Hippocampus Forgets
by Francis DiClemente
|
Table of Contents parts: 1, 2, 3 |
part 2
The next day Purdie and I walked the two miles to Herendon Valley and found Dr. Blankenship’s office tucked in the corner of a large shopping plaza, sandwiched between a tanning salon and a sushi restaurant. White lettering on the glass door read, “Peggy Blankenship, Psychologist/Hypnotist.”
“Are you sure this woman isn’t a quack?” Purdie asked as he opened the door.
“Shh, please, Purdie,” I whispered as we stepped inside the office.
A secretary with blond hair sat behind a desk. She looked up and said, “Hello. Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but Dr. Bayless referred me here. My name is Hippocampus.”
“Oh, yes,” the woman said. “I’m Rhonda, Peggy’s assistant. I have your paperwork right here. Have a seat and she’ll see you shortly.”
Purdie and I sat down, and I surveyed the waiting room. Framed Monet and van Gogh prints adorned the walls and a magazine rack in the corner held publications like Good Housekeeping, Sports Illustrated, Travel+Leisure, and Men’s Health.
A few minutes later Rhonda said, “Hippocampus, you can go in. Peggy will see you now.”
I got up and crossed the room. I opened the door to the inner office and heard the song “Band on the Run” by Paul McCartney & Wings playing somewhere in the background. I followed the music until I came to an oak door ajar. A sign on the door read, “Peggy’s Office — A Safe Space For All.” I heard the music playing behind the door and knocked softly.
“Come in,” a female voice said.
I entered. “Hi, Dr. Blankenship. I’m Hippocampus.”
“Well, hello,” Dr. Blankenship said. She rose from her chair and walked around her desk to greet me. “Come in, come in. And please call me Peggy.”
She had an angular face with a high forehead, and she wore horn-rimmed glasses. At the front of her head, a narrow spike of grayish-blond hair pointed in the air. Twin splotches of maroon rouge dotted her cheeks and fuchsia lipstick brightened her mouth.
After introducing herself, she gave me a hug and said, “Have no fear. We’ll help you get well.” She told me to have a seat on a large couch reinforced by a framework of heavy cedar beams; she explained the couch was designed so it could support the weight of hippos like me.
Dr. Blankenship turned off the music and then pulled a chair close to the couch. She lit two sticks of incense, placed them in wooden holders, and set them on a coffee table situated in front of the couch. They smelled like clove and sage.
“This just helps to create a relaxing atmosphere, so we can talk openly.” She picked up a pen, flipped open a pad of paper, and pushed the record button on a microcassette recorder.
“Now just lie down on the couch and close your eyes.”
I followed her instructions. The frame of the couch creaked as my body reclined.
“Now, I’d like you to count backwards from one hundred. By the time you reach eighty-eight, you’ll be in a state of complete relaxation.”
“One-hundred, ninety-nine... eighty-nine, eighty-eight...”
Then I heard Dr. Blankenship’s voice, but it sounded distant, like I was standing in the middle of a tunnel and Dr. Blankenship was talking to me from the opening several miles away. Yet, I could understand her clearly.
“Can you please tell me your complete name, your age, and your place of residence?” she asked.
“Hippocampus Malroney. I’m forty-one years old and I live along the Great Sulwach River in Sub-Saharan Africa.”
“Very good. Are you married and do you have any children?”
“Yes.”
“What is your husband’s name?”
“Purdie.”
“And your children?”
“Hymie, Ubal, and Serna.”
“You only have three kids?”
“Yes.”
“Not four?”
“No.”
“Hippocampus, can you tell me something? Who is Corpe?”
“Oh right, him. He’s my son, too.”
“Then you have four children?”
“Yes.”
“OK, now I want you to go back in time, go all the way back to your very first memory of Corpe. Do you see the scene, Hippocampus?”
“Yes.”
“Describe it for me.”
“I am standing in tall weeds and Purdie is yelling at me. ‘You can do it, Hippocampus. Keep pushing now, don’t stop.’”
“Are you in labor?”
“Yes.”
“What else do you remember?”
“It hurts. My legs, my torso, everything.”
“What else?”
“Dr. Bayless is reaching his hands inside me. He says, ‘We’re almost there. One more push. That’s it, that’s it. The baby is out.’ I hear him cry. Dr. Bayless picks him up and places him on the ground in front of me. I bend down to lick him.”
“Can you describe your baby?”
“He’s wet and sticky, and he has little nubs for teeth. I lick his face, and he tastes salty. I kiss his forehead and then... and then... oh no.”
“What is it? What are you seeing?”
“No, no please. Dear, God, no! Stop!”
“Tell me what you see.”
“I see a reflection in Corpe’s brown eyes. I see five spotted hyenas prancing in a field of tall grass. They have surrounded Corpe, and they are tearing him to bits.”
“So, wait a second. You saw this the first time you looked at Corpe on the day he was born?”
“Yes.”
“And it was like seeing a movie reflected in Corpe’s eyes?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me, what else do you see?”
“The hyenas are biting Corpe, and he’s bleeding. He’s crying, and he screams, ‘Mom, help me! Please!’ But I can’t reach him. Oh no, no more, I can’t do this. Don’t make me.”
“Please continue, Hippocampus. What else do you see?”
“The biggest hyena is smiling. He laughs, and then he stands on his hind legs and punches the air. And I hear his voice in my ear, even though he is far away. I can hear him, but Purdie and Dr. Bayless can’t.”
“What does the hyena say?”
“He says, ‘The little guy dies when he turns five.’”
“Who dies?”
“Corpe. ‘Corpe dies when he turns five.’ That’s what the hyena says.”
“So how do you react?”
“I scream. I say, ‘Purdie, please, take Corpe away.’ I guess that’s what I call him. ‘Get Corpe out of here. Don’t let them eat him.’ But Purdie laughs and says, ‘No one’s gonna eat him. I’m right here.’ And Dr. Bayless says, ‘Just relax, Hippocampus. You need to rest now.’”
“Then what?”
“I fall asleep.”
“Okay, now I get it. This makes perfect sense. We’ve made a breakthrough, Hippocampus. Now I want you to count from one to ten. When you reach ten, you will wake up refreshed and with a clear mind. You will remember Corpe. You will never forget him again. Do you understand me?
“Yes.”
“Okay, count now.”
“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten ... Oh, hi, Dr. Blankenship. When do we start?”
“Right now. Hippocampus, how many children do you have?”
“Four.”
“And their names?”
“Hymie, Ubal, Serna, and Corpe.”
“How old is Corpe?
“He’s four, but he turns five on Friday.”
“Wonderful. Damn, I’m good,” she said. I’m usually fast, but this is a real quick remedy. You’re cured. You’re all better now, honey.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s simple. The reason you’ve been forgetting Corpe is because of a buried fear that something terrible will happen to him. When he was born, you had a premonition of his death. And this premonition was tied to his fifth birthday. So as the date approached, your mind played tricks on you. It created a mental block. It’s natural. You’re a mom and you didn’t want to face the horror of seeing Corpe being eaten by hyenas. So your subconscious decided to forget about him altogether.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“You had a vision when Corpe was born that hyenas would kill him when he turns five years old. But this was just a picture your mind showed you, nothing more.”
“But he turns five next week. Should I be worried? Could this really happen?”
“No, I don’t believe so — not unless you can really foretell the future. But I think this was just a flash your mind saw when Dr. Bayless put Corpe in front of you. With all those hormones raging inside you and the physical pain of labor — your mind just became overactive. It created a vivid picture of a tragedy involving your newborn son. Perhaps it was spurred by a fear that you would not be able to protect Corpe or provide for him. Maybe you doubted your abilities as a mother. Whatever the case, this memory has no bearing on reality. So you celebrate Corpe’s birthday with your family. Have fun.”
“Are you sure it’s safe?”
“Yes. But of course, you can never be too careful. Just keep an eye on him.”
“Oh, I plan on it.”
“Good. I think we’re all done. But let me ask again, ‘How many children do you have?’”
“Four.”
“And their names?”
“Hymie, Ubal, Serna, and Corpe.”
“Very good. Congrats, you’re all fixed.”
“Oh my, thank you so much, Dr. Blankenship.” I rose from the couch and the frame groaned again as I got up. I went over to Dr. Blankenship and gave her a big hug, causing her glasses to push up on her face.
“Ouch, ouch.”
“Sorry,” I said, backing away.
“It’s okay, I feel your love. Now go in peace and pay Rhonda on the way out.”
“Thanks again, doctor.”
“You’re welcome. It’s just what I do.”
* * *
Copyright © 2023 by Francis DiClemente
