The Who Helps Answer The What

Her life is in a state of flux.   We’re talking changes….BIG CHANGES of the flummoxing variety.    And those who know her and the major transition that awaits her don’t understand why she’s reacting to the situation as she is.   

Her “problem” as they see it,  isn’t one.   It has created a gulf between her and the small circle she calls her friends.  This has left her feeling isolated and very much alone and misunderstood.   

Even so, she got a call recently from a colleague who offered to help.   He wanted to apply some form of Psych 101 to her cause for some unknown affect.   It involved an album, an ancient but still working Kenwood turntable and a darkened living room.

That’s where he had her sit, head down on folded arms on top of the table while he stared at her.   All this as The Who’s “Who Are You” played in the background.  I guess the song was supposed to help her delve into her psyche in an attempt to dislodge whatever burr she has stuck in the in ass of her current mental state.   He kept insisting something about perspective.  

But why The Who?  She HATED The Who and insisted she always had more luck with The Kinks or even Bad Company.

“No!   he insisted.  “This song asks a question that you have to answer.” 

The album spun on the turntable; the audible scratches indicated he’d done this a few times. 

He’d interrupt every once in a while to ask if she was getting “anything relevant” in her head

Suspicion took over and because with her head was down, she wondered if he was grabbing “anything relevant” out of  her purse.   I mean, she didn’t really know him all that well.

No on both counts.

The song droned on and she felt ridiculous.  She allowed another minute to pass, just to be polite.  Then she told him that aside from the arm action giving her poofy bangs, nothing was happening mentally or emotionally and then she asked if she could raise her head.   

“Sure, but the song hasn’t ended.”

“For me, it has.   Sorry, but I don’t think this has worked.  I uh…still have questions!”

As she prepped to leave, she told him that this was just going to have to be one of those things she works out by herself.

“Will you  be okay?”

“I will be.  I always am.”

They made small talk for a few seconds, then she grabbed her purse and headed toward the door.

“Well, thanks for making the effort.  It was worth a try, I suppose.”

“It always helps me.   When I play that song, I can go into my head and everytime–even before it ends,  I know exactly who I am and what I am at that moment.   In fact, I did it as you were listening to it this afternoon.”

She chuckled as she turned away from him,  rolled her eyes, then grabbed the door handle and asked with a slightly sarcastic tone,  “Oh yeah?   Who exactly are you then?”  

He paused a half second and then responded, “I’m your friend. You’re not as alone as you think.”

She stood there briefly and winced a bit as the clarity seized her then turned to tell him,  “Then, I suppose that makes me lucky!”   

The song ended exactly two seconds later.

Simple yes; effective perhaps, but no matter how you look at, this experiment in emotional sensation and response just set gestalt back four decades.


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