Crying in the Dark Read Online Free PDF Page B

to analyse any patterns or particular symbols that emerge. I did not want the boys to see me writing down anything, so I made mental notes, but to be honest it would take more than one session for any recurring patterns to evolve.
    The play on that first day was rudimentary. The boys cleared a space on the floor, lined up some of the cars and trucks and made an imaginary building site, taking turns with each of the vehicles. The digger was used to make pretend holes and fill them in, so I suppose I could have posited that the boys were trying to ‘bury’ their feelings about the loss of their father, but that seemed too trite. They ignored me once the game began, and I was glad of that. It meant that I could sit back without interruption and observe. The dynamic between them was interesting. It had seemed at first that Bobby was in charge, but Micky had taken the lead and initiated the play. As the game continued, the boys took turns being leader, and it was simply impossible to discern who was the alpha male between them. They were both strong personalities, and they appeared to accept instinctively that each had character strengths that sometimes had to be brought to the fore. It was a surprisingly mature relationship for children of such young ages, but then, I mused, they had been neglected since their father’s death, left largely to their own devices. They had grown up much more quickly than many children.
    With ten minutes remaining before the session was to finish, I interrupted the game. There was something I wanted to try.
    ‘Boys, I’d like you to draw something for me. Is that okay?’
    Micky clapped his hands and laughed. ‘Yeah, sure! I’m a good drawer, I am. I always keep the colours between the lines. Don’t I, Bob?’
    Bobby nodded and took the page I pushed across to him. I ripped open the package of felt-tip pens and handed them over.
    ‘Now. When I got here, you were both down the bottom of the garden, weren’t you?’
    They nodded.
    ‘What were you doing?’
    ‘We were down talking with our daddy.’
    There it was. As simple and open as that.
    ‘Right. I want you both to draw your daddy for me. What does he look like? Try and remember for me what he was like just now, when you were with him.’
    Fantasies like the one the boys were experiencing are often purely instinctive, an almost automatic response to a crisis. Making them put down on paper what they were seeing could be enough to cause the delusion to end. After all, they weren’t
really
seeing anything.
    The boys looked at me with wide eyes, but nodded and grabbed the markers. They put their heads together, bending low over the pages on the floor. Another thought occurred to me.
    ‘Hey, how’s about we have a competition? Shall we see who can draw the better picture?’
    I don’t usually encourage competitiveness in play situations, but I had an ulterior motive in this instance.
    ‘Bobby, why don’t you go over there, and Micky, you go over there.’
    I put them at opposite ends of the room.
    ‘Now, when I say go, you both start drawing, and when I say stop, you have to stop, and bring the pictures over to me here, and we’ll see which is the best.’
    ‘I’ll win, I’ll win!’ Micky chanted, bouncing up and down.
    ‘Will not!’ Bobby retorted. ‘My teacher always told me I was a great drawer! I’ll win!’
    ‘Well, we’ll have to see,’ I said. ‘Ready, set … go!’
    Both heads immediately went down and furious scribbling began. Five minutes later, Bobby looked over at me through slitted eyes.
    ‘What’s the prize for this?’
    I grinned. ‘You just wait and see. It’s a good one.’
    A shrug was my only response and the busy activity continued. After they had been drawing for ten minutes, I called time.
    ‘That’s it! Bring ’em over here and let’s have a look.’
    Both boys bounded over, slapping the pictures down in my lap, eager looks on their faces. I laughed despite myself. No matter how tough the