The Truth About Kenji (a short fanfic in three acts)
Posted: Sun Jun 03, 2012 11:14 am
The Truth About Kenji
Act I
Coffee. One spoonful of half and half. Two spoonfuls of sugar. Stir. Sip. Hot, hot, hot. Blow, blow, blow. Sip, hot, sip, a little better, sip. Still blowing my cup of joe and holding his file, I make my way to my patient's room. Checking the chart outside his room, I see he ate most of the breakfast and taken his morning dose of medication.
He's sitting on the bed, knees up to his chest. A young boy, eighteen years old. Hmmm, I guess that actually makes him a man now. A few strands of hair sticking away from the rest on his head as if to escape. A somber expression worn on his face.
“Hello, Hisao, how are you this morning?” I ask as I open the manilla folder with 'Nakai, H.' hand written on the cover.
“... Good, I guess,” he answer rather distantly.
“Tell me what you're thinking.”
His eyes dart to mine. Good, eye contact, that's a step. An expression of confusion maybe?
“...”
“Today's session is open. We'll talk about anything and everything you want to, Hisao.”
He looks away towards the floor again.
“The floor is cold,” he says, again distantly.
“Hmmm?” I lean forward, trying to get him to reciprocate the engagement.
“... Can I have some socks?”
I look at his bare feet. Ah.
“Yes, sure, absolutely, Hisao. Sorry we keep it kind of chilly around here.”
“...”
I fight my urge to mindlessly tap my pen and quietly wait.
“...”
“... Did you … ?”
My eyebrows arch on their own.
“Did I what, Hisao?”
“... Um, the names I wrote down … yesterday.”
“Ah, yes, I checked them out, and your teacher faxed me a photo of your class. All the student names you wrote down, as well as the staff like the librarian and nurse, they all are confirmed. Even one Hanako Ikezawa that you wrote down three times,” I chuckle to try to lighten his mood.
A visible sigh escape him.
“I can never go back, can I? Back to Yamaku, I mean,” his eyes are starting to water.
“That's not up to me, but just like when your first heart attack, things sometimes irrevocably change,” I badly try to steer the conversation into more cheerful territory.
I can see he's overcome with emotions and assure him it's okay if he doesn't want to continue.
Small steps at a time. I tell him we'll talk again at lunchtime and I take his silence for no objections on his part.
Act I
Coffee. One spoonful of half and half. Two spoonfuls of sugar. Stir. Sip. Hot, hot, hot. Blow, blow, blow. Sip, hot, sip, a little better, sip. Still blowing my cup of joe and holding his file, I make my way to my patient's room. Checking the chart outside his room, I see he ate most of the breakfast and taken his morning dose of medication.
He's sitting on the bed, knees up to his chest. A young boy, eighteen years old. Hmmm, I guess that actually makes him a man now. A few strands of hair sticking away from the rest on his head as if to escape. A somber expression worn on his face.
“Hello, Hisao, how are you this morning?” I ask as I open the manilla folder with 'Nakai, H.' hand written on the cover.
“... Good, I guess,” he answer rather distantly.
“Tell me what you're thinking.”
His eyes dart to mine. Good, eye contact, that's a step. An expression of confusion maybe?
“...”
“Today's session is open. We'll talk about anything and everything you want to, Hisao.”
He looks away towards the floor again.
“The floor is cold,” he says, again distantly.
“Hmmm?” I lean forward, trying to get him to reciprocate the engagement.
“... Can I have some socks?”
I look at his bare feet. Ah.
“Yes, sure, absolutely, Hisao. Sorry we keep it kind of chilly around here.”
“...”
I fight my urge to mindlessly tap my pen and quietly wait.
“...”
“... Did you … ?”
My eyebrows arch on their own.
“Did I what, Hisao?”
“... Um, the names I wrote down … yesterday.”
“Ah, yes, I checked them out, and your teacher faxed me a photo of your class. All the student names you wrote down, as well as the staff like the librarian and nurse, they all are confirmed. Even one Hanako Ikezawa that you wrote down three times,” I chuckle to try to lighten his mood.
A visible sigh escape him.
“I can never go back, can I? Back to Yamaku, I mean,” his eyes are starting to water.
“That's not up to me, but just like when your first heart attack, things sometimes irrevocably change,” I badly try to steer the conversation into more cheerful territory.
I can see he's overcome with emotions and assure him it's okay if he doesn't want to continue.
Small steps at a time. I tell him we'll talk again at lunchtime and I take his silence for no objections on his part.
