Imaginary Therapy

After Moe’s last session I read newspaper reports that things had calmed down for him. Moe was at home, living the life of a celebrity. In not hearing from him in over a year, I assumed he had decided that the incident that caused him to call me was an aberration.

I heard from Moe at the start of the new millennium.
“I’m in big trouble,” he said. He sounded very depressed.
“What happened? Where are you?”
“I’m in the Wildlife Waystation Sanctuary. They’re making me live here like a wild animal. This is no ‘waystation’ and it sure is no ‘sanctuary’. I could be stuck here forever.”
“What happened?” I repeated.
“They’ve taken away my clothes. I can’t have a toothbrush. No fork or spoon. No TV. They won’t let me take a shower. It’s worse than jail.”
“But what are you doing there? Where are St. James and LaDonna?”
“They’re not allowed to visit me. St. James is fighting the town in court for taking me away. He even hired a famous lawyer to argue for our rights.”
“I thought things were going well for you.”
“Not anymore. I told you it was because I’m not cute. When they took me away, the City Attorney told our local TV station that I’m not a cute little monkey - I’m a very dangerous animal. I’m used to hearing the monkey slur. But I know I’m not dangerous.”
“Was he still talking about the policeman?”
“No.” There was a long pause. “I accidentally bit someone else.”
“Moe…” I was genuinely disappointed to hear this. I wanted to believe he could thread his way through his dual life.
“Wait a minute. This definitely wasn’t my fault. A woman came to our house and St. James told her not to go near my cage. But she came up to me and stuck something through the door. I thought she was giving me a piece of red licorice - my favorite treat. It turned out she was wearing red nail polish.”
“And you bit her.”
“I bit her finger off. I didn’t mean to bite her. I thought it was licorice!”
“How is she?”
“She’s suing St. James and LaDonna. She was screaming, the police came, and county animal workers hauled me away to this place.”
“Maybe right now that’s where you need to be. Maybe you can learn something there.”
“Like how to be wildlife? I’m 34 years old. I can’t start acting like I’m just a chimpanzee.”
“Are you sure her finger wasn’t a trophy?”
“What do you mean?” Moe asked.
“Could this have anything to do with your mother’s hands?”
“LaDonna’s?”
“No, your chimpanzee mother. You told me you watched the hunters cut off her hands.”
“You think I meant to do this?”
“I just want you to consider the possibility that it wasn’t an accident.”

THIRD SESSION: May 18, 2002