Jaime sits on the couch in Bob’s office.

Image Credit: Kenny Stoltz

BOB: Do you feel alienated?

JAIME: Of course I do.

Bob sips from a mug of coffee.

BOB: Why?

JAIME: What sort of answer do you want?  A philosophical one?  A more grounded one?

BOB: I want the truth.

Jaime twists in his seat to pop his back.

JAIME: There is nothing more simple than the truth, and nothing harder to explain.  Picking up with our last discussion of control, let’s consider something.  If we are made of stuff, generally speaking, and that stuff is governed by very strict rules of conduct, like physics, then we must be the cumulative result of those rules.

BOB: How does this explain your alienation?

JAIME: It’s a matter of consciousness.  Our awareness must only allow our awareness.  We are observers.  Not any more able to affect ourselves than anyone else.  Our actions are an inevitability given our unique development and the variations in our personality that result.

Bob writes on his pad, but briefly.

BOB: Again, how does this explain your alienation?

JAIME: The thing is, Bob, it explains yours too.  Under this scenario, it’s not a question of loneliness, it’s one of identity.  It’s more helpful to think that we ARE this body and we CONTROL its actions, but the truth is, we don’t.  We’re just watching.  So, if we aren’t this body, then who are we?  THAT is alienation.  Not WHERE are we, but WHAT?  And if we can’t control our bodies, then how do we communicate?  How do I know that my condition is not unique?

BOB: Under this scenario?

JAIME: Under this scenario.

BOB: How does this explain your alienation?

Bob defiantly sips again.  He smiles.  Jaime smiles back.

JAIME: It doesn’t.

BOB: Explain it then.

JAIME: Listen.  You’re not speaking with someone who is emotionally unaware.  You’re not speaking with someone who has any illusions about his significance.

BOB: Who AM I speaking with, then?

JAIME: Jaime O’Malley.  I don’t suffer from mania.  I don’t suffer from depression.  There are very many things I enjoy.  There are very many people whom I love.  I need people more than I want them.  I enjoy people more than I fear them.  Given that, I want YOU to be honest with ME.  I want the truth.  And though I understand and respect the method, my understanding of it, nullifies it.  So, ask me what you really want to ask me.

Bob shifts.  He sips nervously this time, using both hands.

JAIME: I’m calling you out, Bob.  This is the point of no return.  You know that if you deflect or redirect, that I’m gonna lose all faith in you.  I’ll lose trust.  You’ll be avoiding…

BOB: Why do you want to kill yourself?

Jaime claps once and places his elbows on his knees.

JAIME: Everyone dies.  You agree?

BOB: Of course.

JAIME: What would you consider the ideal way to go?

BOB: I haven’t really thought about it.

JAIME: You’ve been to a funeral?

BOB: More than enough.

JAIME: Then you’ve thought about it.  You just didn’t enjoy it.  Neither have I.

Bob leans back, his legs comfortably apart; he looks at the ceiling.

BOB: I went to my first funeral when I was ten.  My grandfather had passed away.  We were as close as a grandfather ought to be to a grandson; I wanted to be like him in very many ways.  We visited him in the hospital.  He was withering but completely lucid and unchanged by the circumstances.  As we were preparing to leave he smiled and said he needed to get some rest.  I found out later that he never awoke from that nap.

JAIME: Was that hard for you?

Bob shakes his head.

BOB: It really wasn’t.  I had a buddy, college buddy, died in a car accident.  Alcohol related.  That was much more difficult to grasp.  The abruptness.  The finality of it was a bit overwhelming.  I’ve known other people, who were older than my grandfather at the time of their passing, and theirs, too, was more difficult to handle.

JAIME: Why?

BOB: Looking at my grandpa, thinking back, he didn’t seem like a victim like the others.  Like he was in control or perhaps more accepting.  There was an underlying sense of understanding in that last smile.  Not happy about his present circumstance, but not bitter either.  He seemed without regret.  He seemed content.  He seemed…ready.  And there was no fear.

JAIME: There was no want.

Bob cocks his head and squints.

BOB: Exactly.