[ I am surprised to see Mrs. Tracy Black sitting in the waiting area. I assumed after the recent suicide death of her husband she would have cancelled this session. As my receptionist sends her back and I can see more clearly the distorted anger of her facial features I realize she wouldn't have missed this confrontation. Her eyes appear puffy from crying. Her hair is tangled and unwashed. Her mouth is a tight slit in her face. She has waited for days for this. Her clothing is soiled. As I rise to greet her she cuts me off with a hate-filled barrage...and so we begin.]
"You stupid FUCK...this is ALL your fault."
[The color in her cheeks is high now, and spittle flecks her lips as she continues loudly. The smell of her unwashed body fills the room]
"You fuckin' kilt him. I hope your happy. What the fuck did you say to him? You might as well pul't the trigger your own self"
[her fists are tight balls, knuckes white as she rages]
"So here I am. Two keeds. No money. No job. How am I su'pose to pay for the house, or food, or anything, now. What am I su'pose to do.???"
[She fumbled for a cigarette and lights it, then sees I have removed the shell she used last time as an ashtray. She looks around once more, and then flicks her lengthening ash on my hardwood floor with a satisfied glare.]
You done ruin't EVERYTHING...you fuck.
How could you do this to me?"
[She is up off the chair and slashes at my face before I can stop her. Her long and ragged nails scratching my face and beads of blood rise to the surface. Her eyes are wild and unfocused. It is all I can do not to throttle her. Before her second attack I grasp her wrists and physically sit her back down in the chair. The butt of the cigarette falls from her hand and she stares at me momentarily before crushing it out beneath the heel of her shoe, defiantly, on my floor.]
[ I explain in great detail that I will tolerate no more violent outbursts from her or physical assaults...or smoking, for that matter. And assure her if it happens again I will get an EDO (Emergency Detention Order) filed and she will end up in a lock-down psychiatric unit for no less that thirty days and her children will be temporary wards of The State. Then I soften a bit and try to tell her I understand she has had a terrible shock, and I am truly sorry for her loss. The threat of the lock-down seems to have taken some of the fight out of her, and she begins to cry}
"I don' know what I am su'pose to do now. Since Jer wasn't married to me long and he dint even have life insur'ance" She sobs.
[And it is here we reach the crux of the matter. Mrs. Black is not devastated by the untimely death of her husband. Only by the overwhelming inconvenience of her lack of a reliable pay-check. Until this very moment I didn't even believe I could think less of the woman. Apparently, I was mistaken. With her next statement it becomes a death spiral.]
"I gots to see Mark. Maybe if I bring the keeds up like he wants...maybe he kin hep...
(she trails off)
[ I have to stop this. Thinking quickly, to buy some time, I tell her that Mark has not been told of Jerry's death yet, and ask that she wait until he has been told and has time to process it. That to do otherwise might jeopardize his condition. Like she will care about that. Then I realize what I must do. I reach into my back pocket and pull out my wallet thumbing through the cash inside...calmly telling her that it isn't a lot (although to her it must be riches) and peel off several crisp one hundred dollar bills. "Maybe this will help a little" I hear myself say. The effect is instantaneous. All her posturing and anger melts away. She gasps in surprise and she steps towards me attempting a clumsy hug. Which I allow, but do not return. Not yet.]
"I'm real sorry 'bout your face." she stammers "an about all that other stuf' I said. I wuz jus real upset, is all. "
[I mutter some useless platitude, and then ask her if she will return next week for our scheduled session. Her eyes widen with disbelief, and she hurriedly agrees. She is rising to leave my office when I see her fold the cash in half and stick it into her filthy bra. Suddenly what I must do becomes crystal clear, and I absently find myself humming as I wipe the grey ashes from the floor with a soft cloth and dispose of the single crushed butt. Realizing, now, I am no longer irritated with her. Then I go to the wash basin and cleanse the bloody scratches on my face with alcohol. The pain is bracing. Affirming what must be done.]
