“It sounds like you and Ella have become fast friends. I think every time we’ve spoken lately, you’ve mentioned plans with her.”
“I’ve been flirting with her,” I said.
“Okay,” he responded, with almost no inflection, so I couldn’t tell if he approved of this development or not.
“I don’t really think it is okay, though,” I told him.
“Why’s that?”
“Because I don’t think I’m in a good place for a relationship right now.”
“You’ve made an incredible amount of progress in the past several months. In my professional opinion, there’s nothing to recommend you not becoming romantically involved with someone.”
“But I still haven’t dealt with this CTE thing.”
“In what way are you hoping to deal with it, Ben? The advanced tests we’ve spoken about?”
“Yes. And the reality that my brain is pretty much a ticking time bomb.”
“If you want to schedule the tests, you should,” Brian said. “I think it would be good for you to know definitively if there are signs, and if so, how advanced they are. And I think we need to find another way for you to talk about your brain. Bomb isn’t exactly the best imagery or the healthiest metaphor. It’s not like CTE is going to suddenly explode without warning and shred through all of your synapses in a single day. There will be signs. Early symptoms. Most likely you’ll have time to adjust to each one as they manifest.”
“Most likely,” I said. “But not guaranteed.”
“No, not guaranteed. Just like it’s not guaranteed that you even have CTE. Can I be perfectly frank with you?”
“Always.”
“If I were going through what you are, I’d be scared out of my fucking mind. It’s okay to be scared, Ben. No one expects you to just –poof! –get over it. In fact, it’s okay to be scared about this for years. Because it’s a scary thing you’re facing. We’ve talked a lot about emotions, about listening to them and giving in to them, and I know that’s been an adjustment for you. You’re going to have to work overtime to accept your fear here.”
He wasn’t kidding. I’d read a book a while back that opened my eyes to the small, hard cage of masculinity I’d been raised in.Mendon’t cry.Mendon’t get sappy.Mendon’t approach a person who hurt themand try to work it out civilly. Anger, violence, lust, these things are okay though, because “boys will be boys”. Was it any wonder that after years of bottling everything else up, when men were pushed too far, or felt powerless, or felt like they’d been wronged in some way – real or imagined – they got so angry that they snapped? Violently?
I never realized how much shit I’d kept inside until my first few sessions with Brian, when it had all poured out of me the second another man told me it was okay to be upset.
I rubbed a hand over my face. “Brian, how can I move on with the threat of CTE hanging over my head? How can I ask someone else to take that on?”
“Who’s to say you have to move on?” he asked. “Like I said, it’s perfectly healthy to continue to be scared about this, whether you have CTE or not. It would be less healthy to let that fear dictate every decision in your life. Some, yes, sure. Like maybe you don’t start jumping out of planes just for the thrill of feeling alive, or pick up a hobby that might lead to more brain trauma. But making decisions for a potential partner, or before symptoms manifest, maybe not. And who’s to say that anything becomes romantic with Ella? She might not feel that way about you.”
The man made a good point. “You’re right. She’s been nothing but friendly toward me.”
“I sense another but here,” Brian said.
“But every now and then, I catch a blush on her cheeks. Or a look on her face.”
“And you assume they’re of a romantic nature?”
I thought back to two days ago, when we’d set up the dining room furniture. At one point I’d picked up the end of the table and swiveled it around into place, having to strain beneath its weight. The way she’d looked me over, the intensityin her gaze, followed by a quickturn away, but not quick enough for me to miss the way her cheeks colored…
“I think they might be,” I told Brian.
“And how do you feel about her?”
“I…I’m still trying to figure that out. She’s beautiful. In a deceptively innocent, wide-eyed kind of way that pairs hilariously with her wicked sense of humor. The other day I turned my TV on after she left andBenny and the Jetsjust started pouring out of it. I laughed for five minutes straight.”
“I’m missing the joke.”
“My mom called me Benny on the phone and Ella heard it. Ever since, she’s been slipping that song into my life. Last week she locked me out of my phone after trying to hack into it with the intention of changing my ringtone to it.”
“So, she’s beautiful and she makes you laugh. What else?”
