

“So, why are you here today? What brings you in to see me?”

“Well, I’m not really sure. My friend, I guess.”

“What’s your friend’s name?”

“Steve. Steve Brandenburg.”

“Tell me about him.”

“Well, we went to grade school together. In fact, we went from grade school all through high school.”

“I see. Well, that was some time ago. Are you still friends now?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not sure. I guess that’s why I’m here.”

“Yes, that makes sense, I suppose. Did you have a falling out?”

“Not really – at least not in the traditional sense.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“I was a year ahead of him in school. In grade school we were all in the same classroom. It was an open forum, so to speak, with several grades combined in the same classroom. We worked at our own pace, often times we were ahead of our actual grade. Anyway because of that, I graduated a year before him and headed off to college – for a semester.”

“Just a semester?”

“Yes. Let’s just say that particular college wasn’t for me. Too big, not what I was used to.”

“Gotcha.”

“He graduated the following summer and was going to head to college, Penn State, to be a landscape architect. During his senior year he began dating a girl who, interestingly enough, had been dating a guy in my class.”

“Really? Interesting.”

“Yes. Well, we were heading out somewhere – I was home from college, a different college, Messiah College – and he confided in me that the two of them had become rather close, or should I say, intimate.”

“Intimate, huh?”

“Indeed.”

“Was this a surprise to you?”

“Very much so.”

“Why?”

“Well, we were both raised in Christian homes, and that sort of thing just wasn’t something men and women did while dating. On top of that, between the two of us, he was the good one.”

“The good one? What do you mean by that?”

“He was honest to a fault, the all-American boy. Steve would always do the right thing.”

“And you wouldn’t?”

“Not to the extent he would, no. My judgment wasn’t quite as refined as his, or so I thought.”

“I see. Continue, please.”

“Well, I was very surprised to learn about how close the two of them had become. Sometime later, several months or so, I learned she was pregnant.”

“Wow! What happened after that?”

“He married her. His parents insisted on a private wedding, family only, so none of his friends were there.”

“Did that bother you?”

“Not especially. I was at the reception, so at least I got to share in the moment. In fact, as I recall, his brother, our friend Matt, and I went to the movies at the local mall that night after the reception.”

“That must have really changed things between the two of you.”

“It did, although it wasn’t noticeable at first.”

“How so?”

“Well, I had just finished my first year at Messiah College. My grades weren’t so great. It was my first time living away from home, and I had a good time, let’s say.”

“Got it.”

“I visited Steve and his wife after the baby was born. We went out Christmas shopping. A friend of ours from grade school and high school, his father worked at the Post Office and helped Steve get a job there. He’s still with the Post Office to this day. In some ways, I think his life turned out better than mine despite his predicament. Anyway, I called him many times. We spoke infrequently. It wasn’t like it used to be.”

“I guess not. A lot had changed.”

“It sure did. Eventually, we lost touch. He had a new life, and I was trying to get mine in order.”

“So, you fell out of touch. Did you ever see him again?”

“I saw him about three years later in July 1989.”

“You remember the month and year?”

“I should. It was my mother’s funeral.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No worries. It was a long time ago.”

“Did you talk at the funeral?”

“Not really. He came through the reception line at the viewing, which preceded the funeral. We exchanged greetings, and he expressed his condolences. I didn’t see him afterward.”

“Did you two get in touch in the days and weeks that followed?”

“No. He popped into my life after nearly three years and then left it just as quickly as he arrived.”

“I see. Tell me, how did you feel when you saw him?”

“Angry.”

“Angry? Why were you angry?”
“I was angry because he had dropped out of my life for the past few years and then jumped back in it only because it was the ‘right thing to do.’ It was nice that he showed up at the viewing, but where was he when I needed him?”

“You felt betrayed?”

“In a way, yes. I felt like he had abandoned me years ago – abandoned our friendship – and he somehow thought his gesture would atone for it.”

“Do you believe he was trying to atone for the past, or do you think he was just being respectful?”

“I think he was being respectful, but I was still angry.”

“That’s understandable. You had just lost your mother, and it would certainly have been comforting to have one of your oldest friends with you. But your feeling was one of abandonment and isolation. Okay, let’s go back in time a bit. Tell me about Steve and your childhood. What thoughts come to mind?”

“I think about grade school, Grace Christian Academy, and Donna Rineer, our teacher, and the experiences we shared.”

“Be more specific, please.”

“Well, I remember the day we met. I was in fourth grade, and he was in third. We ended up sitting next to each other. In fact, we sat next to each other every day from fourth grade through seventh, which is when I graduated from Grace and headed to Phil-Mont.”

“So, you two were inseparable?”

“For the most part. We only lived a few miles from each other, so we saw each other often even during the summers.”

“I see. Tell me more about your time together.”

“During my time at Grace, we often slept over each other’s houses. We had sleepovers all the time. We’d watch TV, shows like Quincy, M.E., and stay up late talking about school, life, and girls. We shared our dreams.”

“What else did you do together?”
“We went to baseball games together with our classmates. In 1977, we saw Star Wars with our teacher, Donna, and her husband, Tom. We went to their apartment for dinner first. I remember Tom made milkshakes. I think we saw Star Wars several times that summer.”

“What else?”

“We went mini-golfing, hit golf balls, and played in the park by his house where there was a rocket and we climbed to the top, played baseball, football, and hockey at school. I remember when we were in high school and I got my driver’s license. We went out for the night in my parents’ Chevy Malibu and just drove around. I recall there was a good-looking senior, Cindy Cover, and we drove by her house. Funny. When he got his license, he picked me up, and we went to the mall in his mother’s Chevy. It was maroon. I remember I bought a Who poster at Spencer’s. In grade school, I was Starsky and he was Hutch, like the TV show that was on at the time.”

“It sounds like you two had quite the friendship.”

“We did. I remember a time we were out with his parents for dinner, and he had to go to the bathroom rather desperately. He begged his father to stop, which he did - eventually. I think we had been at Horn & Hardy’s, I’m not sure.”

“Interesting.”

“I remember driving to see him one night when I found out a girl from my church in whom I was interested had gone to a friend’s prom. He went to my church too. We drove to the parking lot at Grace, sat and talked.”

“That upset you?”

“At the time, yes. It was high school.”

“I understand. You shared a lot of your feelings with Steve. There were no secrets between you?”

“No, none that I recall.”

“Okay. Please continue.”

“We drove to school together frequently and carpooled with other students. And we ran Cross Country together too. In fact, we used to go back to Valley Green and run once and a while. I recall his brother, Mike, went with us once.”

“So many memories.”

“Yes.”

“What is your most vivid memory of Steve?”

“Hmm. I don’t know. All my memories are pretty vivid.”

“I see that. Pick one.”

“We had a sleepover at my house on a Friday night and watched The Love Boat movie that preceded the series. Well, we had Ellio’s Pizza. My parents were holding a Bible study at the time, and we forgot about the pizza. It burned a little. My mother was upset because she said we made everyone hungry. I remember that very vividly”

“It appears you recall much of your childhood in vivid detail.”

“I do. In fact, I can relive many of the memories I have and feel what I felt then.”

“So, as the years passed and you relived your childhood memories, what did you feel?”

“A lack of importance and relevance.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I felt like I wasn’t important to him, or anyone for that matter.”

“We’ll come back to that last part. Why did you feel like you weren’t important? Because you had lost touch?”

“Partially. In 1986 I dated a girl I had known since eighth grade, Amy. We had carpooled for a while. She ended up going to a different school, but we ended up back in touch because she was walking down my street one night. I was out front with my brother’s dog, Dobi, a Doberman Pincher. She said something to me about not getting the dog to sit, which I was trying to do at the time, and we started talking. I hadn’t seen her in years, but I recognized her immediately. She had filled out nicely since I last saw her. Anyway, that’s how we ended up back in touch.”

“So what happened?”

“Well, we became close friends. Over the years we always had a thing for each other, but the timing was always wrong. I used to critique all of her boyfriends, as a matter of fact. I was pretty obvious. We just clicked, though.”

“So you ended up dating?”

“Yes. When I was away at college, we wrote to each other and called. This was before email and cell phones. We ended up dating for about six months or so.”

“What happened?”

“She went away for the summer. During that time, she met someone else. A few months later she returned and gave me the news. In fact, it was our mutual friend, Lisa, who had insisted she stop and tell me. They were on their way to a wedding reception, and Lisa insisted she stop and tell me. I hadn’t known when Amy was coming home, but Lisa did and never told me.”

“How did you feel?”

“Devastated.”

“Was the relationship serious?”

“Not really. At least, not for her. I was more serious than she was.”

“So you lost your best friend and your girlfriend all in a short time?”

“Yes. And not just a girlfriend, she was also my friend for many years prior to us dating.”

“Tell me about her. What ever happened with her?”

“Well, it’s a very long story, but we’re very good friends today. I met someone else and married her. She met someone and married him. Over the years we managed to get back in touch. We stay in touch frequently, especially since she lost her husband to cancer.”

“I’m sorry to hear about her husband, but I think it’s great that you’re back in touch. I’m sure that is quite comforting to have a long-time friend still in your life.”

“Yes, it is, and it does help.”

“Going back a little, you said you felt like you weren’t important to anyone, that you didn’t matter, right?”

“Yes.”

“Was that because you lost touch with Steve?”

“Partially. In 1998, I enlisted in the Navy and moved to Virginia. I wrote to Steve and told him how I felt. I specifically remember telling him I never thought there would be a day when we weren’t friends.”
“Did he write back?”

“Yes. He said he still considered me his friend; it was just that we had grown apart over the years.”

“You don’t accept that?”

“No.”
“Why not?”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t?”

“No. I can’t accept that as an answer because people can remain friends even though life takes them in different directions. And with email and social media, there really is no excuse.”

“Are you two friends on Facebook?”

“Yes, but we don’t keep in touch. He isn’t on much from what I see.”

“So in your mind there’s no reason you two aren’t friends today, right?”

“Yes.”

“It means you simply don’t matter to him, right?”

“Yes, I’m not important. I don’t matter.”

“That’s awfully dismissive, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps, but it’s how I feel. If I were important, if I mattered, why didn’t he ever try to contact me? Why didn’t he email me, send me a letter, or pick up the phone?”

“He had a family and a new life. Having children of your own, certainly you understand that. Time passes, life moves on. I’m sure he thought about you over the years, and I imagine he treasures the memories of your time together.”

“That’s a nice thought, but I find it hard to believe.”

“Have you ever asked him?”

“I wrote to him, and he responded. That was that. We had just grown apart, as he put it.”

“Maybe that’s the answer. Maybe it’s just that simple. Did you ever consider that?”

“I did. If that is in fact the answer, then my childhood was meaningless. Our friendship didn’t really matter. It wasn’t real. And if it wasn’t real and didn’t matter, does any relationship matter?”

“So you see this as a gauge for all relationships?”

“Yes. If a relationship like ours doesn’t matter, how can any relationship matter?”

“And how can you matter is what you really mean.”

“Yes, it is. And the simple answer is, I don’t.”

“You’re basing your worth on a childhood friendship that didn’t last?”

“To a certain extent, yes, but it’s not quite that simple.”
“Why not?”

“Well, my sense of worth isn’t solely based on a failed friendship. It’s based on the residual effect of that failed friendship.”

“How so?”

“Well, when I realized our friendship had ended, and after my relationship with Amy was over, I became more cautious of people and who I let into my life. I wasn’t particularly close to anyone growing up other than Steve and my family. I gradually became very withdrawn. I read a lot.”

“Okay, we’re making good progress, but let’s back up a little. Your friendship with Steve ended; your girlfriend broke up with you, and your lost your mother. That was a lot of change.”

“Oh, and my dad sold our house and moved to New Jersey (because that’s where my brother lived at the time). My grandmother, who had moved in with us after my grandfather died in 1984, moved to Virginia to live with her son and daughter-in-law. In an instant, everything I had ever known as ‘normal,’ everything that was familiar to me, was gone. My life had changed completely.”

“Were you close to your grandmother?”

“Yes. I was the ‘golden child.’”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I was born a month premature, three pounds, fourteen ounces. Not so much of a big deal today, but it was a very big deal in 1965. There were two babies between my brother and I that didn’t live, so when I managed to survive, well, I became the favorite, so to speak.”

“I see.”

“One year for Christmas my grandmother bought me a portable compact disc player. They were the latest technology. It was $400 at the time. She told me not to say anything to anyone because none of the other grandchildren got anything that elaborate. I was my grandfather’s favorite too.”

“How so?”

“He used to watch baseball and old movies all the time. Whenever I would visit, I would change the channel to cartoons or The Three Stooges as soon as I walked in the house. I never got in trouble for that. When I turned eighteen, my grandfather gave me an envelope with $10 in it. He had signed the envelope himself. Everyone in my family was stunned. He never gave anything to anyone like that before.”

“So you were close to your family.”

“Yes.”

“And at some point they all drifted away?”

“Yes. As a matter of fact, I wrote an essay about it called Whatever Happened to My Family?”

“How interesting. Was that helpful for you?”

“I guess. It captured my feelings, but it didn’t bring my family back together, although I did share it with several of them.”

“You can’t pin all that on Steve.”

“No, of course not. But I think it would have been easier had he been, and remained, in my life. He was family, my non-biological brother.”

“Do you think he feels the same way about you? His life had changed. Where were you?”

“I was there! I never left him. I called him – many times. He’s the one who bailed on me.”

“Perhaps he needed you to be there for him – just be a presence in his life.”

“I was, trust me. But after so many unreturned phone calls, I got the hint. I stopped calling.”

“You never considered the possibility you weren’t the friend he needed you to be? Perhaps it was you who had let him down.”

“I did think about that – many times, actually.”

“And…”

“It’s possible I wasn’t the friend he needed me to be. I’ll admit that, but it’s hard for me to accept given the amount of times I called him. Some of the responsibility has to be on him.”

“That’s true. Friendship is a two-way street. I agree with you on that. My point is simply that he might have needed you to be a presence in his life, not the same friend you were used to being.”

“Perhaps, but I didn’t know how to be any different. I was in my early twenties planning the rest of my life, which was in disarray. I had essentially flunked out of college and lost my girlfriend. My parents didn’t know what to make of me. Here I was, their academically gifted son, with a GPA in the subterranean level. Steve was married with a life I couldn’t even understand.”

“Tell me about school. Did learning come easily for you?”

“Yes, very, when I wanted it to be.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“School was easy for me when I applied myself, which was usually when I was interested in a subject or challenged.”

“What do you mean by ‘challenged?’”

“At the end my freshman year, I vividly recall asking my German teacher if we were going to have a final exam. She said she wasn’t sure, but if we did, it wouldn’t be terribly difficult because ‘we all couldn’t be Joanie Pfaehlers.’ What she meant by that was not everyone was the all American girl – looks, brains, money, personality, etc. I took that as a challenge.”

“And…?”

“The next year I had the highest GPA in my class and didn’t have to take any final exams except German, if we had one.”

“That must have been very satisfying.”

“Oh, it was. My parents were thrilled.”

“And you?”

“I was happy. But I got bored in my junior and senior years and coasted.”

“So what happened with college?”

“Well, I can learn anything I want, practically at will. I mean anything – as long as I’m interested. And I just wasn’t interested in college at the time. I was still dealing with the loss of my high school friends, the death of my grandfather, and my mothers’ surgery.”

“Mother’s surgery?”

“Yes. While I was away at college, my mother’s appendix burst in the middle of the night. They rushed her to the hospital. During the operation, the surgeon discovered a tumor.”

“Cancer?”

“Yes. She recovered, for a time, and then the cancer came back and eventually killed her.”

“So you weren’t focused on college at the time?”

“No. I just wasn’t ready.”

“I can see that. But look at you now. Dr. Bishop! That’s quite an accomplishment.”

“I suppose.”

“You suppose? You don’t think what you accomplished is significant?”

“Not really. Anyone can do it.”

“Anyone, huh? Did you find college difficult when you finally decided it was time?”
“No, not at all. I enjoyed it, but it wasn’t overly challenging.”

“Was it difficult for your friends?”

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t that tell you anything?”

“I’m sure it should, but it doesn’t. What does it tell you?”

“Well, as I recall, you’re drawn to extreme activities – rock and mountain climbing, running – not just local 5Ks, but longer races, marathons, ultra marathons, and even the Ironman – things that require excruciating effort.”

“So?”

“So, I believe the reason you’re drawn to such activities is because in order to achieve success, you have endure physical and emotional pain. I’d venture to say that your academic achievements feel quite hollow to you, yes?”

“To a certain extent, yes.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“Why not?”

“Well, it all came too easy for you, particularly the writing. No assignment was long enough or overly challenging. Therefore, you never felt as though you earned anything. There was no grand struggle like there is when you force yourself to run mile after mile, or climb higher and higher when your body is screaming at you to stop.”

“I never looked at it like that.”

“You should. Okay, so getting back to your friendship with Steve, you couldn’t relate to his life. That must have been quite a change for him too – to go from high school to marriage and fatherhood so quickly, don’t you think?”

“I’m sure it was.”

“But you believe you should have been part of it?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. Having children of my own, I now realize how much change he experienced and how difficult it must have been for him, especially so young. And I can appreciate that.”

“But…”

“But that’s still no excuse to abandon our friendship.”

“Okay, let’s go back. Tell me more about your childhood memories.”

“I remember in tenth grade his mother gave me a book for my birthday, Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot: Five Complete Novels, one of which was Murder on the Orient Express. I still have it!”

“Fascinating.”

“I had really gotten into reading when I was in high school. I remember when he got in the car with it that morning – it was wrapped – and I asked him who it was for, and he said me as he handed it to me. The following week, the movie based on the book was going to be on television. I stayed up late a few nights so I could finish the book ahead of the movie.”

“So you have a tangible reminder of him?”

“Yes, I guess you could say that.”

“What else comes to mind?”

“I recall one time when I was in tenth grade, I think it was tenth grade, it might have been eleventh, Steve needed a paper typed. This was long before computers and word processors. My brother had recently given me an electric typewriter from J.C. Penney’s, so I told him I would do it for him. When I started reading his paper, I realized I could give him a hand by editing it. I gave him a call and asked if he would mind; he didn’t. So I edited it for him. In all actuality, I rewrote it for him. When I gave it to him, he read it and asked, ‘I wrote this?’ It was then I realized I had a knack for writing.”

“So you two were connected at the hip?”

“For a time anyway. Our teacher used to call us the Odd Couple because I was extremely neat and he wasn’t.”

“Would you say you two were opposites?”

“When it came to neatness and structure, yes. I was very organized and regimented in how I did things, obsessively so. I was always very concerned about being on time. I always wore a watch – still do. I never take it off. In fact, I always liked watches, particularly diver’s watches. I don’t recall Steve ever wearing a watch now that I think of it.”

“That’s interesting. It seems to me you two were very different when it came to your personalities and personality traits.”

“We were; we complimented each other.”

“Or cancelled each other out.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean you have a very strong personality, very dominating and commanding. You’re meticulous, organized, detail-oriented, eloquent, and out-going. From what you’ve told me, Steve was your exact opposite – shy, quiet, unstructured, easy-going, and easy to get along with.”

“You don’t think I’m easy to get along with?”

“Are you?”

“Yes… kind of. People often don’t like me because I’m out-spoken. I say what’s on my mind. Some people don’t like that. I’m very opinionated.”

“That must be it.”

“I sense your sarcasm. Yes, that is why some people don’t like me. I say what’s on my mind. I know because I’ve asked.”

“Have you always been like that, speaking your mind without considering the consequences?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Clearly you think I haven’t, but what you could possibly know?”

“Well, I was wondering if perhaps you became that way as a result of being hurt?”

“Hurt? I never said I was hurt.”

“You didn’t have to say it directly. It’s obvious.”

“How so?”

“When your friendship with Steve ended, you became withdrawn. You lost your girlfriend; your mother died and you moved. As a result, you started putting up barriers. As structured as you are, that amount of change in such a short period of time was a tidal wave for you, a sensory overload. You shut down. You buried the person you used to be and became someone else. Everything you felt was internalized because you didn’t know how to process what you were feeling. You were hurt by those closest to you, so there was no way you were ever going to let anyone in again. No one would ever get close enough to hurt you.”

“That’s a lot to pin on Steve.”

“Oh, I’m not pinning it all on him. He’s only a part of the problem. Let me ask you, do you blame your mother for dying?”

“Of course, not. How could I blame her for dying?”

“Maybe if she had been stronger, like you, she could have fought it and survived.”

“That’s crazy!”

“Is it? You don’t blame her for ruining your life?”

“How did she ruin my life?”

“She left you and caused a great division in your family. You lost your home, your friends, your family, your neighborhood – everything that provided stability and structure in your life. When she died, it all vanished. If your mother hadn’t died, you never would have experienced all that change so quickly. You were so full of pain and anguish you wrote Whatever Happened to My Family? It was the only way you knew how to cope, and ever since writing has become your way of dealing with how you feel.”

“And how does all that relate to Steve?”

“He was the first. Perhaps you didn’t know how to deal with leaving high school, but you still had him – at least for a little while. His absence in your life was just a few years before your mother passed. He began the process, so to speak. A lost girlfriend, drifting family, it all snowballed.”

“He began the process, but you’re saying it’s really all my mother’s fault?”

“Nothing quite that simple. I’ll come back to that in a minute. I see that you do a fair amount of public speaking.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about it.”

“My job requires me to give presentations to large groups of people.”

“Are you accomplished?”
“I suppose. People seem to enjoy my presentations.”

“How do you know?”

“I get a lot of applause and compliments.”

“Was it always like that for you? Public speaking, I mean.”

“No. I used to be scared to death of public speaking.”

“Really?”
“Yes. In fact, I recall how nervous I was when I had to give an oral report in my tenth grade history class. It was only five minutes, but that was an eternity for me. I had a few handouts as part of my presentation. I remember walking over to Nancy Whitlock, whom I had known since kindergarten, and handing her a sheet of paper. She took my hands in both of hers and mouthed ‘calm down’ to me because I was shaking.”

“Wow! That’s quite a change. So it doesn’t bother you now?”

“Not at all. In fact, I love it! I spoke in front of five-hundred people once, and it was amazing.”

“How so?”

“It was the greatest high I ever experienced. I mean it was a rush! I wanted more of it.”

“A high?”

“Oh, yes. The best. I love that feeling.”

“You went from scared to death to high. How?”

“I don’t know exactly. I had speech class in high school. That helped. Later in the Navy I attended a five-week facilitator training program. After that, I taught leadership on a regular basis for a number of years. I guess I got better at it and began to enjoy it.”

“Interesting. You know the number one fear of most people?”

“Public speaking.”

“Yes. And it amazes me that you went from deathly afraid to enjoying it.”

“Why?”

“It’s not common. Tell me, what do you enjoy about it?”

“I enjoy making people laugh.”

“You’re not a comedian, so why do you used humor in your presentations?

“People like to laugh, and it makes the material more entertaining.”

“So you like to entertain people?”

“I like to make them laugh, so, yes, I guess you could say I like to entertain them. Why? What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m not sure. Why do you like to make people laugh? What’s in it for you?”

“I don’t know. It’s rewarding to know I can give a good presentation by interjecting humor.”

“Do you entertain people in the course of normal conversation?”

“I guess. I make jokes a lot.”

“So you’re always ‘on,’ right, when you have an audience?”

“I’ve been told that.”

“Really? By whom?”

“My boss. I always bring humor to situations and make her laugh.”

“You see the humor in situations when others don’t?”

“Yes. All the time, as a matter of fact.”

“Very fascinating. Let’s talk about your writing. What inspires you?”

“Real life, introspection, asking ‘what if?’ and developing it into a story essay.”

“I see. You inject part of yourself into the story?”

“Sure. I mean, I’m the author. There has to be part of me in there somewhere, right?”

“It stands to reason, sure. What first inspired you to write?”

“Magnum, P.I.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The television show from the 80s.”

“Oh, I see. What about it inspired you?”

“During the course of the show, one of the characters, Higgins, was alleged to be the famous writer, Robin Masters who owned the luxurious Hawaiian estate that was the backdrop for the show. I actually visited it when I was in Hawaii on travel for the Navy. The writers kept the ruse going right up until the last minute. Since then I always thought it would be cool to be a famous, anonymous, writer. And I enjoyed writing.”

“So, was Higgins really Robin Masters?”

“No one knows. His last words regarding the subject – after he admitted he was – were, ‘I lied.’ Then the credits rolled.”

“It sounds like that show had quite an impact on you.”

“It did.”

“So writing was a creative outlet for you?”

“Yes.”

“What kinds of things do you write most today?”

“Life experiences, erotica, poetry. Why?”

“So it’s therapeutic for you? It helps to write about your feelings?”

“Yes. It helps me capture my emotions.”

“Okay. So let’s talk about you. Who are you really?”
“What do you mean?”

“I mean, who is Bill Bishop?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“You’re someone who lived through a series of circumstances, just like many of us. But you never learned how to deal with them because you had no idea how things were affecting you. More to the point, you were a gifted young man whose parents didn’t understand you. You processed information much differently than others. You feel things very deeply, which is why you don’t like change. It’s why you get hurt easily.”

“What does that mean? How does that relate to Steve?”

“You don’t deal well with change. In fact, you hate it. The only change you can accept is the one you can control – key word, by the way. You graduated high school and couldn’t adapt to the change in your environment, namely college. Leaving your friends behind and heading out into uncharted waters devastated you. You didn’t know how to cope. It was supposed to be an exciting time for you, but you were anything but excited. Your childhood anchor was gone.”

“Steve?”

“Yes. Steve was still in high school. You had moved on, and who knew if he’d follow. You simply weren’t ready for all that change, nor were you emotionally prepared. You tried to adapt, but your heart wasn’t into it because you were struggling to deal with what you were feeling.”

“Which is why I didn’t do well in college, right?”

“Precisely. You bounced around while trying to make sense of how you felt and come to terms with the new chapter in your life. You just didn’t know how. Then Steven got married and started a new life, you lost a valued friend, your mom died, and you moved and left friends and security behind. All that change must have made you feel lost, like you were living someone else’s life.”

“In many ways I’ve always felt like my past was a very vivid dream, as though it weren’t real. I often think of visiting my hometown.”

“You should. I think it would be greatly beneficial and comforting to you. It might be a little unsettling at first, but you should go.”

“Perhaps I will. So, how does all of this relate to Steve?”

“Steve had been a constant in your life, particularly during times of change. You left Grace to attend Phil-Mont knowing he would soon follow. Your friendship was intact. You were the leader heading out on a new adventure, but he was still there. You left high school, and he was still there. It was only a few years later that he was gone. And then your world came crashing down around you. Your mom died and you experience dramatic change. It was too much for you, so you retreated into yourself and created your own little world.”

“That’s it?”

“Oh, no. Not completely, not at all. Tell me, have you ever heard of Scott Hamilton, the figure skater?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know he was largely successful as a skater because of his small size?”

“Not really.”

“It’s true. Interestingly enough many years later he was diagnosed with a brain tumor, which ironically cause his growth to slow. That in turn led to his success.”

“I’m not following you.”

“A negative force in his life was the cause of his success. ‘No gift comes without a price.’”

“So what’s my gift, and what’s the price?”

“You can write and speak in public, as well as entertain. And you can do those things well because you are not only intellectually gifted, you can do them because they are your coping mechanism. You developed them in response to change. It’s how you deal with life. With those things you are in control – key word, like I said before. The pen is in your hand, and you dance with your audience. It’s how you find your measure of worth. For those brief moments, you are important; you matter; and to a certain extent, you’re loved. It’s where you find your relevance and add value to other’s lives. Is it really any wonder you were drawn to those things? With writing, you get to create the reality of your choosing. When you speak to an audience, when you entertain them, you are in control. It’s why you are ‘always on’ in a group of people. That’s how you control situations and safeguard your emotions. You use humor to hide the pain.”

“I guess. But how does that relate to Steve?”
“Simple. Steve was your security blanket. His presence provided stability. He connected you to your past, to your childhood, where many of your most treasured memories are stored. The more you’ve experienced in life, the more you’ve sought his presence to take you back to that time when you were happy, when you mattered and had value. All these years you’ve been trying to get back to where you left your happiness. You’re desperate to find it. It’s why you’re here.”

“To find my happiness?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. If you could see Steve today, right now, what would you say to him?”

“It’s funny you ask that. Just the other night I had a dream about him that inspired me to have this session. I was at his parent’s house on Scotia Road, 807. I still remember his home phone number too – 482-5046. Anyway, I walked in and he was standing there, in a tux for some reason, with his family.”

“What did you say to him?”
“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I was so overwhelmed at seeing him after all those years, I couldn’t speak, which is saying something for me because I always have something to say. I hugged him and began crying uncontrollably. I mean I sobbed; I wept. I was completely overcome with emotion at seeing him.”

“I bet. The floodgates opened, and all the repressed feelings and emotions came pouring out. What happened next?”

“That’s all I remember.”

“How did you feel?”

“At peace.”

“Do you think that’s what would happen if you were to see him or speak to him?”

“Yes. In fact, speaking to him, or seeing him, would be the greatest gift I could ever receive.”

“That kind of peace after all these years, I imagine it would. Well, that’s all we have time for today, I’m afraid.”

“So, that’s it? I thought you were going to fix me?”

“Oh, no. I can’t do that, I’m afraid. Only you can do that, and it sounds like you’ve already taken the first step.”