Steve didn’t speak throughout his entire session with Dr. Hawthorne. I sat on the couch behind him, but I could feel his mind at work. He may have been silent, but that didn’t mean there was nothing going on. After they took him back to his small opaque room, I asked Dr. Hawthorne about Steve’s progression.

“No worse, no better,” he said removing his glasses. “Steve’s going to be here for a long time.”

“I don’t think that’s what he thinks. What about medication?”

“His psychosis, no matter how much medication, needs supervision. He will always be a danger to others and himself. Right now, I’m worried about himself.”

“How do you decipher that? I mean, he’s never attempted to hurt himself before. What symptoms or warning signs do you see?”

“The silence, the meditative thought. He’s taking something very seriously.”

“I don’t know. I don’t see him hurting himself.”

“He’s a violent man Mike, and now a guilt-ridden man. Violence just doesn’t disappear, he needs to focus it somewhere and now the only person he’s frustrated with is himself.”

I left Dr. Hawthorne hoping he was right. Not that I wanted Steve to hurt himself, but his guilty feelings and anger towards others was wavering. At least if he’s mad at himself, he can try to resolve his feelings.

I watched him through the wire and glass mesh window in his door. He sat on the floor thinking. He knew I was there. I asked the guard to let me in. He asked that I remove any sharp instruments, my wallet, my jacket, my belt, and my shoes. Procedure and I obliged.

I sat at the end of his bed. “Quiet day?” I asked.

“No, thank you.” He answered.

“Excuse me?”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d leave me be.” Emotion swept behind his eyes.

“I’d like to hear the reason you’d like me to leave.”

Anger reeled. “What’s wrong with you? I politely asked you to leave and you sit there as if this is your room. As if you’re my father, as you have any fucking meaning in my life.”

“Who does have meaning in your life, Steve?”

“Go fuck yourself. Dr. Hawthorne can go fuck himself and my father can go fuck himself.”

“I bet you’re worried about your father.”

“Worried? I don’t think so. I hope he pukes and croaks on the table.” He dropped his head in his hands. I listened in silence to his sobs and his sadness fill the room.

“Hillary loves you Steve, more than anything.”

“If she did, she wouldn’t do this. How do you think this feels, my fag father now becoming a fake chick? All he cares about is himself or herself or whatever it is.”

“Hillary will be whatever you make her to be. But I can’t make excuses Steve. I can’t put myself in your shoes and understand how confusing this must be. It must be really difficult to go through this.”

He cried for a little while longer and at one point I laid my hand on his shoulder and he let it be. I left feeling Steve had made an important step.

Later that night I dreamt of Betsy and a wedding. Steve was my best man and he shook my hand after I kissed the bride. Then he kissed Betsy, but when he stood back blood dripped from her mouth as she unknowingly grabbed my arm and ran down the aisle. I could hear Steve laughing behind me as we left.