Read Much Ado About Jessie Kaplan Online
Authors: Paula Marantz Cohen
Much Ado About Jessie Kaplan (12 page)
A
s Dr. Samuels
HAD SUGGESTED, CARLA BOOKED BACK-TO-BACK appointments for Jeffrey and Jessie as soon as his schedule permitted. She had greatly anticipated the visit, though now that the day had finally arrived, she felt nervous. She was worried that Jeffrey would squirm in his chair and fail to answer questions, and that Jessie would ramble on incoherently about Shakespeare. She knew she was being foolish. Wanting her son and her mother to behave sanely for the psychiatrist was like wanting to clean the house before the cleaning woman arrived.
s Dr. Samuels
HAD SUGGESTED, CARLA BOOKED BACK-TO-BACK appointments for Jeffrey and Jessie as soon as his schedule permitted. She had greatly anticipated the visit, though now that the day had finally arrived, she felt nervous. She was worried that Jeffrey would squirm in his chair and fail to answer questions, and that Jessie would ramble on incoherently about Shakespeare. She knew she was being foolish. Wanting her son and her mother to behave sanely for the psychiatrist was like wanting to clean the house before the cleaning woman arrived.
When Carla told her mother she had made an appointment for her to see a psychiatrist, Jessie did not protest. If her daughter felt a psychiatrist was worth seeing, then she would see him. Although she remained firmly entrenched in her story, she was perfectly willing to recount it to anyone who was interested. Indeed, it seemed to Carla that her mother relished telling the story, and gained in spirits and confidence the more she did so.
Jeffrey, on the other hand, was not so accommodating. He objected to going to a “shrink,” as he put itâa term he had learned from his friend Sean who went to one “so my parents won't feel so guilty about getting divorced” and who said it was “really boring.” He was also concerned that the appointment, scheduled directly
after school, would prevent him from going home for a snack. Jeffrey's appetite was enormous, and snacks were to him second in importance only to meals. Fortunately, Jessie put his mind at rest on this score when she promised that she would bring a surprise snack when they picked him upâthe idea of a surprise allowing his imagination to range freely over a vast array of culinary delicacies.
after school, would prevent him from going home for a snack. Jeffrey's appetite was enormous, and snacks were to him second in importance only to meals. Fortunately, Jessie put his mind at rest on this score when she promised that she would bring a surprise snack when they picked him upâthe idea of a surprise allowing his imagination to range freely over a vast array of culinary delicacies.
On the afternoon of the appointment, Carla and Jessie pulled up in front of the elementary school to pick up Jeffrey. He was standing near the flagpole being chastised by the vice principal (still sporting a large gauze bandage on the left side of his head) for throwing his backpack, in the manner of a shot put, at the third-graders.
As soon as Jeffrey entered the car, he demanded his snack, and Jessie passed him a large paper bag that contained a bologna sandwich, a dill pickle, and an assortment of
ruggelach.
These were some of Jeffrey's favorite foods (then again, most everything was) and assuaged him for the time being.
ruggelach.
These were some of Jeffrey's favorite foods (then again, most everything was) and assuaged him for the time being.
Once they arrived at the office, however, he began to grow restless, especially since they were obliged to wait to see the doctor.
As with much else from which Samuels deviated, he did not hold to the conventional fifty-minute psychiatric session. “It's ridiculous,” he declared to his workshop students. “The problems aren't the same; the time shouldn't be the same. It's common sense.” Samuels was, as already noted, a great proponent of common sense.
Superficially, Samuels's approach might appear to resemble the clinical technique employed by the famed French psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan. Lacan was known to alter the length of his sessions in order to throw patients into a state of psychic confusion and thereby achieve greater access to their unconscious. But any resemblance to the Lacanian method was, in Samuels's case, purely accidental. “I don't have any fancy ideas about the length of my sessions,” he protested, when the idea was raised by one of his more
theoretically inclined workshop students, “and God forbid I would take advice from the French about anything, except maybe a good cassoulet.” (One of Samuels's hobbies was gourmet cooking.) “I see people for as long or as short as they needâend of story.”
theoretically inclined workshop students, “and God forbid I would take advice from the French about anything, except maybe a good cassoulet.” (One of Samuels's hobbies was gourmet cooking.) “I see people for as long or as short as they needâend of story.”
Since Samuels's patients often had their appointments delayed while he concentrated on a particularly knotty case, he had tried to make arrangements to relieve the tedium of waiting. To this end, he provided an extensive assortment of reading matter in his outer office. Besides his own book, of which several copies were scattered about, there were multiple other options, since he recognized that his clientele, despite a certain superficial homogeneity, had diverse tastes.
One shelf of the bookcase contained an impressive collection of sports books, including a glossy tome, not very thick but much thumbed through by male patients, entitled
Great Jewish Athletes
. Another shelf contained art books, specializing in some of the more unconventional modern artists favored by Sylvia Samuels, who considered herself an authority in this area. A third shelf contained an extensive collection of cookbooks, chosen by himself. Sylvia, as Samuels often explained, was devoted to her canvases and brushes but had no interest in the culinary arts, and so he did all the cooking. This revelation made his older female patients wonder what kind of wife this Sylvia was, talent or no talent, to make her husband cook her meals. With these patients, Samuels traded recipes and cooking tipsâbut the women would always pause at some point in the discussion, shake their heads, and mumble under their breaths: “Such a good man, and a doctor no less, saddled with the cooking; it's a
shanda
Ӊbefore launching into the fine points of making
schav
.
Great Jewish Athletes
. Another shelf contained art books, specializing in some of the more unconventional modern artists favored by Sylvia Samuels, who considered herself an authority in this area. A third shelf contained an extensive collection of cookbooks, chosen by himself. Sylvia, as Samuels often explained, was devoted to her canvases and brushes but had no interest in the culinary arts, and so he did all the cooking. This revelation made his older female patients wonder what kind of wife this Sylvia was, talent or no talent, to make her husband cook her meals. With these patients, Samuels traded recipes and cooking tipsâbut the women would always pause at some point in the discussion, shake their heads, and mumble under their breaths: “Such a good man, and a doctor no less, saddled with the cooking; it's a
shanda
Ӊbefore launching into the fine points of making
schav
.
Samuels also kept a nice stock of comic books and
Mad
magazines for his younger clientele and those, as he put it, who were young at heart.
Mad
, he liked to say, had been his psychic lifeline as a boy, teaching him the fine art of ridiculing authority. He often
expounded on how he feared for modern youth, who seemed to prefer mindless gross-out humor to character-building, nose-thumbing parody.
Mad
magazines for his younger clientele and those, as he put it, who were young at heart.
Mad
, he liked to say, had been his psychic lifeline as a boy, teaching him the fine art of ridiculing authority. He often
expounded on how he feared for modern youth, who seemed to prefer mindless gross-out humor to character-building, nose-thumbing parody.
During the first fifteen minutes in the waiting room, Jeffrey was extremely restless, jumping up again and again to pull comic books from the shelves and complaining loudly that he was thirsty and wanted a glass of chocolate milk. But after a certain interval had elapsed, he began to settle down. By the time a woman in a powder blue jogging outfit, large diamond stud earrings, and a vast quantity of smeared mascara exited Samuels's office, clutching a wad of tissues, Jeffrey had been quietly reading a
Mad
magazine for almost half an hour.
Mad
magazine for almost half an hour.
It had been decided that Carla would sit in on Jeffrey's session, Jessie being content to remain in the waiting room, looking through the cookbooks. She had found one that particularly interested her entitled
A Font of Fressing: Traditional Jewish Cookery,
and was engrossed in a recipe for
knaidlach.
A Font of Fressing: Traditional Jewish Cookery,
and was engrossed in a recipe for
knaidlach.
When Jeffrey and Carla entered the office, Samuels was seated magisterially behind his desk. He motioned for Jeffrey to take the seat opposite and for Carla to retire to the small folding chair in the back of the room.
“So,” said Samuels, surveying Jeffrey over his bifocals, “I hear that you're an energetic young man.” The statement was strangely belied by Jeffrey's present state. He sat quietly slumped in the chair and was not, as was usual in such circumstances, swinging his leg back and forth or playing with his yo-yo. “You seem rather subdued today, if I may say so,” continued Samuels. “May I ask if you are under the weather? Perhaps you had a demanding gym class this afternoon or are coming down with a bug?”
“No,” said Jeffrey, “I'm fine.”
“I don't understand it,” intervened Carla. “Normally, he'd be climbing the walls. This isn't his usual style at all.” She felt vaguely apologetic, given that she had billed Jeffrey as hyperactive and now appeared to have misrepresented him.
“Perhaps he's nervous,” suggested Samuels. “Are you nervous, young man?”
Jeffrey said he wasn't nervous.
“Well, let's get started, shall we?” said Samuels, rubbing his hands together. “Would you mind if I ask you some questions?”
“Sure,” shrugged Jeffrey.
“I'd like to hear about your dietâwhat, if you don't mind telling me, do you like to eat?”
Jeffrey brightened perceptibly. This was a subject dear to his heart. “I like almost everything,” he proclaimed proudly, “but I really like Grandma's chopped liver and her pot roast. Also, her venison stew,” he added as an afterthought.
“I see,” said Samuels, “an adventurous eater. Very good. But what's your usual fare? For breakfast, for example, give me the rundown.”
“For breakfast,” said Jeffrey, embarking on the subject with relish, “I'll have Grandma's challah french toast and two Pop Tarts. And sometimes a bagel with lox spread and some Bob Evans sausage.”
“A hearty breakfast. Very ecumenical,” noted Samuels. “And for lunch?”
“For lunch,” continued Jeffrey, pleased that someone was finally asking him to expound on something he liked and knew well, “I'll have a bag lunch that Grandma makesâmaybe a bologna sandwich, a few chocolate-chip cookies, and an apple. I usually leave the apple, but sometimes, if I'm hungry, I eat it. I also have a slice of pizza and some chicken nuggets from the school cafeteria.” He looked across at Dr. Samuels proudly. He had taken care to be accurate about the apple, since he felt he owed it to Samuels for having asked him to talk on such an interesting subject.
“Snack?” queried Samuels, writing something on a pad with a flourish.
Jeffrey cocked his head as if reviewing a very large panoply of items.
“Never mind,” said Samuels before he could begin. “I think I get the idea. And what do you have to drink?”
“Jeffrey likes chocolate milk,” interjected Carla from the back of the room. “I let him have it, since I think it's important to have as much calcium as possible at his age, and he won't drink the milk plain.”
Samuels put up his hand, as though he were directing traffic and Carla was about to make an illegal turn. “Please, Mom, we want Jeffrey to tell us.”
“Chocolate milk,” said Jeffrey, pleased that his words carried so much weight.
“And how much chocolate milk do you drink?” asked Samuels.
Jeffrey furrowed his brow as he worked out the calculation. “I'd sayâten glasses a dayâmaybe eight or nine. It depends. I usually have three of those little cartons at lunch that they sell in the cafeteria, but sometimes they run out,” he clarified.
“So you have chocolate milk whenever you can?” queried Samuels. “When you come home from school, for example?”
“Yeah,” said Jeffrey. “I usually have two or three glasses when I come home. Grandma says it's too much, but I do anyway.”
“Smart woman, your grandma,” said Samuels.
“I wish I had some now,” said Jeffrey.
“I bet you do,” said Samuels. “But notice how quiet you've been without it.”
“I suppose,” said Jeffrey, unimpressed by this insight. “But I still wish I had some.”
“Well, I'm going to tell you something, young man,” said Samuels, peering over his bifocals and assuming a more severe tone. “I'm going to ask you to not have any more chocolate for a while. Milk, yes, it's a necessity for a growing boyâbut you're to cut out the chocolate milk.”
“What!” cried Jeffrey in an outraged tone. So this was what came of telling a doctor about your diet. “I gotta have chocolate milk. I'll die without it!”
“No,” said Samuels, “I assure you that you will not die without it. In fact, you will be much better without it.”
“I don't want to be much better! Please,” whined Jeffrey, “let me have it. I promise to be good.”
“It's not a question of your promising anything. The chocolate is having an adverse effect on your system. It's not within your ability to control its effects.”
“You mean like the monster in
Alien
that takes control of the bodies it gets into?”
Alien
that takes control of the bodies it gets into?”
“Exactly.”
“Neat,” said Jeffrey. “But I still want to drink it.”
“Of course you do,” said Samuels. “We all want to do things that aren't good for us. But we use our will power and don't do them.”
“I don't want to use my will power,” moaned Jeffrey. “I love chocolate milk.”
Samuels was silent for a moment, looking ruminatively at the boy over his bifocals. Finally, he spoke with great seriousness. “Did you see the movie
Spider-Man
?”
Spider-Man
?”
Jeffrey nodded sulkily. “Sure,” he said.
“Do you remember what happens at the end of the movie?”
“Yeah. He tells the girl that he can't be her boyfriend cause he has to be Spider-Man.”
“Exactly,” said Samuels. “He gives up the girl in order to do what he has to do. You have to give up the chocolate to do what you have to do.”
“It's not fair,” said Jeffrey. “It's easier to give up the girl.”
Samuels nodded. “That means you have to be tougher than Spider-Man.”
Jeffrey considered this. “Tougher than Spider-Man?”
“Yes, you have to do something harder. Are you up to the responsibility? Are you capable of such heroic action?”
“I guess,” said Jeffrey, obviously taken with the notion of being tougher than Spider-Man.
“I think you are,” said Samuels. “And I think you'll find that
you're a lot happier without the chocolate milk. You'll be able to concentrate better in class and have more friends, because they'll think you're smarter.”
you're a lot happier without the chocolate milk. You'll be able to concentrate better in class and have more friends, because they'll think you're smarter.”
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