Focus (standard:drama, 1488 words)
Author: mykemyk	Added: Jun 25 2005	Views/Reads: 3331/2185	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The mind is a complicated piece of machinery. Most are happy to keep it polished and well oiled. Some cannot keep from tinkering with it...tweeking it...to the point it no longer runs as it was designed. For those, the journey we call life can be a fright

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

lay beside her, I found myself thinking I had intended to pick a ripe 
cherry. Instead, it had fallen at my feet before I could begin my climb 
to the top of the tree. The girl took my silence and hesitation as a 
valiant attempt to keep from “soiling” her reputation. She later told 
her mother the entire story. Her mother was a cashier at the small 
grocery store where I worked part-time as a “stocker”. Before the month 
was over, I'd had sex with both daughter and mother. 

Most of my life has been shaped by accident. There has been no planning,
no grand design...I have simply stumbled in and out of opportunities. 

Somehow, I have always known that, one day, I would want to truly focus.
I had always assumed it would be easy...that I would simply “flip a 
switch” and the light would come on. I had no idea that some skills 
must be honed...finely tuned...unused, they become dormant...”sleepers” 
that can refuse to awaken. 

I now find myself standing at the bottom of the stairs, impatiently
calling out to that part of myself that is, I know, lying somewhere, 
still completely covered. I feel my frustration growing...impatiently 
calling, again and again. To my horror, I hear an all too familiar 
sound...the sound of a single foot, landing heavily on the floor." 

As I conclude my remarks and open the floor to take questions, I pause
briefly to look at the roadsign coming into view. Mental Health Center 
- pasty white letters on a dark green background...this is my exit. 

As I manuever my pickup through the parking lot, I quickly glance at
each building in passing. Separate, yet connected...sleek looking, 
brick buildings - one big complex. Inside, I am greeted by a single 
window. A clipboard is lying on its sill. "Just some basic 
information", the receptionist says softly. For the layman, I should 
explain that their "basic information" consists of questions designed 
to do two things - get a "read" as to how crazy I might be...and, how 
they may best proceed to secure payment for services rendered. 

Having satisfied their need for "basic information", I am ushered into a
waiting area. I am told, by a pleasant enough lady that my therapist 
will, after glancing over the documents I have submitted, greet me 
shortly. Taking a seat, I find myself starting to get anxious. "How 
long does it take to look at a single piece of paper", I say to the 
empty chair beside me. In an effort to shake my discomfort, I quickly 
reach for another scenario... 

Peering down the long, dimly lit corridor, I see a single shape...moving
slowly...almost shuffling along. In my ears, a faint click, click; 
click...a steady rhythm, choking the silence between us. As the form 
moves closer, I see a cane...white, with a red tip near the bottom...I 
find myself staring harder, straining to see beyond the cane...to see 
the face, still shrouded in darkness. 

The cane suddenly breaks its rhythm...rearing its head, as if the tip
were a single eye, pausing to gaze into the darkness. Before I can 
move, the owner of the cane begins to vanish into the darkness. Soon, 
only the cane is left...standing erect before me...taunting me...daring 
me to consider how such a feat can be possible. I watch in silence as 
the cane begins to transform...shrinking and changing shape at a most 
amazing speed. I stare until my eyes begin to burn...I feel the need to 
blink. Fighting to keep my eyes on the cane's metamorphosis, I finally 
yield to the pain. When I open my eyes, I see the cane is now a 
pen...resting in the hand of the therapist standing in front of me. I 
watch as he slowly clicks and unclicks the pen...I wonder how long I 
have kept him waiting...how long I have sat silently, lost in my own 
thoughts. 

I stand quickly and allow him to introduce himself. He turns his back to
me and begins walking down the hallway to his office...I follow, just a 
few steps behind. As we walk, I notice the scuff marks on the floor 
ahead of me. The small black marks line the hallway...some down the 
middle, giving the hallway the appearance of a little "two lane" 
highway. As we near the end of the corridor, I cannot help but wonder 
if I have actually started my journey down the road to recovery...? 


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