February 6, 2017
San Francisco
Dr. Fields's office was quiet except for the faint ticking of a clock on the wall.
Steve sat on the couch across from her, leaning forward slightly with his hands clasped together.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
"So," Dr. Fields said gently, "how have you been feeling lately?"
Steve thought about it.
"Better, I think."
She nodded.
"You've been remembering more."
It wasn't a question.
Steve gave a small shrug.
"Yeah."
He stared at the floor for a moment.
"I remember the platform now."
"The train coming."
"The lights."
"The wind."
His voice grew quieter.
"I remember calling his name."
Dr. Fields listened carefully.
"And after that?" she asked softly.
Steve shook his head.
"That's where it stops."
He rubbed his hands together slowly.
"I know what happened," he said.
"I mean... obviously I know."
"But my brain just... skips it."
Dr. Fields nodded thoughtfully.
"That's not unusual."
She leaned forward slightly.
"Sometimes the mind protects us by separating the moment of the trauma from the rest of the memory."
Steve looked up.
"But it happened," he said quietly.
"Yes," she said gently.
"And part of healing is allowing yourself to acknowledge that reality."
Steve stared out the window beside the couch.
"I've spent years talking about him like he just... disappeared."
Dr. Fields waited.
"But he didn't," Steve continued.
"He died."
The words seemed to surprise him even as he said them.
The room fell quiet again.
After a moment Dr. Fields spoke.
"You've come a long way," she said.
"But there's still one piece of the story you haven't allowed yourself to feel."
Steve swallowed.
"The moment itself."
She nodded.
"You don't have to rush it," she said softly.
"But eventually that memory will want to be spoken."
Steve sat silently for a moment.
Finally he nodded.
"I think I know where that's going to happen."
Dr. Fields gave him a small, understanding smile.
"I think you do too."