The Interview
ÒIt would be very helpful if
you could explain the significance of Mr T and tell me something about
yourself? And why you feel you should consult with me. This will give me
something to go on. Your telephone call two days ago was rather brief, though I
am certainly interested and must admit to being rather curious.
ÒThe name Mr T comes from way back,Ó Felix explained.
ÒI am nearly 40, after all, but years ago, not long after I had left school and
around the time IÕd gone to university, I was a bit overweight. Well, a bit
more than just a bit. Quite podgy actually. I had never really been athletic
and was in quite poor physical condition. And somewhere around my middle, I
was, you know: fat! Tubby. So I was christened with the name Tubs. Later this
became Mr T."
ÒDid you mind that name?" asked the
psychologist.
"Not really,Ó
he replied after a brief pause. ÒIt wasn't a name I was called out of malice or
anything. In fact, I liked it as it sounded rather a respectful way of
addressing me."
"Is there
a reason for that?" Riding queried.
"What do
you mean?" Felix asked. "Why I consider it is respectful to be
addressed that way or why I feel I should be addressed like that?"
"Isn't
that the same thing?" Riding asked.
"Not
necessarily. I think it depends on your point of view. It is more respectful
and, yes, I do feel I should be offered respect. I know that allowing ÔMr TÕ
and still expecting respect donÕt really go together, but...."
Felix left the
comment unfinished as he felt like he was being tested, but supposed Dr. Riding
had to make a professional assessment about him somehow. To see how crazy he
really was.
"You know
what it's like with friends? We all have names other than our real ones. The
ones we were christened with. I expect you had one?" he ventured.
Riding sat
motionless obviously with no intention of answering, though her sharp grey-blue
eyes were locked onto his face giving him the unnerving feeling that he was
being studied. He felt a brief,
but very intense feeling of foreboding that seemed to be gone almost as
suddenly as it had appeared.
"Can you
describe to me any physical problems you experience?"
"I get
dizzy sometimes,Ó Felix replied. ÒUsually when I stand up after sitting for a
while or climbing lots of stairs."
"Is that
why you stumbled into my office?"
Felix realised
that she had noticed his clumsy entrance through the doorway into her office.
"Yes."
he said.
It wasn't
totally honest, but he did feel a little light-headed when he stood outside her
office, before Heather Riding had come into view as she'd opened the door.
Dressed as she had been provided a picture definitely worth studying. FelixÕs
had been completely distracted when heÕd experienced a mixture of
light-headedness, shock and surprise. The thought drifted into his mind that
these sensations could all be responsible for each other.
"There is
an elevator," Riding was saying, "if you prefer."
"I make a
point of not using an elevator if the floor isn't too high up. It's a fitness
thing I have. Lifts are for unfit people.Ó
"You do look very fit now, I must say,Ó Riding
commented.
Felix appeared
to consider that statement, but said nothing.
"Would
you like some water?"
"Yes. Thank you." He responded.
She stood up
and moved elegantly over to the water dispenser, where she filled a plastic cup
and returned towards her desk, deftly placing the cup to his right on the
corner. Riding continued moving around the desk and back towards her seat.
Suddenly,
Felix seemed to alter his demeanour as he continued and a serious look spread
all over his face.
ÒDr Riding. I
will be frank with you. I am truly worried.Ó
Heather Riding
moved slightly forward in her chair and raised her hands with the palms
touching each other and elbows resting on the desk, the middle fingertips
lightly pushed into the angle of her chin in a very relaxed and
interested-looking pose. Felix looked startled. He had never seen anyone with
six fingers on each hand even though he knew such people existed. Hexadactylism
or something, he recalled.
ÒYou possibly imagine I'm a hopeless
case,Ó Felix offered, Òbut I've had so much patronising humour levelled at me
over recent months that it seems whenever I say something unusual or out of the
ordinary the accusation of conspiracy theorist rears its ugly head. Any
implausible comment I make, however detailed it may be, is simply rejected.
Nearly always out of hand without any explanation of why it sounds so
ridiculous.Ó
Felix paused
briefly. Riding waited in silence.
ÒThis concerns
a combination of events and thoughts that I do not understand,Ó Lightfoot continued.
ÒI am a scientist. An astrophysicist, actually, and I know that what I sense is
very real. I feel threatened, though I don't know by what exactly."
Riding waited.
Expressionless.
ÒMy colleagues
just imagine IÕm being irrational. Usually, people think I'm a bit crazy if I
mention conspiracy theory as though life on planet Earth is ordinary and
everybodyÕs always honest. In my view this is as far from any kind of existence
on Earth as you can get.Ó
Lightfoot
reached for the cup of water Riding had placed on the desk in front of him. He
didnÕt drink from it.
"Sometimes,
I momentarily feel as though I am somewhere else, but it normally doesn't seem
to last very long. When I am aware of being back to where I am, the memory is
like a dream that simply evaporates. It's transient and so volatile that even
though I know I have been dreaming, I cannot remember anything about my dream.Ó
"That is
not unusual," Riding commented.
"Maybe,
but it is only that itÕs like a dream and that's the closest I can get to describing
how I feel,Ó Lightfoot continued. ÒIf I don't write something down immediately
I am almost certain to forget it. Dr. Riding, I am interested in your
professional opinion about something specific.Ó
ÒYes?Ó
ÒPeople think
of car accidents as being something that involves speed, but it doesn't have
to. How fast must a car be travelling to cause a fatal accident with somebody
just walking?" Lightfoot waited for a response.
"Well,
perhaps twenty miles an hour?" Riding suggested after a moment.
"Or less. Ten miles an hour or even less than that. Five miles an hour if a half a ton or so of car runs over you."
"Perhaps,Ó
Riding encouraged.
"Take the
other day. It's really quite scary to think about it. Even now. I was walking
along the pavement in the middle of the town and about to cross the road. It
was around noon. Normally itÕs a fairly busy time, but not on this particular
day. I stepped out into the road, carelessly without looking, but for some
reason stepped back onto the pavement. If I had stepped out, I'd have been hit
by a car that was moving quite slowly close to the kerb. I'd have been knocked
over and probably crushed against the ground. One of those accidents. See how
easy it'd be?"
"Do you
mean someone tried to kill you?"
"I don't
know. But it would have been so easy. Something made me step back away from the
road at that moment. I don't know why, though I am still here. It wasnÕt my
imagination, either. I have followed my intuition in recent years as I have
learned to trust it and never to question it. It seems to look after me like a
Guardian Angel or something. I imagine you're beginning to think I'm a sandwich
short of a picnic."
"No. No.
I meet people with all sorts of worries and concerns. These are always very
real to people. I try to identify the source of the problem to help those
people help themselves. Help you to help yourself. It's
interesting that you should say that you are aware of your intuition,"
Riding offered. She paused and then added, "I have an interest in this
whole area as I suspect there is a link with human psychology and
communication. The traditional viewpoint is how we deal with ourselves and not
the link between different people. Telepathy and such things."
It was
LightfootÕs turn to wait in silence, but listening intently.
"Do you
feel able to articulate your feelings?" Riding asked.
"I don't
know, but I can try," he said after a moment. A thoughtful look appeared
on his face as he looked at the cup in his hand from which he then took a sip
of water.
"When you
touch something very hot, you don't think about it, just withdraw your hand
very quickly. You won't question or analyse the sensation because if you did,
you would almost certainly get burned or scalded. ItÕs the same if the surface
was freezing cold or even colder. Solid carbon dioxide is much colder than ice.
You wouldn't be able to tell the difference between this and the something very
hot, though you would instantly know it was harmful just by touch."
"OK. Go
on," Riding encouraged.
© Louis Brothnias (2010)