“Grey Street”

by Jonathon Nixon, LMFT

               “I’ve got to tell you, man. I just can’t get the song out of my head.”  Ricky rapidly said. 

               His therapist offered back a curious look, “You mean that Dave Matthew’s song you mentioned last week? Remind me, what was the song title again?” 

               “I think it’s called, ‘Grey Street,’ but I’m not a hundred percent sure.  All I know is that when I start thinking about it, I still get kind of sad.”

               There was a childish undertone that picked up from his therapist’s voice, “Care to sing a little, just to give me a better idea of what you are talking about?”  His statement was followed by a playful wink.

               Ricky was quick to reply with, “No.  I think I’m good.” 

               The way the therapist laughed in response nearly caused the room to shake as he riled at the missed opportunity for a free karaoke show.  “Okay, well don’t be afraid to change your mind.  I do better with demonstrations. So, tell me where have you been noticing this song coming up the most during the past couple months?”

               Ricky uncharacteristically tugged at his loose Nike hoodie sweater pulling at the draw strings and wrapping them around his thick fingers that told the therapist Ricky was starting to get anxious. 

               His words were mumbled at first but Ricky become more coherent the further he recalled the episodes that constructed the past of couple of winter months.  “Well, it primarily happens during the night time, when I take my dog out for a walk.”

               “Okay, so walk me through it?  I’ve got a picture of you in my mind—it’s dark and you’re walking your dog, what happens next?” The therapist acknowledged.

               “I don’t know.”  There was a kind of dissatisfied melody that naturally came from Ricky’s voice as he struggled to put his thoughts into words. “Theres just something about the night sky that seems to get me thinking about this song.”

               The therapist leaned closer from his chair, shifting the thin vail of bifocal glasses that nearly breached the tip of his curved down nose, “Sounds like there is a memory trying to connect you, maybe something that is being triggered by the night sky.”  The therapist paused and leaned back into their leather arm chair with a dramatized frown that tenderly told Ricky he was deep in thought.  “I’m curious, from what I know about that song and the band, in general, big fan by the way, it was released early on in the 2000’s which would have made you about the age of …?” 

               “16.” Ricky finished for the therapist. 

               The therapist continued to wonder out loud, “’16,’ okay, so let us say, give or take a couple of years, you first heard that song sometime in your high school career are there any significant memories that might involve you and potentially someone else engaging in some type of night time activity you potentially might be repressing?”

               Ricky nearly mirrored the therapist’s own behavior from the seconds before as he curved his own post-humorous type of frown and leaned deeper into the couch under the weight of his own contemplating thoughts. “I mean if you’re alluding to the fact that I had some monumental break up or something, I don’t think that is it.  I mean, I dated my fair share of girls back in the day, but never had a break up that ruined my world or anything.” Ricky remarked.

               The therapist’s eyes widened from behind his sliding bifocals, “That’s very interesting, ‘fair share,’ what does that mean?”

               Ricky’s lips curled into a devilish little grin that told the therapist he might have just woken up a more playful part of Ricky’s ego.  “Well let’s just say I wasn’t too lonely when it came to getting through graduation.” His smiled intensified. 

               “Sounds like to me, you were quite the ladies man.” The therapist neutrally remarked. 

               Ricky’s intense smile began to leak with the sound of short laughs that mixed with his spit that he had to suck back before he was able to respond.  “I wouldn’t go as far as to say, ‘ladies man.’  I think I had about five or six girlfriends in total during high school.”

                  The therapist wanted to learn more, considering the significance in the change of body language Ricky was now demonstrating, so he pressed on with his line of questioning, “How did those relationships typically end?”

               “I ultimately broke up with them. Either because the relationship wasn’t really going anywhere or I got bored.” 

               The therapist asked, “All of them?”

               “Pretty much –,” There was a brief pause that caused Ricky to stare off through the office window just behind the therapist’s chair. “Except for one.”  Ricky eventually concluded. 

               “From what I am seeing looks like that one was different?”  The therapist voice was soft and cautious hoping to antagonize Ricky into a deeper explanation.

               “Yeah. She was. I dated her during senior year.  And we stayed together most of the year, even passed prom, but then she cheated on me with a guy who use to be a close friend and I’ve talked to them both since.” 

               “Sounds like that was a real punch in the gut?”

               Ricky took a deep breath, “Yeah, it was. She was great. We use to have so much fun together, the late-night drives, the surprise Frosties when I was at work, the midnight phone conversations and going hunting with her dad. I sometimes had thoughts that we would get married someday, but then that all changed when I found out she was screwing around.”  His voice trailed off and his playful posture slowly deflated into a low slump right before the therapist.

               “Yeah, that can be a tough pill to swallow, especially at that age.  How did you find out about that situation?”

               Ricky again, found himself staring out the same window before saying.  “I was working as a busser for a small restaurant at the time and it was coming up to the end of my shift and like I always did I started to text her to see if she wanted to chill after work, but she never responded to my texts.  So, I texted her dad because we were cool like that and asked if she was home and he told me that she left with a few of her friends to go see a movie. So I tried texting her best friend, Shiela, who is always with her and she wasn’t responding, so I texted her boyfriend John, who I was also cool with, and he eventually told me the news and sent me a screen shot of her and this other guy, I didn’t know, making out in the back of the theater.”

               The therapist was quick to reply, “What was your immediate reaction to that news?”

               Ricky shot up in his chair, “I was pissed!  I essentially left work early and drove down to the theater but by the time I got there they were all gone.”

               The therapist remained stoic being cautious of feeding into Ricky’s reactivity, “No, no, what I mean is what was your first reaction to that incident, essentially what kinds of decisions were you making in that moment and what was the true emotion underneath all that anger?”

               “Pain, man” Ricky snapped, emphasizing a moronic tone that was aimed at the docile therapist.  “My first thought was, how can this happen to me? And, what did I do wrong to cause her to cheat?”  There was a flash of aggression now coming from Ricky’s eyes like a cautious lion watching his handler enter his cage for the first time. 

               The therapist paid no attention to posture of hostility coming from Ricky and pressed forward, “So essentially you started to blame yourself?” The therapist concluded. 

               Again, aggression in Ricky’s voice, “Well yeah, wouldn’t you?  I mean I dated that chick for about 8 months and things were going good and I would have never guessed in a million years that she was capable of doing something like that, so yeah, my first thought was what did I do that pushed her away.”

               The therapist nodded, scribbling a sloppy note into the open journal on his lap before casually asking, “What happened to your love life after you two, I would imagine, finished the messy break up.”

               Ricky remained rigid but his voice slowly subsided back into a conversational tone. “To be honest, I started to treat women like trash. I stopped dating and was primarily only interested in just hooking up and when things started to take a turn towards dating, I dipped.  Most often without as so much as a text message.” 

               “How did that change when you met your wife?” The therapist looked down at the pad of paper and scanned some previous notes before adding, “-- of 6 years.”

               Ricky unceremoniously leaned back into the couch which gave the therapist the impression that his previous question was received somewhat begrudgingly as Ricky tossed his head back and looked up at the ceiling like a small child being lectured by his parents. “I met her online.” He said, very shortly.

               “Oh?” The peak in the therapist tone was code for Ricky to further elaborate.

               “Yeah, I don’t know. When I was about 24, I was getting tired of hooking up with dumb bar and concert girls so I thought I would make a profile on one of those popular apps and about 2 weeks I messaged Laura because I thought she was really cute and she actually hit me back which led to our first date at a Chili’s next to her neighborhood. She lived about 30 miles away.” 

               The therapist replied, “I see.” And jotted another note, “Flash forward and tell me about the decision that prompted you to eventually ask for her hand in marriage?”

               Ricky tossed a confused look back to the therapist like he was both confused and annoyed at the very question which prompted another note to be written on his pad of paper.  “It’s definitely not the type of story you hear about in the movies of from other couples, that’s for sure.” 

               “Because it didn’t go as planned or…” The therapist said attempting to lead the conversation.

               “To be honest, I really didn’t want to get married when I originally proposed.”

               The therapist formed a look of confusion of his own. 

               Ricky commented on the facial shift, “Yeah.  I know, it doesn’t make sense. You see what happened was that Laura’s grandmother was dying of cancer and they were very close to one another and eventually I got the impression that her grandmother wanted to see Laura get married before she passed.  So one day, we were out running some errands and I think we stopped at a McDonald’s or something for lunch and during that meal we sort of passively talked about her grandmother and how things were going with her health and marriage somehow got brought up, and what not, and I guess in a flash of sympathy I just sort of asked Laura ‘if she wanted to get married?’ and she agreed.  I didn’t have a ring or anything and to be honest I think I still had a mouthful of chicken nuggets in my mouth when I--,” Ricky raised to fingers to make a gesture for air quotes, “– popped the question.”

               The therapist had to work a little harder to conceal the smirk that was now tugging at the corner of his lips.  “But she said yes?”

               Ricky shook his head.  “Yeah. She was excited. It’s what she wanted.”

               “What about you?”

               “I don’t know.  I think I was mainly indifferent.  A part of me knew that we were eventually going to get married, but there was another part of me that really wasn’t ready to make that leap at that time.”

               The therapist leaned back in their chair, “How did you deal with that part after you essentially made the decision to go against that instinct?” The therapist lowered his voice to emphasize the word ‘decision’ with the hope that his client wouldn’t respond with some form of blaming.

               “I mean, I obviously ignored it, but after that I sort of found myself just going through the motions of getting married, moving in with one another and now life in general.” Ricky went silent, biting at his lower lip like he was once again trying to subdue that emotional part of him that was trying to help him rediscover the authenticity that he had left behind a long time ago.

               “Did you ever tell your wife about this reservation you had during the proposal?”

               Rickys eye lit up like he had just been caught crossing a dark street from the headlights of an oncoming speeding vehicle.  “Are you crazy?” He snapped.  “That would be so devastating to her if I were to tell her that I was only ‘sort of interested’ in marrying her.”

               The therapist shook his head. “True, I could anticipate a pretty adverse reaction to that truth, but it does make me curious about how that kind of secret, or that suppressed ‘part,’” The therapist flashed a wondered look of his own, “could potentially be coming out in different ways?”

               Rickys alarmed facial expression softened and eased him back deeper into the couch revealing an open posture that told the therapist he was anticipating an explanation to his opinion.

               “Well let’s see here, Ricky.  I just so happened to pull up some of the lyrics to that song on my computer and from what I am reading it seems like maybe this song might be trying to speak to that part.” The therapist started rocking his head like he was picking up the melody that naturally went with the words to the song he was now reading out loud from his computer screen.  “’How she wishes it was different;’ ‘am I supposed to take it all myself;’ ‘there is an emptiness inside her and she’d do anything to fill it in;’ and let’s see this line sounds symbolic, ‘when all the colors mix together, to grey … and it breaks her heart.’” The therapist lifted his eyes from the screen to meet Ricky’s gaze that was now full of heavy tears that he was adamantly trying to fight back.
               The therapist was quick to comment, “Well hello there! Looks like that part is trying to speak up inside of you. Walk me through it, Ricky, what’s the experience going on in your body right now?” 

               Ricky didn’t immediately reply, instead he looked about the room searching for anything that could provide visual relief to the burden that was causing his skin to flush with anxious blood that was coursing throughout his entire body.  He sniffed back some of the moisture that was leaking from his nose.  He looked back at the therapist pleading from behind his disheveled state for him to speak up in order to drown out the awkwardness that was quickly impregnating the room. 

               The therapist said nothing, using the moment to his advantage as he watched Ricky start to squirm in his seat.  To both men, time nearly came to a standstill within the room as the two postured on their own side of therapeutic impasse that grew thicker in between. 

               “I don’t feel good.”  Ricky eventually blurted out.

               The therapist replied with a low intriguing groan that echoed from behind his closed mouth. 

               Ricky’s tears intensified, spilling into single columns from his magnified brown eyes that seemed to grow from the wet lens of raw emotion secreting from his sockets. He continued, “To be honest, it hurts because I’m disappointed at myself for not listening to it.  I’m mad because maybe if I would have listened it back then maybe I wouldn’t be sitting here right now complaining about my choices in life?”

               The therapist interjected in a post humorous tone, “also maybe you might have become president it you would have listen to it.” 

               Ricky’s face reconfigured itself into one of confusion at the therapist remark, “What?”

               The therapist continued, ignoring his question, “or maybe if you would have listened to it the first time you might have been able to prevent the Russian – Ukranian war going on right now.”

               Ricky repeated himself, this time with a more authoritative tone, “What are you talking about?”

               The therapist returned a smile, laughing to himself underneath his breath.  “Let’s not focus on the rhetoric’s on what could have happened, instead, I’m interested in how you take advantage of getting reacquainted with this old forgotten part from a place of compassion, rather than dismissing it like you have already tried in your past?”

               Ricky took a few minutes to ponder the therapist words by wrinkling his forehead with such deep thought he actually looked like he physically aged by a couple of years in that brief moment.

               The therapist carefully interjected with a light tone of voice as if not to fully disrupt the frequency of thought going through Ricky’s mind.  “And I am curious, through that compassion, maybe there might be some personal wisdom to be gained to better answer the real question of, ‘what can happen’ when it comes to creating your own song worth singing along to?” The therapist gave him a reaffirming gesture by patting his own chest over his heart with an open hand. “Let’s go ahead and pause there for now.  I’m sure you have a lot of catching up to do with that part finding its way back into the fold of your true self.  It would only make sense to give it some time to reacquainted with the other parts of you that have been busy at work managing and protecting you from some of the other deeper sorrows and injustices found within this world.” 

               Ricky didn’t reply, but took a deep breath that was assurance enough for the therapist that he was truly hearing what he was trying to relay.

          “Goodbye Ricky.  I look forward to seeing what you have discovered next week.”