Storyteller

story about a storyteller     -anon               

[door clicks]

Dr. Fatima: Hi, how are you, come in, come in. What’s been going on?

Josiah: You know how it is, Doc. 

[chair screeches across floor]

I’m okay, I’m good. Something’s always going on—or if not on, then under. Oh, that’s a good one. Something’s always going under.

Dr. Fatima: Going under?

Josiah: Yeah, you know, like “going under the knife,” or “water under the bridge.” “6 feet under.” Something like that…

[pen scratches against paper]

[Josiah coughs]

Dr. Fatima: Have you been able to sleep better these days?

Josiah: Uh, a little. I actually look forward to sleeping now. I guess you could say that’s an improvement.

Dr. Fatima: Oh! That’s so good to hear, Josiah.

Josiah: Yeah, yeah…

[pause]

I have a question, Doc.

Dr. Fatima: Yes, of course.

Josiah: Do you know anything about… dreams? Like do you go over any of that kind of stuff in psychiatry school or med school or whatever? Since dreams are a huge part of our psychology? Like, if you understand dreams, you’d understand someone’s subconscious? Subconscience?

Dr. Fatima: I’m not quite sure what you’re trying to ask me, Josiah. 

Josiah: Well I mean, I’ve been thinking about this whole “6 feet under” thing a lot, and I’ve been thinking that sleeping is like going 6 feet under, just without the 6 feet, you know? It’s... how do I say this? Practice dying almost? ‘Cause when you die, you go into this magical, inexplicable place, right? 

Dr. Fatima: I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. 

Josiah: Then it’s the same with dreaming, see. You find yourself stuck in these alternate worlds, shaking hands with monsters and men. It’s like dying, only with dreaming you get to control where you go… 

Dr. Fatima: Where do you go then, Josiah?

Josiah: Not really anywhere. Well, actually... I don’t know, Doc. There’s this girl who I’ve been talking to, and whenever we get into a conversation, I don’t pay attention to anything else. 

Dr. Fatima: A girl? 

Josiah: Yeah, a girl. She calls herself “the Storyteller” or something. I think she’s kind of insane, but insane is interesting, I guess. 

Dr. Fatima: Storyteller, huh? 

Josiah: Oh yeah, lots of stories. 

Dr. Fatima: Do you remember any of them? 

Josiah: There was one about some mom mashing her baby’s brains, I think, but that was a cheap story—she copied and pasted Lady MacBeth and thought she could sell it to me like that. I might be an idiot, but not when it comes to tragic comedy.

Dr. Fatima: She sells stories to you?

Josiah: Oh, yeah, she sells them. You don’t get things for free, Doc—I mean, you should know that; my dad paid you to have a conversation with me. Yeah, she sells them to me. Sometimes she wants money, but mostly it’s time. I pay her with attention—complete attention, completely hers. That’s why I can’t remember where I am. She enjoys being my only beneficiary.

[pause]

[more pen scratching]

Dr. Fatima: Do you have a… favorite story?  

Josiah: Of course I do, Doc. What kind of question is that? Everyone has a favorite story.

Dr. Fatima: Would you care to share?

Josiah: Well, I’d like to, but I don’t think I can. See, if I did, I’d become the Storyteller, which means I’d take over her place. Then I’d become your beneficiary, and she would disappear. It’d make me think of disappearing myself. I won’t want to go to sleep anymore. And then you’re going to start worrying about me again, Doc, all because of one stupid, favorite story.

Dr. Fatima: Okay. We don’t have to talk about the stories. How about the girl then? What does she look like?

Josiah: Oh, she’s beautiful. Brown hair, brown eyes. She’s got these blue jade earrings and a scar on her cheek. And on her neck there’s this fading tattoo— 

Dr. Fatima: Josiah… that’s…

Josiah: Nah, Doc, it’s not. I already know what you’re thinking, but it’s not.

Dr. Fatima: [quietly] …Josiah, from what you’re saying, it sounds very much like the person you’re describing is— 

Josiah: Geez, Doc, I already said no! She’s not, okay? Look, Doc, you’re just not… 

Dr. Fatima: Josiah, it sounds awfully like— 

Josiah: What, Doc? My dead mom?

Dr. Fatima: Josiah, I know it’s diffi— 

Josiah: Doc, I already told you! She’s not my dead mom; she’s not—!

Dr. Fatima: Jo— 

Josiah: Doc, Doc, just listen to me, okay? I’m not insane, I swear I’m not. My mom is not— she’s not dead. My mom’s not dead, okay? I told you, dreaming is like dying except it’s not. It’s not, I said. It’s not. I’m not dead, I’m just dreaming, just like my mom is not dead, she’s just dreaming. Doc, are you listening to me? Doc, please. My mom, she’s—

[End of Recording.]

Doctor’s Notes: 

• Patient name: Josiah E.
• Trauma [unidentified]
• Clarification: mother is dead.