Twisting Topeka (19 page)

“
Oh yes, yeah sure,” Josh
said curtly and turned away. Ordinarily he could take the
caretaker’s corny joviality. Now he barely hid his irritation,
having to wait until the meddler left. Of course Amos would stick
around as long as Josh seemed depressed, so he turned back and
forced a broad grin to say: “And a top a the lovely mornin’ to you,
too. You’ve done a grand job on this hedge.”
Now get the heck out of here so I can get the heck rid of
this day and all future ones.

Amos smiled back, the sun reflecting
off his naturally-gleaming teeth. He nodded his head abashedly and
moved off, out of the meditation garden. Josh sighed in relief. He
wasn’t really dodging a snake in the grass. He wasn’t paranoid—just
realistic about his circumstances. A vision of the amiable Amos
with fangs and venom was too absurd a thought to consider. It was
just the irksome proximity of his various overseers—including Amos
the caretaker out here and Beulah the housekeeper inside. He was
rarely totally alone in this place, by odd happenstance. State
Hospital patients meandered off all the time, but here there was
little chance of that—at least not for him.

After walking restlessly
around in the garden, Josh stopped and sat down on a concrete
bench. He fingered the ring on his right hand, the ring that hid a
cyanide pill beneath an emerald-stone top. He had smuggled it in,
and no one was the wiser. At first he thought he would never use
it. He’d felt hopeful, but then the psychoanalytic process had
taken him back—back to the supposed roots of all his growing
branches of despair. How could he have any hope now? Those roots
were too entrenched. They had grown the wretched tree of his
miserable life. The real truth was that he had
had
to become an actor. He simply
looked too good to be anything else. His mother had wanted it for
him. His father had not …

Josh buried his head in his
hands, rubbing his fingers into his scalp. Those early sessions
with Dr. Brunouer had felt so comforting, but then they had gotten
more intense. The acting conundrum was only a symptom of so many
underlying things. He’d revealed more and more of himself during
the descent into his past, transferring too much of himself to his
therapist. He’d given and given to Dr. Alfred Brunouer who had
finally become like some porous, spongy wall swallowing him up and
enclosing him so he couldn’t get out. All of those too-many things
that were done
to
him and
by
him could never be undone. He felt so hounded and boxed
in.

But soon he would escape. He reached
for the ring, and then his reflection stared back at him from the
pond—that perfect face. The image he had to live with and be
reconciled with although it couldn’t be accepted, much less loved
enough by the public or by anyone else. He raised himself from the
bench and stepped towards the pond. Perhaps it would be easier to
join his reflection and drown it all out that
way—literally.

*****

Callie and Pam left the path. On their
hands and knees they explored the perimeter of the curving hedge,
looking for a break in it. Blades of grass bent down, and insects
jumped out of their way. About a third of the way around, they
found a gap. Callie started to peek her head through, but just then
Pam’s left saddle shoe hit a stick that cracked and sent her
falling against Callie. They both careened over. Callie’s face slid
against the hedge and into some jagged edges of it. They rolled
away. Pam saw her friend’s bloodied face and gasped, “First aid
kit!”

“
Shh, shh. I might have
heard some crunching gravel, maybe.”

“
Crunching?” Pam hissed,
trying to whisper too. “So, what’s in there?”

“
Dunno.” Callie felt her
face. “You’re right. I need first aid.” She brushed away a trickle
of blood that ran down her cheek from her forehead.

Pam rummaged through her bag, brought
out a disinfectant cloth, cleansed the scratch and bandaged it.
“This hedge is a bear to get through.” At least the branches
weren’t hiding stickers, she noticed. But they were thick and
tough. “We’re not really supposed to be hiking out of our
neighborhood anyway. Are you sure we’re covered by your mom’s party
group and my little brother’s baseball game? What if they get
through early or something?”

Callie leaned back on her elbows. “Not
much chance. They’ll be tied up all afternoon. Why else do we have
water and snacks in our bags?”

“
In case we get lost or
decide to run away for good? Or get scratched and delayed by a
hedge that might eat us if we don’t leave soon?”

*****

Josh Brindsly was just about to join
his reflection in the pond when he heard rustling sounds at the
hedge and pulled back. It wasn’t Amos returning or anyone else. No,
it sounded like something inside the hedge. He glanced there but
saw nothing. It wasn’t like the sound of birds scuttling in the
branches. He’d heard that often enough. Maybe some small animals,
but the cleanliness of the grounds and buildings discouraged them.
He hadn’t seen a rabbit in all the time he’d been in residence.
Eerie the way he saw birds but nothing much else. Nary a squirrel,
even. Maybe he hadn’t paid enough attention to the wildlife. He
shrugged, thinking about how the trees had recently been treated to
avoid disease and how the building rooflines looked well
sealed.

He cocked his head, listening for
those extra sounds. A racket of insects and birds oppressed his
ears. When had he noticed how crickets and locusts buzzed up the
air with noise, syncopated by chirping birds?

Josh dragged himself back to the stone
bench, burying his head in his hands again. He had suffered two
distractions from his prime mission of the day—the mission
concerning his life. It should already be over, but it wasn’t. Just
as he had felt the final seconds ticking away, the momentum had
stopped. But not really. He assured himself that his resolve only
strengthened with each delay. That was all it was—a brief pause in
the progress towards the action to stop the aching pain of his
life.

He must hurry. Already at
least five minutes had elapsed since he had dealt with Amos.
Experience told him another spy could appear soon. Josh gripped the
ring on his right hand with his left hand. He only needed two
seconds. He drew in his breath. He needed just
these
next two seconds.

*****

Back on their hands and knees, Callie
and Pam continued testing the hedge inch by inch. They finally
found a more promising gap between two of the bushes. “I’ll pull
these back and then get through after you,” the heftier of the two
whispered.

“
Okay,” Callie echoed the
hushed tone. “Let’s go.”

Pam held the branches aside. Callie
tumbled through, followed by her friend. The branches snapped away
against Pam, hurtling her into Callie. They rolled down a slope
through a bed of pansies. Pollen filled their noses. They sneezed
loudly, leaping to their feet. Josh Brindsly whirled around in
startled surprise, his arms swinging with him. His hand that had
just pulled off the ring lost its grip. The ring flew away and
plopped into the pond. Josh stared in amazement at the disturbed
water and then, in greater astonishment, at the two urchins in
their strange attire—like mismatched peasants lost from a
pilgrimage.

Callie stood staring back, wide-eyed.
She wanted to apologize for the intrusion. She had never seen such
an elegant man. Pam tugged at her, but Callie stayed rooted while
trying to speak. Time hung suspended as if the moment would always
be there in the future with their gazes intersecting--bringing them
together even though they stood apart.

When Josh turned from the pond, the
interruption; with the ring gone, had stunned him. Now his gaze
stayed with the girl who was trying to talk. He felt the
interchange even though no words came.

But the ring. The pond. He had his
mission. Or did he? That urgency had faded, leaving one thread from
his past to pose the question: could he find the ring? When he
lunged towards the pond, the surface glimmered smoothly and
opaquely. He lurched back at the girls, the thread of his past
snapping.

Pam gasped and pulled Callie harder.
They turned and ran up the incline towards the hedge, as
impulsively as they had come. The larger girl stumbled through the
gap with the ragamuffin diving in behind her. Josh stood stock
still, staring after them. Then he gazed back and forth, at the
empty space where they had been and at the pond. A frog croaked and
leapt out from under a peony bush into the pond. Josh continued
gazing at the water, now momentarily disturbed again. He couldn’t
see where the ring had gone. It was probably lodged under silt by
now. A dragonfly swooped down and nipped at the surface.

Josh walked back to the bench, but he
didn’t bury his head in his hands. He didn’t stay sitting but stood
back up, spurred by an emotion--something his semi-autistic psyche
wasn’t supposed to feel. The errant girls had struck a nerve. They
seemed almost as amazed to see him as he was to see them. Even so,
one of them had tried to talk to him.

They had also struck something else.
He laughed out loud, the unfamiliar muscle reflex starting in his
gut and rumbling up through his whole being, up through his chest
and his throat and through his mouth. He felt the muscles around
his lips stretch almost painfully, but a sense of release soared on
up into his brain. His head reeled at the odd thought that for the
first time in ages he didn’t feel despondent. In fact, he was
practically doubled over with laughter.

He had a funny bone?
What
was that?
Where
was
that?

While turning away from the pool, he
was not thinking about the ring or of joining his image in the
pond. He rushed to the narrow gate that the girls hadn’t found,
jogged around to the other side of the encircling hedge, and saw
them running down the path towards the main road; their giggles
floating through the air like rippling bubbles of joy.

He hesitated to run after them,
wondering who they were. Children from nearby? Little angels from
heaven? Conduits of the Holy Spirit? It didn’t matter. Whether
human or divine, they weren’t the kind of intruders he despised.
The girl who tried to talk to him, the look in her eyes—she seemed
to adore him. Like he’d wished audiences would do when viewing him
on the silver screen, instead of barely noticing him in his bit
roles. He felt suddenly important and effectively
handsome.

Continuing to watch the children
scramble away, Josh determined that he wouldn’t try to catch them
out. He couldn’t anyway. He heard heavy footsteps on the gravel
path. Amos was approaching. The clock tower chimed, signaling his
next session.

The steady footsteps came up to him.
“Mr. Josh, c’mon, now. Time to go in and all,” Amos
implored.

“
Yes, I suppose it
is.”

“
Suppose?”

“
Tell me, Amos.” Josh
focused on the caretaker after a silent moment. “Have you ever
heard of a spontaneous cure?”

“
Spontaneous?”

“
Yes, you know. Sudden.
Happening all at once.”

The caretaker thought while his eyes
opened large, showing orbs of white around the dark brown. “Oh no,
sir. I haven’t,” he replied with a shake of his head. “Not here.
Nope, never was one of those that I heard tell of. Was supposed to
be with them shock treatments. But never was that I knows
of.”

Josh smiled broadly. “Well, I’ve just
had one.”

Amos rocked back on his heels. “What?
How?”

Josh kicked a stray chunk of dirt off
the main path, skipped ahead and then turned back. “It took
something totally unexpected, incongruous, hilarious, and
immediate—like Arthur Koestler’s planes of creativity.”

“
Who?” Amos veered
away.

“
He’s an author, a novelist
and psychological theorist. Wrote about intersecting planes. I
read
Darkness at Noon
for a class. That led me to his book,
Act of Creation.
I feel as if—as if
I’ve just experienced something like that. Two very different
planes of consciousness intersected and made something new—a
synthesis, a new consciousness for me.”

“
Huh?”

“
But listen. I’ll go see
Dr. Brunouer. I know what I’ll talk to him about this time--how
I’ll never be the same.”

Amos nodded in amazement. “Umm, umm.
Good luck with that.”

“
Yes, I’ll need
it.”

Re-approaching Josh, Amos eyed him
closely. “But it’s true. You sure don’t seem the same now, Mr.
Josh. You sure don’t. Unh, uh. You’d never really talk to me no
matter how I’d go at you. Now here you are, a-talkin’ a blue
streak.”

“
For sure I’m not the
same.” Josh looked up at a trio of white clouds floating through
the vast blue while an inspiration struck him. “And you know what?
I’m going to give up acting! It’s not where I fit in, anyway. I’m
still fairly young at thirty-one. Koestler’s theory was there for
me all along, but I never realized it. I’ll study medicine and
psychiatry—take up where Freud
really
left off.” Josh gazed skyward
again where the blue expanse prevailed against clouds gone wispy.
Even if he couldn’t impress Hollywood gatekeepers or audiences
viewing a screen, he could impact people directly. He just
had.