On a cold or rainy day, I might have hung around in the waiting room and caught up on Cosmopolitan and Vanity Fair. Instead, I walked up the street to Alta Plaza, which has some of the best views in the city from its grassy hills and stone steps.
From the north end of the park, I could see clear across the bay to Marin County and from the south side, I could gaze upon the San Francisco skyline. The view wasn’t bad inside the park either. There were usually some tanned, muscular guys to see on the tennis courts. Sometimes they were even shirtless. Today was one of those days.
I bought an Eskimo Pie from a pushcart vendor, found a bench with views of the bay and the bods, and took it easy. There were worse ways to kill an hour.
My mind wandered. I thought about Nick cutting off his own leg to free himself from the rocks and then having to eat his limb to stay alive. I am pretty sure that if I’d been in his position, I would have died with my leg pinned in the rocks. I have a hard time just removing a splinter from my finger.
I figured that Nick was probably writing a book about his experiences, and there was probably a movie in it, too, so he was going to do all right financially. But how did it feel to have to carry that memory around with him? To be reminded of it every time he looked at himself in the mirror or simply tried to walk across the room? How did he deal with the insensitive remarks from people like Monk?
I watched the men playing tennis and thought about Nick climbing mountains by himself. He must have been a very strong, physically active man. So how did it feel to be disabled now? How was he coping with the fact that he would never be that man again?
All those unanswered questions made Nick fascinating to me. And very attractive.
I was pretty certain Monk wasn’t asking himself what Nick was thinking and feeling. That would require tolerance, empathy, and understanding.
Monk looked at Nick and saw imperfection, disorder, and horror. I looked at Nick and saw mystery, character, and emotional complexity.
We’d be having that coffee together very soon, preferably without Monk around.
I figured Monk would be okay with that.
I finished my ice cream and headed back down the hill to Dr. Kroger’s building. I walked into the waiting room just as Dr. Kroger and Monk were coming out of the office.
“You were a big help today, Doctor,” Monk said.
“I am pleased to hear that, Adrian,” Dr. Kroger said. “I think you’re in a real good place right now.”
“I’m moving,” Monk said.
“I meant emotionally and psychologically. I wasn’t talking about your apartment. You’ve made so much progress, Adrian. I don’t think running away is the best way to cope with your fears.”
“It certainly is when you’re being pursued by a one-legged cannibal,” Monk said. “We can talk about it next week, if he hasn’t eaten me.”
“I’m afraid not,” Dr. Kroger said.
“You don’t think I can outrun him?” Monk said. “He’s on crutches.”
“I meant that I’m not going to be here next week,” Dr. Kroger said. “I’m leaving tomorrow for Lohr, a small village in Germany, to attend an international psychiatric conference.”
Monk looked at him in shock. “You’re leaving me?”
“I’ll be back in a week.”
“How could you do this to me?” Monk said.
I was tempted to ask the same question. Without Dr. Kroger to support him, Monk would have a complete mental meltdown and I would have to deal with it on my own.
“This isn’t about you, Adrian,” Dr. Kroger said. “I have a life of my own beyond my sessions with you.”
“I believe you are mistaken,” Monk said. “And if you really think about it, I am sure that you will agree.”
“I haven’t taken any time off in years,” Dr. Kroger said. “This trip will enrich my understanding of human behavior and give me a chance to relax. It will be good for me and for you. In a way, it’s perfect timing.”
“How can you possibly say that?” Monk cried out. “Didn’t you hear anything I told you today? I am in crisis. I need help now more than ever.”
“And you’ll get it,” Dr. Kroger said. “I’ve arranged for Dr. Jonah Sorenson to see you while I am away.”
Monk gasped. “The one-armed guy?”
“He’s an exceptional psychiatrist and a wonderful human being.”
Monk had seen Dr. Sorenson for one session last year when Dr. Kroger briefly flirted with retirement. The session lasted less than five minutes.
“But he’s got a big problem,” Monk said.
“Not that I can see,” Dr. Kroger said.
“He’s only got one arm!” Monk shrieked.
“I don’t see that as a problem,” Dr. Kroger said.
“Are you blind?”
“In fact, I see his disability as an asset in your treatment. By sharing your feelings with him, and discovering what a sensitive and knowledgeable person he is, you’ll feel less threatened by people who are physically different from you.”
In theory, that was a great idea. In practice, it was never going to work. I knew it with absolute certainty and I had no psychiatric training whatsoever, except for what I learned listening to Dr. Laura on the radio. So why didn’t Dr. Kroger realize it? Then again, maybe he did and just didn’t care. All he wanted was a vacation from Monk.
I could sympathize. I almost got away for a Monk-free week in Hawaii but he showed up uninvited on the plane.
