Spirit Guide Steve
Daryl Scroggins
Steve is one of the detention center psychologists. He always sits forward in his chair like it’s morning and he’s on the toilet, and that gets me started off sitting like I’m in a pool doing a backstroke.
I don’t even like the way he comes into the room. He always has an umbrella with him, clear skies out on the other side of the wired glass, and a little briefcase that looks like the leather purse thing a guy teaching philosophy would carry. The umbrella has a brass duck head for a handle. It’s just the two of us today but we are still in a circle. Steve gets his shit lined up right on the table beside him and leans in at me.
“Ricky?” he says.
“Yeah?”
“What does the phrase ‘Everything happens for a reason’ mean to you?”
I always start right in like I have just been asking myself the same question. “I think it means someone has a really big-ass ring of keys, a ring so big it has sub rings for more dangle space. He’s walking down a hall making so much noise with that batch of brass that someone lays into him with a chair.”
Steve nods for a long time. Then he asks me to expand on my thought, maybe touch on why violence always seems to make its way into my answers.
“If we all live in a big plan,” I tell him, “and anything that happens has got to be part of that plan—and if we always have to guess about what the plan might be—then that’s not much different from there being no plan at all. So people start to feel like they are being set up by the people who come off like they have special access to—The Plan.”
“When you mention people feeling they are being set up, are you referring to your own situation, or is it something larger, something like a longing for a real sense of purpose in life?”
“I think it’s more like hearing big old gods off hammering somewhere. All that power aimed at making something that most likely has nothing to do with us.”
“I think you are just refusing to take responsibility for yourself, Ricky,” Steve says.
“Well, Steve,” I say, “what do you think the reason for that might be?”
“I think that will be all for today,” Steve says.
“Mercy,” I say.
He’s trying to act all in control but I can see I have rattled him. I know he was angling to swing over into his religion, with its save button by every light switch.
Steve gets his bag stuffed and heads for the door, keys out. He always aims his key way before he’s close to the lock. But he has left his umbrella on the table in its ordained position. Before he can turn, I take it to him.
I don’t even like the way he comes into the room. He always has an umbrella with him, clear skies out on the other side of the wired glass, and a little briefcase that looks like the leather purse thing a guy teaching philosophy would carry. The umbrella has a brass duck head for a handle. It’s just the two of us today but we are still in a circle. Steve gets his shit lined up right on the table beside him and leans in at me.
“Ricky?” he says.
“Yeah?”
“What does the phrase ‘Everything happens for a reason’ mean to you?”
I always start right in like I have just been asking myself the same question. “I think it means someone has a really big-ass ring of keys, a ring so big it has sub rings for more dangle space. He’s walking down a hall making so much noise with that batch of brass that someone lays into him with a chair.”
Steve nods for a long time. Then he asks me to expand on my thought, maybe touch on why violence always seems to make its way into my answers.
“If we all live in a big plan,” I tell him, “and anything that happens has got to be part of that plan—and if we always have to guess about what the plan might be—then that’s not much different from there being no plan at all. So people start to feel like they are being set up by the people who come off like they have special access to—The Plan.”
“When you mention people feeling they are being set up, are you referring to your own situation, or is it something larger, something like a longing for a real sense of purpose in life?”
“I think it’s more like hearing big old gods off hammering somewhere. All that power aimed at making something that most likely has nothing to do with us.”
“I think you are just refusing to take responsibility for yourself, Ricky,” Steve says.
“Well, Steve,” I say, “what do you think the reason for that might be?”
“I think that will be all for today,” Steve says.
“Mercy,” I say.
He’s trying to act all in control but I can see I have rattled him. I know he was angling to swing over into his religion, with its save button by every light switch.
Steve gets his bag stuffed and heads for the door, keys out. He always aims his key way before he’s close to the lock. But he has left his umbrella on the table in its ordained position. Before he can turn, I take it to him.
