and her lips curve up in a smile, as she nods her good bye. I’m shocked when she extends her hand.
I take it. It’s small, soft and dry. My palm heats with electric pleasure from the kindness of a woman’s touch. There’s an emptiness inside, I can’t escape—yet with her willing handshake, for that one moment, my whole world brightens.
Wow. I want to grin, but I only give her a half smile back—one that doesn’t pull on my scars and make me look even more frightening.
I’m surprised by an intense bubble of joy that floods through me. A moment of true connection with another human being.
So rare. So vital.
I sigh with satisfaction as I depart the aircraft. Warm feelings of happiness stay with me during the entire taxi ride to my hotel.
I check in without incident. The reception staff are professional and accommodating, their faces composed. The usual shock, horror and pity registers in their eyes, but at least they’re able to meet my gaze.
I long for just one person to treat me like a regular guy.
I’m beginning to think this is an unreasonable expectation.
At least when I’m with my counselor, I’m able to forget about my scars. They don’t bother him in the least.
~~~
The next day, André Chevalier picks me up from my hotel in his cherry-red Ferrari 275 GTB. It’s a classic, built in 1966. What a sweet ride.
He offers to let me drive, but I’m not up to handling a high-performance car. My nerves are shot. Just now, I can't take that kind of responsibility—if I did, I think my head might explode.
André phoned me last night and told me to take a sleeping pill and to eat a hearty breakfast.
I can read between the lines. My counselor’s admonishment to, “Eat and sleep very well,” can be translated to “We’re going to have a difficult session tomorrow, so prepare yourself.”
We drive around a scenic area of Red Rock Canyon National Park and Lake Mead. In my opinion, spring is the best time of the year to visit Vegas. In April, you can expect warm days and mild, clear nights.
Today’s an exception. The morning news stated it would be uncommonly hot today, possibly reaching 90 degrees.
The cloudless blue sky is a pretty contrast to the red and brown cliffs. I’m sweating but the car windows are open, so the rush of air dries any moisture from my button-down cotton shirt and khaki shorts. With good roads and fantastic scenery, the drive alone is worth the price of admission. Except for unseasonal heat, the weather’s perfect.
André’s trying to chill me out before our session.
It isn’t going to work.
We stop to hike off the beaten path in the Rainbow Mountain Wilderness. It’s marked as an easy walk. We get out of the car, and André slips on the backpack. Too distracted to offer to carry it, I let him.
I don’t know if they have boy scouts in France, but if they do, André was one. I’m sure everything from water to first aid kits and probably even a satellite phone is tucked away in there.
It’s a dry heat, but I feel a cooling sheen of sweat on my skin as we begin our stroll in companionable silence. Juniper and pine trees are dotted along the well-used path. It’s a trail which can be done in a loop so we get to see different scenery all the way.
Eventually, we stop to drink water. We sit in the shade on a log where there’s a nice view of Lovell Canyon. The desert has a dry beauty, with towering red sandstone cliffs. Surrounded by cactus trees, sage bush and the occasional chattering squirrel, we could be the only people in the world.
It’s certainly private.
A good place to share secrets, I fear.
André has the car keys. I suspect he’s not driving me out of here until I spit out the bones of some skeletons. I force myself to appear composed on the outside.
Inside I’m squirming.
“My friend,” he says, slanting me a look. “You have come to visit me on many, oh-so many occasions. We have discussed much, oui?”
“Sure”
“And so, do you not
I take it. It’s small, soft and dry. My palm heats with electric pleasure from the kindness of a woman’s touch. There’s an emptiness inside, I can’t escape—yet with her willing handshake, for that one moment, my whole world brightens.
Wow. I want to grin, but I only give her a half smile back—one that doesn’t pull on my scars and make me look even more frightening.
I’m surprised by an intense bubble of joy that floods through me. A moment of true connection with another human being.
So rare. So vital.
I sigh with satisfaction as I depart the aircraft. Warm feelings of happiness stay with me during the entire taxi ride to my hotel.
I check in without incident. The reception staff are professional and accommodating, their faces composed. The usual shock, horror and pity registers in their eyes, but at least they’re able to meet my gaze.
I long for just one person to treat me like a regular guy.
I’m beginning to think this is an unreasonable expectation.
At least when I’m with my counselor, I’m able to forget about my scars. They don’t bother him in the least.
~~~
The next day, André Chevalier picks me up from my hotel in his cherry-red Ferrari 275 GTB. It’s a classic, built in 1966. What a sweet ride.
He offers to let me drive, but I’m not up to handling a high-performance car. My nerves are shot. Just now, I can't take that kind of responsibility—if I did, I think my head might explode.
André phoned me last night and told me to take a sleeping pill and to eat a hearty breakfast.
I can read between the lines. My counselor’s admonishment to, “Eat and sleep very well,” can be translated to “We’re going to have a difficult session tomorrow, so prepare yourself.”
We drive around a scenic area of Red Rock Canyon National Park and Lake Mead. In my opinion, spring is the best time of the year to visit Vegas. In April, you can expect warm days and mild, clear nights.
Today’s an exception. The morning news stated it would be uncommonly hot today, possibly reaching 90 degrees.
The cloudless blue sky is a pretty contrast to the red and brown cliffs. I’m sweating but the car windows are open, so the rush of air dries any moisture from my button-down cotton shirt and khaki shorts. With good roads and fantastic scenery, the drive alone is worth the price of admission. Except for unseasonal heat, the weather’s perfect.
André’s trying to chill me out before our session.
It isn’t going to work.
We stop to hike off the beaten path in the Rainbow Mountain Wilderness. It’s marked as an easy walk. We get out of the car, and André slips on the backpack. Too distracted to offer to carry it, I let him.
I don’t know if they have boy scouts in France, but if they do, André was one. I’m sure everything from water to first aid kits and probably even a satellite phone is tucked away in there.
It’s a dry heat, but I feel a cooling sheen of sweat on my skin as we begin our stroll in companionable silence. Juniper and pine trees are dotted along the well-used path. It’s a trail which can be done in a loop so we get to see different scenery all the way.
Eventually, we stop to drink water. We sit in the shade on a log where there’s a nice view of Lovell Canyon. The desert has a dry beauty, with towering red sandstone cliffs. Surrounded by cactus trees, sage bush and the occasional chattering squirrel, we could be the only people in the world.
It’s certainly private.
A good place to share secrets, I fear.
André has the car keys. I suspect he’s not driving me out of here until I spit out the bones of some skeletons. I force myself to appear composed on the outside.
Inside I’m squirming.
“My friend,” he says, slanting me a look. “You have come to visit me on many, oh-so many occasions. We have discussed much, oui?”
“Sure”
“And so, do you not
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