So one of my favorite writers once advised me in his book "On Writing" that you had to give your fictional characters
a voice of their own.
So that is GREAT, Steve...now how the hell do you get them to
shut up???
Working steadily along on my (as yet untitled) piece of fiction. Have the first chapter (draft) done and beginning the second.
This is the interview with The Deserter, I promised.
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[The Commanding Officer at Ft. Leavenworth Military Prison hands me off to a guard who ushers me into a small room. Our time is very limited and initally was refused all together. At the table sits a child. Not literally, of course. He is 24 years old and has spent the last 4 years of his life imprisoned. He is also the only other survivor. The guards at this Military Prison don't see him this way. To them and the rest of the world he will always just be a deserter. Someone who abandoned his platoon. Small for his age; he is thin with a dusting of freckles across his nose and cheekbones. His ears stick out hopelessly under the high and tight haircut. He could pass for 18 easily. When I enter the room he immediately stands to attention. I motion him to return to the straight back oak chair and he does.]
[I ask him if he knows why I am here. And our interview begins.]
"No sir."
"Private First Class David Gentry, Sir. But most of the guys just called me "Ohio".
"On account of bein' from Ohio, Sir"
"Yes. He was my Commanding Officer, Sir. If it hadn't been for Mark, I would be dead now."
[I find it odd that unlike all the other military trappings he exhibits, he does not
refer to Mark as SGT.Cole, but simply Mark, like an old friend]
"You see, Mark told me that night to clear out. Said that everyone was going to die in there. So I found a chance and lit out."
"I don't know, Sir."
"He was always real good to me, Sir. The older guys liked to dog me some. Mark always stopped them. Sometimes we would talk."
[PFC Gentry up until this point had no idea that Mark was still alive. When I tell him that Mark survived and that he is currently in the VA Hospital his immediate affect is disbelief like that of a child who has been told there really IS a Santa Claus]
[ He sits quietly absorbing this impossible news]
"He saved my life."
[He repeats this quietly over and over]
"My folks. Yeah. They're still alive. Don't want nothin' to do with me now though. Says they're ashamed of me. Because I deserted, I guess. I don't rightly know, sir. Haven't seen them since before the court martial. About three years, Sir. All military, sir."
[ the guard re-enters and motions that our time is up]
"Sir? Do you think maybe they might let me see him sometime?"
[ He says this like a lost child might ask for its father, and he is still looking back at me for an answer as the guard leads him shackled back to his cell.]
I have no response. They would barely let me see him.
Sometimes I hate my job.
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And the culmination of the first chapter by the doctor...
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I should have introduced myself earlier, I suppose.
My name is Doctor Richard Troy and I have a private practice in the State of Pennsylvania. I am 58 years old and have been a psychiatrist for almost half my life. I was married just after college. My wife was raped and beaten severely in our home several years ago. She lingered for days, in an induced coma, never regaining consciousness. Too much brain trauma. If she had lived they said she would have been in a persistent vegetative state. Mercifully, she died quickly when the life support was removed. The police called it a home invasion. They should call it what it is.
A life invasion.
We had no children. After her death I have devoted myself almost completely to my practice.
I live alone and do not socialize a great deal. For years I blamed myself for her death. I felt quite guilty.
I was often away at conferences. She had repeatedly asked me to stay home more through our last years together. I was away at a Conference when the attack occurred.
I was asked to consult on Mark's case by Dr.Esselweiss, the lead psychiatrist for the VA Hospital. Mark's case is a bizarre one. By all accounts he should have died in the blast. He did not. With the exception of his right arm all of the limb loss occurred after he arrived state-side. Being a diabetic his healing was quite slow and subject to numerous infections. When his left leg became gangrenous, it too, was amputated. Remarkably, he shows no signs of a TBI despite the concussive nature of an explosion that size. I don't believe in miracles, myself, but if I did- I would say that Mark's cognitive status would certainly qualify as one.
After the surgical amputation of his last limb, and because of his mental status the VA offerd him the chance to be involved in an on-going experimental project.They are developing an exo-skeleton (Exo-Shel) that is completely controlled by neuro-impulse. Brain waves. Simply put, it is his best chance to walk with robotic legs, have arms to use again, and eventually resume some semblance of a life outside this hospital. He had been talking very positively about it until the last amputation and his subsequent divorce.
Since that time he has withdrawn further and further. He refuses to consider all antidepressant therapies available, and is quite angry at times. He is verbally abusive to the staff and myself. He is currently palliative care only, by his wishes, and often refuses even basic ADL care.
Both Dr. Esslweiss and myself, as well as the team of robotics researchers who have been working with him for several years now on the development of the Exo-Shel, are hopeful that we can help his come to terms with his situation and get him back into the Exo program.
That is why I am here.
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And Mark's Interview. Beginning the Second Chapter
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[ The day-shift nurse has reported that Mark has been very quiet today. Reflective. Cooperative. I am optimistic about our session. ]
"You're back."
[I answer affirmatively and he shifts a bit in the bed to gaze directly at me with his one remaining eye. There is white salt dried on the cheek and lower periorbital reigon and I suddenly realize he has been crying today. Profusely. His eye is streaked with red. I step closer and touch his shoulder to comfort him, and instead set off a new stream of tears]
"I miss Tracy so much. I miss all of them."
"Josh and Jade."
"Jerry, too."
"What a damn mess. It's all my fault, you know. Fuckin' stupid to keep re-upping."
"Did she show up last week?"
"Are they all okay?"
[Patient confidentiality prohibits me from discussing the particulars, not that I would, anyway, in this case. I reassure him that everyone is fine. Today he seems to want to talk and that is what I am here for. To listen. To help. To get him back on track. ]
"I'm sorry I was rude last week. This has been...horrible. A fuckin' nightmare."
[I nod, and he goes on. It is easier to see him angry and defiant than it is to see him like this. Completely broken.]
"I don't blame Tracy. If I were her I wouldn't do this to the kids, either. Damn it, I just miss them so much. Jerry is a great guy. We grew up together outside of Atlanta. Best friends. He really stepped in and helped a lot when I was deployed. With Tracy. With the kids. Uncle Jerry, they called him. I should be grateful that they have someone to raise them. do things with them. Take care of Tracy. It's hard... "
[He trails off, and then the conversation is replaced by huge child-like sobs. Gulping for air.]
[I retrieve a handful of tissues and wipe his misshapen nose clean, the tears from his face, and gently squeeze his shoulder...feeling a lump form in my own throat. He has a coughing fit, and then finds his voice again. ]
"Can I tell you about Tracy?"
[I don't trust mine at this point, and nod instead...and he continues]
"When Tracy and I started seeing each other, I knew we were from different worlds. She was backwoods. Not proper. My parents didn't like her. She was like a scared wild animal. She didn't trust anybody. It took a long time to get past that. She could be real hard. Angry. Hurtful. But she had a real sweet side. The side I fell in love with. She was "experienced". There I was, practically a city boy, and she was my first kiss. Hell, my first everything."
"As different as we were, I loved her."
[ he corrects himself]
"I love her."
"Her Dad, The General, is a great guy. He was more of a Dad to me than my own dad. Hell, I think I enlisted more for him than for us. He was so proud the day I told him I was enlisting. The Father I always wanted and never had."
"I had planned to go to college. Study engineering. But after Josh was born I knew that they both deserved more than me trying to make ends meet while I was going to school."
"Planned? No. Josh wasn't planned. But I have never wanted a kid so bad in my whole life. When they handed me my son...my own son...I swore I would be the Dad to him that mine never had time to be."
"You know how that feels?"
"The General still comes to see me, you know. Came in a couple of weeks back. He is still pretty mad with Tracy about the divorce."
Told me
"Goddamn it, Mark...you'll always be MY son."
[He does an imitation of The General]
"Asked me if I needed anything."
"I told him shoes."
[he grins at his own dark joke]
"You should have seen his face. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry."
"Smuggled me in a beer. Boy, if the nurses had caught us chugging it, I would have been in some deep shit."
"First time I've felt human in a long time."
"Doc."
"Do you think if
YOU asked them, they would come see me?"
"I'm not mad or anything. Tell 'em I understand."
"I don't want to scare the kids."
"If they don't want to bring 'em maybe they could just bring a picture or two for here in my room. You know. So I can see 'em sometimes."
[ He looks hopeful and the tears have stopped. I tell him I will do whatever I can for him. He is no longer crying. I leave the stark room and the disfigured man. Then mine begin to drip to the floor.]
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So yeah...between
Dr. Troy, and
Mark, and
Jerry, and
Tracy, and
"Ohio" and to a lesser extent
The General...
there are a lot of voices, plots, and sub-plots bouncing around in there. Have used the
Ingersoll Snowflake Method for developing my fictional characters, and it works extremely well.
So anyway...if it is late in the evening and there is a bluish glow in the window accompanied by tap-tap-tapping on the keyboard...we're all just having a late night chat. Okay?
Working on an interview with The General tonight!
More Anon...
