From the Desk of Archibald Hopper:
Patient: Mr. Gold
Session One Notes
Before the Session:
I don't think Mr. Gold will respond well to typical lie-down-on-the-couch-and-talk methods. Sheriff Swan tells me he's a very stubborn man and that he knows how to "snake around a question like some sort of … wormy fiend. A snake, if you will." If that's true, traditional therapy will most likely become a terrible game of cat and mouse.
Snake and cricket, if you will. I'm pretty sure snakes hate crickets.
Anyway, I decided that we'll try and get out and about for our sessions. I don't think Mr. Gold likes the idea of publicly coming to my office, so I'll try and meet him at home as much as possible. For the first session (today), we're going fishing at the river in the woods. Note to self: find out what that river is called so as not to look dumb.
I got all the fishing supplies already, since I've never been before. I got two fishing poles, which I hope are the right kind. I don't know if there are different kinds or not, but there sure are different brands, and since I liked the Pinocchio-themed ones so much, I almost walked out of the store with fishing poles two feet long. The cashier tells me they're for children.
He also says they don't have adult fishing poles with Jiminy Cricket on them. I asked him why, but he just said, "Because." I don't think he likes me.
Anyhoo, I got the bait. There are lots of different kinds, mostly what the salesman called "streamers" and these little gooey-looking sparkling things which I think were meant to be fish. I ended up buying a jar of dead minnows, which I chalk up to morbid fascination and getting caught in the moment of discovery that fish are cannibals.
I have packed a foolproof lunch.
I believe the fishing trip will prove very beneficial as a location/theme for therapy. It is peaceful and comforting and rather dreadfully boring, so Mr. Gold will have no choice but to talk. Unless, of course, he chooses not to. I won't stop him. That would be horribly unethical.
The location of the trip – deep and secluded in the woods – seems like the prime choice, as well. I've had many patients complain about the perceived thin-ness of my office walls, and I'm sure Mr. Gold would do the same, if Sheriff Swan is to be believed when she says, "He complains a lot about the thin-ness of walls."
Wait, no. No, someone else said that.
Who said that?
Gosh, I can't even remember.
After the Session:
Well, that didn't go well. I've discovered Mr. Gold is indeed quite evasive when it comes to personal questions, but he's not quite as close-lipped as Sheriff Swan suggested (or did she say he was moist-lipped? It was something weird, and I remember that it really made me question whether she should be allowed to be alone with him when he's all cuffed-up).
While Mr. Gold was very resistant concerning his past and his family, he did tell me quite a lot about fish. Apparently, I was quite wrong to choose dead minnows, because they get stuck in the throats of sham-fish and most fish in Maine eat marshmallows, anyway.
Well, anyway, I learned that Mr. Gold grew up in a very small village and that by the time he was five, he had memorized the birthdays of everyone in town. This suggests an odd obsession with birthdays. I wonder if he knows mine? He's never sent me a birthday present, so probably not. But I think this obsession with birthdays is most likely a sign of loneliness.
Mr. Gold expressed displeasure at discussing his family, and changed the subject with a segue about birthdays. This suggests to me that his family was not perhaps the most attentive of folk; I think one thing Gold dislikes is perhaps a lack of attention concerning his birthday, both then and now. A lack of strong family connections as a child – especially in such a small, close-knit community – could lead to a feeling of isolation and perhaps a harsh attitude later in life.
This would explain Mr. Gold's general lack of pals. Hmm. Perhaps I should get him a birthday present.
Notes for future reference: Mr. Gold is allergic to peanut butter.
The session ended with Mr. Gold accidentally dropping his fishing pole in the river. I tried to get it, but I think Mr. Gold tried to help me. Due to his bad leg, he lost balance and accidentally pushed me, so I fell into the river. It's very muddy in there. Mr. Gold would have helped me out, but his bad leg probably couldn't take the weight.
In any case, he went to get towels for me. At least, I think he did. He just sort of took the car and didn't come back. I'm sure if I had stayed at the river for another few hours he would've showed up; probably just got lost.
He'll probably bring me a towel tomorrow. Of course, I won't be wet by then, but it's the thought that counts.
Goodnight, notes.
-Archie Hopper, M.D.