!!!!!*****WORKING DRAFT*****!!!!!
Petyr’s final seminar, “Illness in the analyst and professional wills” almost put me to sleep. Just barely into my 30’s, I didn’t see foresee any need to worry about this in my work. At dinner, I mentioned the upcoming wrap-up meeting of the NIMH working group on C-L psychiatry.
“This might well be my valedictory working on big group projects like this,” I started.
“Where is it, again?” Jeanne asked.
“Burlington,” I reminded her.
Walking by with his tray, Petyr overheard, stopped, and asked, “You are going to Vermont, Sarah?”
I nodded, then explained the work I’d been doing for the Harvard psychiatric residencies the past 18 months. “It should be beautiful there, early February, but I’m a little worried about the drive, if there’s snow.”
“Surely all your years here in Boston, you’ve learned to handle winter’s adverse conditions?”
“Of course. Ever since someone told me, ‘You can drive as fast as you want on snow or ice, as long as you don’t have to turn or slow down,’ I’ve discovered that, as long as you keep going, and don’t try to stop on a hill, you’ll make it.”
Petyr sat down, unfolded his napkin, and, nodding at Jeanne, turned to me, noting, “Burlington, you say? Perhaps you might want to stop at Killington on your way back, at my condominium. It would ease your drive home, and you might even take the opportunity to go skiing?”
I quickly thought, what is he asking me? I knew I felt a little attracted to him, but I’d assumed his continuing disentanglement with his wife prevented any opportunity to pursue that for the time being. “Will you be there?” I ventured.
He straightened up, blinked several times, and said, “Oh. Yes. We do have several concerns, don’t we? First, there are two bedrooms, you could use the boys’. Now, this being the last seminar I’ll lead this year, I don’t believe there is any reason we can not shift our relationship from student/teacher, to amicable friends.” He paused, glanced again at Jeanne, then, somewhat flustered, went on. “I have enjoyed our weekly talks here, and would look forward to continuing them outside the confines of the Institute. If you feel the same, of course…”
I glanced at Jeanne as well, who ever-so-slightly lifted one side of her mouth and raised her eyebrows. I began to wonder what it would take to break through his formal veneer, or if that were Petyr through to the core. Only one way to find out, I decided.
“Thanks for the offer. I’d like that. And, no, we don’t have to talk about analysis at all. Fun in the snow in old Vermont. We could be like Fred and Bing in Holiday Inn…”
I drove my trusty Saab to Lake Champlain Thursday afternoon. The twisty two-lane was thankfully free of any ice, Vermont having suffered through one of its periodic cold, dry Januaries. My headlights alternately reflected off the naked skeletons of beech and maple, and the dark green needles of the ever-present white pines. My thoughts raced past the upcoming conference, to the Saturday evening, night, and Sunday I’d be spending with Petyr. I concluded he needed to be led out of his self-imposed isolation. I fantasized us sitting amongst a jovial group of tired skiers, sharing drinks around a fire which pooped as pockets of resin caught the heat and showered sparks against the stone hearth.
I easily found the condo, its first-floor, covered entry with vintage cross-country skis instead of a standard lintel. Petyr greeted me, still in his shiny blue nylon overall bibs, perspiring slightly in his grey woolen sweater festooned with small skiers and reindeer in alternating rows.
“Oh, Sarah,” he began. “It was an invigorating day, despite the icy conditions. I always marvel the memory my muscles retain, after weeks, or even months of time away. Come in, come in!” He took my satchel into the boys room, pointed out the features of his compact vacation retreat, then asked, “I haven’t yet eaten. I suppose you might be famished as well, after your drive over the hill?”
I told him my fantasy of hot chocolate – “I’m not much of a drinker” – while resting my legs next to a stone hearth, amidst other tired skiers. “I could pretend I’m one of them, maybe some of the ruddy-cheeked energy will rub off.”
We walked to an inviting pub, where the German food proved too heavy for my taste, the stone hearth crowded with raucous collegiates, and the noise far too dense and confusing to allow any real conversation.
“Anywhere else we can go, might be less quiet?” I asked.
“Do you like board games, Sarah? We have a trove back at the condo, the boys and their…” He trailed off as he often did when the thought of his family surfaced.
Quickly, I intervened. “I love Scrabble.”
“Oh we have that, of course. But are you sure you want to test your verbal prowess against me? I don’t like to lose.”
“You’re on, Dr. Cohen!”
Once back, I asked if he had any schnapps, for hot chocolate. I was delighted when he started to drink his straight, while I poured a thimble-full into some hot chocolate he eagerly created for me. I thought, “We’ll see how straight his thinking is when a little drunk.”
He graciously offered to go first, placing “under” across the center star, saying with a hint of pride, “Twelve.”
I eyed my tray, filled with several e’s, an s, t, an o, j, and a q. Instantly, I slammed down “joust”, and snickered, “ Twenty-eight!”
The game remained close as we filled the squares ever-closer towards the edges, where my favorite spot, the bright red “TRIPLE WORD SCORE” beckoned. I’d been saving my “q”, and had also managed to get “z”, so I knew I had the game won as I started to line up my tiles in the lower corner, using “usurp” as the seed.
When he saw where I was headed, Petyr moaned, “Oh, no…what have you got there?”
“Don’t worry, it’s just three more letters. This “i” goes here,” I said as I laid it carefully one up from the triple word square. I gave him a sideways glance, then proceeded to spell “quiz”, for 96 points. “That should do it. Want to give it another try?”
He reluctantly shook his head, saying, “I see your competitive spirit is every bit as sharp as your insights. I fear you are too quick and well-read for me. I still do not believe that ‘jabiru’ is a word. Where did you learn that?”
“I told you, it’s a stork, has a big bill. You’ve never heard of it? I don’t know where I saw it, everything I read just sticks with me, for some reason. Lots of useless information in there,” I said, tapping my temple. “It’s kind of a curse, really. Most people find it off-putting, when I start telling them stuff they don’t know.”
“I find it rather alluring,” he said as he gathered up the tiles and rack, placing them carefully in the box, which he returned to the bottom shelf of a converted television cabinet. “What do you say, tomorrow we go out to a Nordic trail?”
“I didn’t bring anything to wear, no ski clothes.”
“I think we can find something here for you. You’re about the same size as…”
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