Two Keyholes

2024 Author: Harry Day | [email protected]. Last modified: 2023-12-17 15:43

- Something is happening to him … Something is clearly not right with him, - Anya repeated sadly for the umpteenth time.

It was about her husband. Anya always spoke about her Shura with tenderness and warmth - and with an emphasis on the last syllable. A rare couple these days - they studied in the same class, remembered well the taste of school cutlets and summer hikes, listened to the same music and at some point even wore the same hairstyle. Their parents sat side by side at parent-teacher meetings. Their houses were on the same street. When Anya remembered the past, there was a feeling that I was entrusted with the role of the keeper and witness of time - the past tense, which weaved its patterns and hourly, daily, annually bound Anya and Shura with invisible threads.

But in the past few months, the connection has begun to thin out. When Anya talked about this, I physically felt melancholy. Precisely longing. My chest was tight. I began to breathe differently: shallow and rare. I felt guilty because she was looking at me - and it was as if I could not give her something or help her with something tangible. I worked with images, sensations - and memories. As if from Harrypotter's pool of memory, each of our meetings came to light several memories - tender, quivering, smelling of adolescent innocence, youthful passionate recklessness, student madness. It was interesting to listen to it - and during the whole session I asked 2-3 questions and made 2-3 interpretations. However, I continued to sense the impending disaster. It was difficult for me to understand my own countertransference reactions: is it I who "resonate" with Anya, or is this how - sad and hopeless - Shura feels? Several times I tried to build my reactions into an intervention such as “You seem to be sad for the time when you were young and carefree” or more direct “Could it be that you are now experiencing inexplicable melancholy …” - but Anya paused and continued to speak …

In the end, I came to terms with my role as a "witness to the happy past." Anya categorically did not want to ask her husband about what had changed and why a crack had appeared in their relationship. Chill. Ostuda.

I added information to the genogram, occasionally refined something. And she refrained from a simple question: "Don't you think he has a mistress?" I understood that such a question could destroy all that light, behind which there was SOMETHING. Something strange, inexplicable, frightening.

He began to linger at work …

He began attending all the corporate parties, from which he had previously fled, as the Korean leader, from negotiations with Trump …

He began to freeze in the computer, as if he had decided to create his own game and was working tirelessly on it …

He sometimes began to talk in a cold and detached tone …

He began to walk alone in the evenings …

He stopped hearing the requests of Anya and the children …

He began to forget about his usual duties - about what he had been doing with pleasure for many years …

He stopped walking the dog …

And everything that took so long to build - a cozy apartment, funny messages to each other on the blackboard, walks with children, trips to their parents, funny SMS-ki - everything suddenly disappeared.

And Anya seemed to be left alone.

Children - noisy weather 16 and 15 years old - lived their own lives.

Work - and she and her husband had the same education - was enjoyable.

There was plenty of money.

The face and figure at 39 were vaguely defined as "a girl in her thirties" - both God and parents did their best, and the crossfit training did its job.

Girlfriends - yes. Close relationships, yes.

And only one place was incomprehensible.

Shura.

Before coming to me, Anya went through a set of deactivators of evil power known to every girl from Uryupinsk.

She dropped 3 kilos - although where did she drop them from? I have not seen how it was, but women, even before dying from anorexia, claim that they are fat.

I changed my wardrobe.

I changed my hair.

During a week's business trip, my husband brought the house in perfect order - all the twigs in the nest are in their places, the chicks are in order and please the parents with good grades.

For the first time she cut a dog's hair - she turned a wonderful Samoyed Laika into something like a poodle, like "from the heat", but in reality, of course, from anxiety. I showed the photo at the first session - for some reason I felt sorry for the Samoyed.

I read the newly published book "Reproduction in captivity" - a little new about sex and the relationship of a married couple. Although the title was promising, I fell asleep on page 5, and Anya went over to the end and came up with some useful ideas.

But none of the above set helped - and then Anya came to me. And she began to regularly, 2 times a week, leaf through the “old album” back and forth, carefully telling about each “snapshot” of their love captured in my memory.

But, apparently, it only got worse.

All my timid attempts to invite Ana to talk and clarify the relationship with her husband ended in horror in her eyes and - after a long pause - in explanations why she did not want to know about it.

Because she might learn something that will change her life forever.

Because she is afraid that she will be very hurt.

Because he doesn't want to change anything.

Because it's a shame … Scary … Children … Friends …

THIS has been going on for 4 months already - 2 "before me" and 2 "with me".

Summer holidays were approaching. And Anya and I said goodbye for almost a month - she went on vacation a little earlier with her husband and children to some marvelous islands with the sun and the ocean, I - a little later on an intensive course with the mysterious Belarusian weather and mosquitoes without GMOs. But with an agreement - if something (she highlighted it in her voice) - if something happens, she will call me on Viber or Scap and we can work.

I wanted to indulge in idleness for at least a week and write some fundamental article with variances, correlations and scary curves - but not all clients agreed with this. Therefore, in a sniper-like manner, having purposely “unloaded” everyone for one day, I almost started to mess around, mentally wishing everyone who had gone on vacation a good rest - when suddenly a strange girl called and asked to see me.

I, in anticipation of pleasant things, in the most seductive and gentle tone offered her the phones of unsinkable colleagues who, even in summer, do not "sail away" and continue to receive all ships ready to enter their port. But she, using all the eloquence, arguments, convictions, requests and manipulations, asked to give her only 2 hours of my time. Double session - and if I refuse to work with her further, she will understand everything. And he will go to his colleagues. And wherever you go. But she needs to. Urgently. Today. As quickly as possible. And maybe just one time.

Any psychologist can write a poem about those who "urgently need". Usually these are people who are healed only after receiving the coveted digits of the healer's phone number. Some, especially stubborn ones, call. And only 1% gets there. And I made an appointment in an hour - either way or not.

She got there.

- I am Yana, she simply said. And she began to tell her simple, in general, story. Young - 27 years old. Works for a large company. Apartment, car, money … No children, no animals - no one, never. I have always lived only by work. But six months ago I went on a business trip with colleagues from a neighboring company - and there was a "blessing" (I later remembered - this is from a cartoon about Dracula and his daughter). "Bzdyn" - or a spark that slipped through - was platonic at first. Correspondence in the networks. Exchange of memes and interesting content. Then - coffee. Then - lunches. And then a GREAT EVENT happened. They became close.

- Close? - I asked Yana.

“Yes,” she replied, a little embarrassed. - Like husband and wife.

[Oh my God, this was not enough, the cynical teacher of "Sexology and Sexopathology" thought inside me … Great intercourse ….]

-Iiii? - I asked my favorite question.

-And … and … and after that I told him that I love him … And he - that he loves me …

Squeezing out these words, Yana began to cry. Quietly, quietly, sobbing, as if very embarrassed and at the same time apologizing … And from her tears I was suddenly covered with such melancholy, such loneliness …

I waited a few minutes while Yana was crying now harder, sometimes weaker, and when she looked at me, I quietly and very softly asked:

-So what?

Although, pronouncing these words, I already knew the answer …

“He is married,” Yana replied, synchronizing with my thoughts. And he is doing well with his wife. But he doesn't love her.

At that moment, I looked at Yana with interest.

Since I didn't say or ask anything, Yana continued:

-He and his wife have been together for a very long time. Since school. They have two children, two sons …

[… It can't be hospad, if you don't do this to me please, there are 2 million people and a couple of hundred psychologists in Minsk …

And again, synchronously with the horror that overwhelmed me, she called the names of her sons - rare even for our latitudes with Tikhons, Friedrichs, Evlampii, Elisha … It was a coincidence with a chance of one in a million - or if you count all Minsk residents - one in two million - but she was sitting opposite, for a long time I predicted Shura's mistress, about whom Anya did not want to know, because if you do not think, bad will not happen, but I thought - here she materialized with me …

Shaking off my thoughts, I feverishly caught the remnants of a rational thought “stop the process - this is a double relationship” and an unreasonable, but only possible for me - “she's bad, and you won't kick the girl out into the street now” - and continued to listen.

She came to me just to tell her story. To confess. To understand. To mourn

Because it was at the very moment when she called me, the wife of her beloved - she called him Alix, with the "and" in the middle, with careful pronunciation of all the bukoffs … it was then that the wife found out about everything. Alix told her that he loved another - her, Yana, and his wife - who all this time knew - did not know - did not want to know - she figured out Yana on FB with the speed of a non-intercepted nuclear warhead and called her from some insanely distant islands.

Yana was ready for everything - for sarcasm, aggression, reproaches, accusations - in general, for a terrible tsunami that would fall on her head when her wife found out about everything. She thought over different answers - from the caustic “why didn't you keep him?” To the pathetic “he loves only me, and with you only because of the children” - but she was not ready for what happened. She picked up the phone, said "I am listening to you" and in response heard "this is Anya, Alexander's wife." Feeling the jolt - an adrenaline rush? pressure increase? - Yana took air in her lungs - and froze. Because Anya on the other end of the tube started crying. Crying is so pitiful, so childish, so absurd, out loud that Yana had no choice but to listen to this unceasing crying, which is quite expensive for the roaming price of the Belarusian operator … A minute, three, five … Yana turned on the speakerphone, not knowing what to do: hang up the phone, say something, ask again … But those were moments when no one existed in the world - only a wife, a mistress and a small dot - not Shura and not Alix, but Alexander, alienated from everyone - the one who had already brought pain alone woman and inevitably struck a second blow.

This crying changed everything. Yana experienced some kind of altered state - scraps of thoughts and strange black and white shots. Here mom leaves her in kindergarten - and Yana is overwhelmed by a heavy, dark horror. “Mommy, don’t go away,” a two-year-old girl begs, screams, choking in this cry, clinging to her knees - but mom leaves. So dad is yelling at mom in the kitchen, and then he picks up his things, throws away the sobbing mom and Yana who echoes her, and leaves. Here is her first boyfriend, whom she loved madly, to whom she wrote letters on paper and sent them by mail, with whom she met for a long and happy four years, writes - does not speak personally, but simply writes SMS: "Sorry, you are too good for me." - and goes to her classmate … All Yana's wept and unspoken pain, all the betrayals, all the loneliness, all that was - it suddenly unites her with Anya, and she realizes that they are not rivals and not enemies. They are sisters, friends in misfortune, and it just so happened that Anya once, and Yana later fell in love with Alexander, and he - well, what about him, he also had enough pain and betrayal in his life …

And when Anya was finally able to speak - in a broken voice, with pain, with anguish, but still exhausted - she only asked: "Please do not destroy my family … Please … I love him so much … I beg you …"

If she screamed, called Yana names, wished her death and other transformations, she could remain strong and defend her love and her right to this man, because a man is not an animal, no one brands him, and he is free, and can choose, and chose her, Yana - but her tears destroyed everything. She, Yana, could not do that. No. She remembered how many times she was hurt, and while Anya remained a distant, businesslike, cold, beautiful, successful woman - she could calmly take or steal this happiness - be with Alix, dream of marriage, family and children, of a small house on Braslav lakes, where they could go and hide from everyone, about breakfast together, about TV shows that are so comfortable to watch in rainy weather, about trifles and important things … But Anya became just like her - alive, suffering, tangible - as if she looked in the mirror. And Yana said only one word: "Good." And hung up.

And she came to me …

At that moment, I also returned to reality. Because too much has happened in this half hour, but I just said:

- I'm sorry … And she added: "Unfortunately, I cannot work with you, because I am also involved in this story."

- I know, - Yana answered.

Seeing sincere bewilderment on my face, Yana smiled sadly and said:

-When Alix told his wife about everything, she called me, and I almost immediately called you. And when we had already agreed, Alix called me. I said that I was torn, that I could not hurt his wife so much and that I was going to a psychologist. He asked: to whom, I gave your last name, and he said with horror that you are his wife's therapist.

- Then why didn't you call back and refuse to meet with me?

-I decided it was fate. After all, we are all mathematicians - me, Alix, and Anya … What was the probability of calling you? Hence, this is not just an accident. While I was driving to you, I realized: I need you in order to convey to Anya: I am disappearing from their life. I myself decided that, although I am just awful now … But it will be right …

Our first hour was coming to an end, and I was able to calmly talk with Yana that we need to stop and invite her to turn to a trusted colleague. I didn’t want to let her go, to leave her - but I understood that the triangle was closed, that this was a repetition of a real life situation. And there Alexander chose between Anya, who came earlier, and Yana, who appeared in life much later - and as a result, it seems, remains with his wife. And here I - choice without choice - remain Ani's therapist and cannot take Yana into therapy … And again I felt sadness, inexplicable, like a prolonged autumn rain. I didn’t refuse help to a person - and at the same time I refused. But it was right …

-It will be right, - Yana said synchronously with my thoughts.

A few minutes later the colleague's phone number was recorded, I called her with Yana and warned her, our meeting came to an end. And already putting on her shoes and almost leaving the door, Yana looked at me intently and calmly and said:

- Just tell her - I didn't mean it. And I understand her very, very, very much. And more … Let him know … I am not bad … I did not know that he was married. Therefore, it all happened. But I don't blame anyone …

She turned and walked towards the exit, and I saw her wiping away her tears.

And when I returned to the office, I saw that I had 15 missed calls from Anya in Viber. I wrote to her, she called me back. I listened to the story again, and then said that Yana came to me and would no longer bother her family.

We worked on Skype for some time, and then we were able to see each other again "live". Anya diligently avoided mentioning Yana: "she", "this case", "these circumstances." Looks like her defenses were working, she was actively working on the trauma. With Shura, everything was not easy - for some time he rushed about, said that he loved Yana and wanted to go to her, but after returning to Minsk, he somehow calmed down, wilted, went to the doctor, drank antidepressants and is now slowly “returning”.

I started walking the dog …

Argues with his sons and teases them, as before …

I began to travel with Anya to the dacha …

Sometimes she hugs her …

They finally had sex - not the same as before, but some very tender …

But that he still seems to love the other, although he is trying very hard to forget her …

Another six months passed. Anya calmed down, began to work hard again, but she continues to control her husband and holds him very tightly - in her arms, in business, in conversations. Several new threads in their relationship - betrayal, pain, fear of loss - oddly enough, tied Anya even more to her husband. She asked several times for marital therapy, or for him to come alone - but I refused. I had completely rational and completely irrational explanations why not. But the most stupid idea that held me tightly was the idea that he would talk to me about Yana. I saw her, I spoke to her, he knows about it from Anya … And I can accidentally remind about her - so sincere, honest, so fragile and courageous - although he is unlikely to ever forget her …

I don't know anything about Yana. Like a sailboat, she glided easily and disappeared somewhere in the haze. I don't know if she got to her colleague, what price she had to pay for giving up love, what wounds remained in her soul. I sympathize with both Anya and Yana.

And sometimes I also think about Alexander - about a person whom I will never see. About how he lives with Anya - close, dear, a little know-it-all, a little avoidant, but very reliable, honest, sincere and loyal. I think it's not easy - as it is not easy for any of us to be near a very dear, very close, very deeply "grown" person in you, who sometimes knows you better than you yourself, and feels that with you, even before you yourself I felt it … And how sometimes fusion-identification suddenly begins to change into differentiation, like an ebb tide is replaced by an ebb. Sometimes it is experienced easily and imperceptibly: distance - approach, distance - approach … Like inhaling and exhaling. And sometimes you suddenly begin to move away, farther and farther from your home, and you, like an asteroid, want to fly out of your system, and only the powerful forces of gravity, the attraction of “your” planet are able to return you to your usual trajectory … But you are still sometimes you look at distant and unfamiliar stars …

Alexander remained a part of history for me. I really didn't know what happened to him deep inside - although, according to Anna, he also suffered a lot. I don't know if he repented - Anna diligently avoided any mention of Yana. She seems to have firmly learned that the image of cigarettes on anti-tobacco advertising still leads to memories of the smoking process. And Alexander somehow managed himself. Did he cry? Did he remember Yana? Did he regret the four months that were in his life? Did you regret being left with Anya? Or, on the contrary, that he did not leave her? I dont know.

Once, having already remembered this story for the umpteenth time, for some reason I included two old songs by Igor Talkov: "Tell me where you came from" and "My love" … I did not listen to them for 15 years … A hoarse, low and quiet voice suddenly stirred a layer of pain, that tears welled up in my eyes … I suddenly realized that it could be very, very bad. And he can feel as subtly and deeply as a woman - and his betrayal, and the inability to leave, and the pain of the loss of a loved one. He sang. I cried. I listened to these two songs ten times until I was released. Before that, I, "having entered into an agreement" with Anya, seemed to have taken Alexander out of the brackets. Yana also chose to protect her love, removing him from the "line of fire" and noticing only Anna's pain. I think both Anya and Yana were angry, offended, and suffered - but they tried to preserve Alexander, his image, and were very careful not to destroy what was … And I suddenly clearly saw this picture - a man holding one hand a woman - his wife - and looks into the distance, after another, leaving woman, a woman who took a part of his soul, and it is not known when he will recover now …

And Igor Talkov sang:

Everything, everything happens

The world is not like that

By someone's will unknown to us …

And the way it should be

Only in dreams

In our dreams

But no more …

But you are late

You are not her

The one that came

Before you.

And life is left to us

Something must

If we part, loving.

And it seems that these songs and thoughts about how difficult it was for Alexander and with what pain he let go of his love, reconciled me with all the participants in the story … life would not have tears, resentments, jealousy, pain … But this is impossible, and that is why I sometimes think about them … I regret each of them, realizing that each of them has lost something and left in the past … And I wish each of them happiness - Anya, Alexandru and Yana, the heroes of one story that I managed to see through two keyholes.