Page 73 of What Boys Learn

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s the apologizing again.”

I settled deeper back into the chair. “I’m trying to relax. I really am.”

“You don’t have to try. You have to stop trying. That’s the wonderful thing.”

I took another sip and set the nearly empty cup on the pretty side table next to my chair, scooting farther back into the soft upholstery. “Okay, I’m ready now. No more messing around.”

“Good.” He came back to his own chair and squeezed the clicker in his hand. The lights dimmed. “This will be similar. It’s really just a question of deep relaxation. You can compare this to a nap, or to a flow state. Whichever you prefer.”

“A nap sounds easier. ‘Flow state’ sounds like I have to perform.”

“That’s a good insight. Then let’s call it a simple nap, except you’re still awake. We could also call it a deserved vacation.”

I kept waiting for Curtis to start the hypnosis—not with a swinging pocket watch, of course, but with some other image sequence that spoke specifically or metaphorically to what I needed to do. Shed a bad habit. Discover some internal strength. Feel relaxed and without longing.

Instead, he focused on smoke, which surprised me. But maybe that was the point—to realize I could smell it, watch it—and all without needing to pick up a cigarette.

“You can still see it, spiraling upward?”

“Yes.”

“And the smell?”

He kept talking in a calm voice that got lower and breathier by increments.

“Where are we, exactly?” I heard Curtis say. “What does it feel like, now?”

It was hard to focus on the words. A wave of sleepiness was washing over me. Clearly, this hadn’t been the right day to try.

“Where are we, Abby?” he asked again.

“The river. The trail, next to the river.”

“Very good,” he said warmly. “What season are we in?”

“Summer. It’s always summer.”

“Always summer?”

“When things happen. Parties. Other things. It’s warm. Like—body temperature. Like I’m swimming through the air. It’s hot but it’s dark so it’s not too hot. Just . . .”

He interrupted, talking in that way that people do at parties when you’re drunk and starting to nod off. You pretend to listen. You do your best. If only they’d understand.

“That’s fine, Abby. Just follow the river . . .”

“The lights.”

“The lights. That’s fine, too. Are they reflections on the water?”

“No.”

“Are they stars?”

“Headlights.”

“Good, Abby—”