Chrissy answered tentatively but affirmatively, and so did I. And so would a large portion of the American public, I was reasonably sure. Still, I had an open mind. I am tolerant of what I don't understand, and even if it sounded like a Cosmo self-help quiz, maybe there was a defense to murder hidden in these tapes.
It took several sessions to get down to it. From daydreams, the discussion turned to nightmares. Chrissy was having trouble remembering her dreams, and Dr. Schein was helping her out. "Can you recall any locked doors or hidden passageways?"
"I don't think so," she said, her voice small and distant.
"Waterfalls or rivers with dangerous rapids?"
"No." In my mind's eye, I could see her shaking her head, a strand of blond hair falling across a cheekbone.
"What about snakes?"
A pause. "I've always been afraid of snakes—"
"Aha!" Sounding like it's a major medical breakthrough. "Go on."
"Yes. I've dreamed of snakes."
"Were they nightmares? Did the snakes frighten you?"
"Yes."
"Now we're getting somewhere," Schein said. "Snakes are a phallic symbol, of course."
Aw, come on. I've never had any training, but I would have asked if she had ever been frightened by a real snake. My neighborhood between Kumquat and Poinciana in the South Grove is home to a variety of reptiles, some of which are not even members of the Florida Bar. There's a four-foot-long jet-black Everglades racer that makes me jump every time I go out to pick mangoes. And yes, afterward, I've dreamed of snakes, too. The Lassiter Theory has it that dreams can reflect literally real incidents, not just metaphorical ones. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.
"Christina, I must ask you to dig deep into the recesses of your memory."
"All right."
"What we're looking for won't be on the surface and may not be easy to find. . . ."
Now I pictured her nodding.
"Were you sexually abused as a child?"
The answer came quickly. Twice, in fact. "No. No."
"Not so fast. You gave yourself no time to think, to dredge the waters."
"But I'd remember. I wouldn't have to think about it."
"Not necessarily," the doctor said. "In fact, there are only two correct answers to the question 'Were you sexually abused?' There's 'Yes' and 'I don't know.' You simply can't rule it out, particularly not with your symptoms."
Oh, brother. I hear a lot of leading questions in court, but this breaks new ground. Encouraging a different answer by "dredging the waters" of memory. I saw where this was going. The doctor was going to dig up memories Chrissy couldn't produce on her own. I could imagine how it would play to a jury. A part of me, the not-so-ethical part, was telling the rest of me, the semi-ethical part, that burning the tapes wasn't such a bad idea. Schein had known just what he was doing when he hinted he could deep-six them. Having Chrissy testify to the abuse would be a helluva lot better than showing how she had recovered the memories.
"I don't understand," Chrissy was saying. "If I'd been molested, I can't imagine forgetting it."
"You didn't forget. It's still there, but survivors of incest are frequently in denial. You have to work hard to break through the walls your mind has created. There are locked doors. We've got to find the keys to turn the latch, and it won't be easy. It can take weeks or years, and when the memories come, they will be painful. They may float up like bubbles or be disgorged like lava from a volcano."
Bubbles? Lava? As my granny would say, malarkey!
"Who abused me?" Chrissy asked, her voice weak.
"We don't know that, do we?"
"Was it a stranger or someone I knew?"
"What do you think?"
"I don't know. I just can't understand why I wouldn't remember."
"Your inner child is protecting you from the memory. But that denial only creates other problems. To cure those problems, we have to get that child to tell us the truth."
"I'm afraid," Chrissy said.
"I'll hold your hand on this journey. The road to recovery is treacherous and filled with pain, but at the other end is renewal and life."
I heard Chrissy sigh. "All right. What now?"
"Have you ever been hypnotized?" Dr. Schein replied.
"Focus on your breathing and relax," Dr. Schein said, his voice soothing and melodious. In the background, New Age music played softly, a piano tinkling with single notes like a light rain on a tin roof. "Breathe from way down. That's it. Sink deeper into the chair. Allow your face and neck to relax. Let yourself go. Now visualize a brilliant white light. The light will move from your head throughout your body, relaxing everything it touches. Every cell, every muscle, every organ will be touched by the beautiful, brilliant light. You are calm and serene as it moves through your blood vessels, through every part of your body. See the light. Feel its peacefulness as it fills your lungs and your heart, deepening your state of relaxation, reaching everywhere."
I didn't know about Chrissy, but I was getting sleepy. Either Schein was good at this, or I shouldn't have had two Grolsches with my cheeseburger at lunch.
"Free up your mind from the normal limits of time and space. Soon you'll be able to remember everything, to heal yourself."
Dr. Schein stayed quiet a moment, and I visualized Chrissy lying there, her eyes closed. Then the doctor began counting backward. "Ten, nine, eight—getting deeper and deeper—seven, six, five—so peaceful and calm—four, three—totally relaxed—two, one. You're in complete serenity, in another state altogether."
My head dropped forward, startling me as I awoke, and for a moment I was in another state, Pennsylvania, sleeping through Poli Sci 101.
"Visualize yourself walking down a beautiful staircase into the deepest recesses of your mind," Dr. Schein said, "a place with no time or space, a place of connection and oneness, a place of wisdom where you can remember everything. Can you see it?"
From Chrissy, a sleepy
