Defensive Walls Are Up Who: Reggie and Naomi Where: Riker's Prison, Naomi's Office When: Two Years Ago, Spring 2011
Reggie still wasn't entirely sure just why in the hell he had to see a shrink every week. So what, he didn't remember half of his life so that made him crazy? From what little bits and pieces that were coming back, he was starting to think that he should be quite grateful that he couldn't remember the rest. It was mostly a jumble to him, but it annoyed the hell out of him that people seemed to think that you were only half a person if you couldn't remember your past. Anyone ever think that he was better off?
When he was escorted into the little office provided for the shrink, he flopped down into a chair and gave the woman a wave. It was then that he realized that he'd been given a new shrink. Well, at least she was better looking than.the last one. It helped pass the time while doing this futile exercise. "What's up, Doc?" he asked with a grin as he made himself comfortable, even if the prison issued uniform that he had to wear was always itchy. It was like the people who washed this stuff purposefully picked the shittiest laundry detergent as part of their punishment.
Naomi smiled at the next client they brought in. She wasn't seated behind the desk, however, as was advised to her and customary. Instead she was sat in another chair, without the deks between them. She had a notebook and purple pen with her, legs curled beneath her as she sat. "Just getting settled in, Mr. Delallo. I'm Naomi Watson. You can just call me Naomi if you wish." she added, not usually going for being called 'Dr. Watson'. "Want to tell me a little about yourself?" she asked, even if she had the file left by Dr. Brown.
He was definitely surprised when he had walked in and seen her not sitting behind the desk. Maybe she wouldn't be as stuffy as the last doctor had been. "Naomi works," he said with a shrug. "And...not a whole lot to tell. Not a native, obviously," he said with a grin. "I'm sure that your file says what I'm in for, so we can skip right past that." Actually, the more they could skip, the better, in his opinion. He doubted he'd get away with that, though.
"Files are files." Naomi said with a shrug. "I've read it, certainly, but I like to get a rundown from people themselves, not some second hand assessment by someone else. So, tell me about yourself. It doesn't have to be about your crime, either. Just tell me about you."
Damn, now he had to think of what he should actually tell her. The last one had asked direct questions, which, while he didn’t really like, at least they were easier to answer (or not answer). “Yeah well, that’s part of my problem. A lot of what makes me...well, me, isn’t all up there,” he said, tapping on his left temple. “I know I can take a car completely apart and put it back together again and that I enjoy it, though.” Not that the prison would let him anywhere near a car. Probably for the best.
"I read about your memory loss." Naomi said. "What makes you think it doesn't play in to who you are?" she asked. "There are people with severe memory loss that pretty much become entirely different people. So, who are you now?" she asked. "Let's just ignore what you don't remember. What about right now?"
"Well, I'd prefer to mostly be the person that I was before. Seemed to work for over thirty years," he pointed out, but he supposed that he would play along, at least for now. "I'm...a guy who hates being cooped up all day, for one." He and being stuck in a small room didn't seem to agree very well. "My fingers basically itch to do something all day. Not even always sure just what it is that I want to do, just...something."
"Have you considered writing?" Naomi asked. "A lot of people find it helpful for long hours, and it's productive." It would also be something he could do in his cell, he didn't have to get permission for, didn't need much for, etc.
“What...you mean like sonnets, or do you mean like a journal?” Reggie asked. The idea of writing anything creative was kind of laughable to him, as it just wasn’t his style. He supposed he could at least try keeping a journal, but even that probably had to be hidden from the general prison populous. God forbid they think him an easy target because he wrote or anything of the like.
"I mean like anything you want to be writing." Naomi answered. "Some people do poetry, some people write songs, some write personal stuff, it's pretty much up in the air entirely. It's just whatever might call to you. You could sit there and write 'fuck you' six thousand times if you really wanted. There's no wrong answer."
That made him laugh, realizing that he was going to like the woman just for saying that. “Well, writing ‘fuck you’ six thousand times seems utterly fruitless, but I think I understand what you mean,” he said to her with a grin. “They teach you that sort of language in school, doc?”
Naomi smiled at him. "They teach a lot of things in school. And, I'm getting from you that you have some pretty solid preconceived notions on what this is about or 'should' be about." she said, using air quotes for 'should'. "I just tend to do things my own way. I get better results, I think. And part of that is not using really stiff language, or worrying about being all 'proper'. The F word is in my vocabulary, and sometimes it gets use." She smiled. “You wouldn’t be the first person to be shocked by that.”
"Well, let's just say that my last shrink was very traditional then," Reggie admitted to her. That doctor had just about actually driven him crazy, to tell the truth. Reggie had never done all to well with structure, or he'd at least never really tried with it, so someone asking him too many specific questions just sort of grated on his nerves. "And what? Did you rattle a few professors in school or something?" She didn't look like a shaker of the establishment, but looks were obviously deceiving.
"Just people in general." Naomi said. "They tend to assume I'm meek and mild, that I can be intimidated and that my convictions are malleable." she continued. "Not so much." she added with a smile. "But that's me, and we're talking about you. Tell me something interesting about you. Up to you what qualifies as 'interesting'."
“Well, doc, you’ve certainly got my interest,” Reggie said, still grinning at her. Now he had at least had something to look forward to, entertainment wise. Made the sessions go a little bit easier. “Something interesting about me, though...let’s see...what about this? I speak Spanish, for one,” he offered. Most people wouldn’t guess that he had managed to pick up the language in New York over the years, but he had.
"That's definitely interesting." Naomi said. "Who taught you? I'm bi-lingual as well. I speak English and Japanese." she shared.
“Actually, I just ended up picking most of it up from work associates,” Reggie told her. “You hang around the same guys for ten odd years, so start picking up on the insults they shout at you.” It wasn’t always insults, though, which was why, luckily enough, he could hold a conversation in Spanish without making an ass of himself. “Where’d you learn Japanese from?”
"From Japan." Naomi said with a light laugh. "I was born there, and lived there until I was twelve." she shared. There was no harm in that. "What sort of work were you doing at the time?" she asked.
“Well, that would make sense,” Reggie said with a hint of a smile. Then again, he was quickly seeing that it was better not to assume much of anything about this woman. Part of what was making her interesting, though. “And it was the sort of work that landed me in here, although without the part of driving a car into a river.” That hadn’t been planned. “Never really held down a ‘proper’ job,” he said, making air quotes.
"Did you just not have interest in a proper job? Or was there something about the illegal activities that drew you in?" she asked. "What had you going for crime, as opposed to other opportunities?"
“Easier, honestly,” Reggie admitted to her. “A lot of places were initially wondering why a young kid like me was without a high school diploma and all that nonsense and I just didn’t care to answer any questions. After a while, it’s a lot easier to keep stealing cars rather than try to turn things to a different path.”
She nodded, taking that on board. "Do you hold the same opinion now?" she asked. "That a life of crime is easier, and better than answering questions?"
“Well, now the questions would be why I don’t have a work history to put down,” he pointed out quickly. “Still, not sure if it’s worth another ten years of my life sitting in here to avoid a few questions.”
"Why is it you hate questions so much?" she asked. "You must realize that it would be simple to remedy some of your situations, then just go with the truth instead, yes? For instance, a diploma--getting a GED isn't difficult. You could have procured one of them, and not had to endure questions at all. Many people get that as opposed to finishing high school."
Honestly, questions tended to make him think of his father or sister asking him things, at least in the few memories that he currently had of them, but he wasn’t really ready to talk about that yet. “Guess I had just gotten comfortable with the way things were. Easier than making a change,” he said. Even if he was willing to admit that not liking much change had been part of what landed him here.
"What I'm talking about is you could have done that then not had to face questions at all." Naomi said. "And that doesn't answer my question about you not liking questions." she added, though her tone wasn't at all accusing. More she was just observing. "Questions are a natural part of life. People want to know about other people. People who meet you will want to know about you." she said. "Do you think you should maybe get a little more comfortable with them?"
“Probably should,” Reggie admitted, reaching up and scratching his head, his finger unconsciously fingering the scar on his forehead. And damn, she did catch him not quite answering that question. Smart lady. “I’m used to questions being accusatory,” he explained quickly. “You know, ‘what are you doing’ nasty sorts of things.”
"A lot of people in your position are." Naomi said. It was true, and she knew for a fact he wasn't alone, which he should know too. "Unfortunately, a lot of people don't realize dodging questions adds it's own taint of suspicion. Some people might let things go easily, but others, if they notice, will automatically wonder why it is you've sidestepped. Which is just something to think about, really."
Well, once again she had a point. It wasn't something that he thought about a lot. Cops especially didn't like it when you tried to avoid their questions, but Reggie admittedly tried to avoid actually talking to cops and prison guards as much as he possibly good. "I can see how you're a doctor. You're a smart woman," he remarked. "Yeah, I'll try to keep that in mind then."
Nodding, Naomi hoped he did. "Anything else going on? Anything you want to bring up?" she asked. "Doesn't have to seem 'important', or anything." she offered. Sometimes people had a real tendency toward only bringing up things they themselves thought of as significant--but only in the capacity of what they thought she would think was. Which meant sometimes things got left out, because they judged it to be unimportant when it wasn't.
He sat back in his chair, trying to think if there was anything that had come up “Nothing that I think would be important,” he admitted, but he sounded hesitant. “New random little bits of memories come back every once in awhile, but a lot of it is completely mundane, random stuff.” Then again, what memories were truly important? He wasn’t sure.
"Mundane and random makes up the vast majority of life in general." Naomi told him with a smile. "So really? It is important. It's what makes life life. What's been coming back?"
“True there,” he agreed. He had to think for a second to think on the things that were filtering back. “A lot of it’s been my time in New York, people I’ve met and known and stuff like that. Should I be writing these things down? Keep track of them?”
"I think that would be a good idea, yes." Naomi said. "While you're writing things down, it could help clarify the memory, or even prompt you to recall more with the events you're already recalling. So, yes. Write things down. If nothing else, it'll be a nice way for you to really put time and effort into memory recovery."
Reggie still wasn't totally sure that he wanted all of those memories back, but he had to admit that it was probably for the best that he at least knew things about the people that he was starting to remember. "Hopefully, the guards don't think that I'm starting to use pens to stab people or anything instead of actually using them to write," he said with a grin. Not that he'd been anything but a good prisoner. Guards were just suspicious when you picked up new habits sometimes.
"I'll let them know I have you doing an assignment to help further things." she told him, so he wouldn't be worried that she was asking him to do something that could get him into trouble. Which--just no. That wouldn't happen.
"I appreciate that," he said to her. It wasn't that guards really hassled him in particular (even if a few made jokes about his accent), but sometimes they could be a pain in the ass just because.