Page 38 of Heart Sick

I lift my downturned chin slowly because she has chosen her words wisely, and when Mozart’s Sonata No. 11 crackles over the speakers, I realize she is trying to do that right now.

She wants me to remember.

Instantly, I feel the musical notes wrap their arms around me into a tight embrace. My eyes slip shut and I lose myself to the place I go to whenever I hear music.

Usually, this is the place I go to when I play, but today, that place is dark and won’t let me. I bang invisible palms against the locked door in my mind, demanding entry. But it won’t budge.

“Don’t fight, Dutch. It’ll come in time.” Dr. Norton’s smooth voice calms me somewhat and I try to do what she says.

I appreciate the music because although I’m not the composer, it still fills me with a new lease on life.

“Remember what it felt like the first time you heard it. Tell me about it.”

My body moves on its own as I’m no longer in control. Music is—it always is. I surrender everything I am and allow myself to venture back to the time when I was flicking through my dad’s records and found Mozart.

“Most kids would have not looked twice at the old dude on the cover,” I say, flashes of the front of the record flickering before me. “But it called to me in ways I still don’t understand. My dad put it on and the moment I heard…I heard nothing but the music. I listened to it over and over again, my mind trying to compose the notes in my head.”

My fingers move on the invisible keys on my legs, attempting to play along. But they are clumsy and out of time.

“Just how I’m trying to do right now. But all I hear is the music playing over the speakers, and not hearing and feeling it inside my head.” I can’t mask my frustration, and on instinct, I rub over the scar on my chest through the gown.

I haven’t looked at it since I stabbed a pen through the middle of it. It’s tender and feels raised. I can imagine it looks as grotesque as it feels.

“Do you think your heart is the reason you can’t play?”

“Yes,” I counter quickly.

Hasn’t she been listening?

“Since the surgery, I can’t hear anything. Music used to be a part of me. Now, I’m an outsider, looking in.”

“I think it’s all in your head, Dutch,” she reveals, surprising me because this is new. “I think there’s something else which troubles you. Your heart doesn’t control your creativity, you do. Something is obstructing that, and until we can get to what that something is, I believe you’ll be stuck with these destructive thoughts.”

My fingers run up and down, up and down along the scar. Each stroke incites the anger within.

“That makes no sense. No, I disagree,” I reply, refusing to believe her.

“I’m not here to judge you. I know you’re upset.”

“Yes, you could say that,” I snap, the music suddenly speeding up. “You’d be upset too if something you lived for was taken away.”

“I understand that in more ways than you can imagine,” she confesses with heart, and I feel like an asshole for snapping. “How do you feel right now?”

“Like I want to cut this bastard out of my chest.”

“Why? You know logically, that makes no sense. Your heart has nothing to do with what’s going on.”

“Then what is?” The music continues to get faster and faster, as does his heart.

“I think you use music to protect yourself,” she says softly. “To not let anyone in. I think you’re scared of connecting with another human being in fear of rejection. You’ve also been different your whole life, and that’s not a bad thing. It’s extraordinary. But I think you should have been diagnosed with your condition a long time ago. And my colleagues, who have read over your file, agree.”

“Excuse me?” I slowly open my eyes, taking her in. “What condition?”

“I think you’re suffering from a form of schizophrenia and this is all in your head. I’ve read your files many times, and I know you’ve been medicated for depression, but you stopped taking your medication before the full effects were able to be seen.”

“No, I stopped taking them because they made everything fuzzy. I couldn’t compose when I was on them. I didn’t need them because there is nothing wrong with me!”

However, I suddenly feel like there is.

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