Stories

• April 2nd, 2007

“My gripe is not with the lovers of the truth but with the truth herself. What succor, what consolation is there in truth, compared to a story? What good is truth, at midnight, in the dark, when the wind is roaring like a bear in the chimney? What you need are the pump comforts of a story. The soothing, rocking safety of a lie.”
-Vida Winter

I love to read. My Mom gave me that gift as she is one of the most voracious readers I know. My earliest memories as a reader was looking through her bookcase and being awe struck at all the books she owned and the variety of stories they contained. They offered everything, trips to far away lands, the meeting of wonderful and interesting characters and the drama that so naturally unfolds as part of the human experience. Stories of conquest, love, prejudice and hope all within a young girl’s reach in a small southern town.

I like to talk in stories as well, but even more so I like to hear them. Recently I was working within a Mental Health organization in the south of England. I was within a hospital setting for folks who needed that service on a temporary basis. There I met a woman during my lunch break, she wore a plaid long skirt and a lace blouse and she carried a beautiful and ornate pocketbook. Her dress style was so refined that I noticed her immediately.

She introduced herself and picked up quickly that I was from the US. She told me she was a musician and asked if I had time to hear her play. I indicated that I would love to hear some music and she quietly and quickly went to her room and came back with a red, very large case. I could not imagine what it contained as it did not seem to be in the shape of any instrument I was familiar with and I was curious as to what type of instrument would even be allowed in an acute mental health setting such as this one.

She smiled shyly as she opens the case and reveals a red, plastic xylophone and says “this is for you”. With plastic sticks on a plastic keyboard she played The Star Spangled Banner… beautifully. I was awe struck.

When she was done she asked me if I could do a favor for her, would I please speak with her doctor and let him know that she wants to go home, that she is ready “this time”. I told her I would not be seeing her doctor but maybe she should play him a song about home… and what it means to her. She looked up at me as she was replacing her instrument in the case and said, “nope that won’t work, I tried that already”.