“Do you think you learned anything?” asked Ken.

“It changed my life.”

He smiled. “In what way?”

“A lot of dark stuff happened.”

“Yes?”

“I realized some things about my dad, and I sent my mom a letter.”

“Oh?”

“Dad’s a perv. So I sent mom a letter. She needs to know.”

* * *

“You’re angry,” Ken said two weeks later.

“I’m angry at mom.”

There she was, in his mind’s eye, sitting in her fat chair in the living room, reading, while he sat opposite her, being a good boy.

“What about your mom?”

“She didn’t call.”

“And that makes you angry.”

“Damn right.” A subway train of rage rumbled past its regular stop. “It isn’t fair!” he exploded. “I deserve better than that. I deserve to be noticed. I deserve to be loved. Instead I feel like I’m retarded, like I’m a burden to her. I’m starving for affection!” His fist smashed into the desk.

Ken raised his eyebrows. “You OK?”

Jerry regarded his bleeding knuckles. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“It hurts,” he sobbed. “It really hurts.”

“It does hurt,” Ken said. “Do you need medical attention?”

“No.” His knuckles were already swelling. “I want her in my life.”

“And she hasn’t responded,” asked Ken.

 “No.”

“What does that tell you?”

“She doesn’t care.”

“Anything else?”

“You tell me. Sounds like you’re thinking of something,” he snarled.

“Well, I’m thinking about the definition of insanity as trying the same thing and expecting different results. Maybe you already tried as a child. Maybe you were right to withdraw from her.”

“I was just hoping. I mean, people change.”

“Look, Jerry. You deserve better.”

“Yeah,” he said despondently.

“Perhaps that’s the Divine Mother you seek. But in the meantime, you can learn to mother yourself, be the mother you never got. Nurture yourself; it’s within your power.”

Jerry stayed silent, brooding. 

“It’s why you’re here, Jerry. Remember? Zihuatanejo.

“Let’s keep going.” said Ken. “There’s a ten-day meditation boot camp on Salt Spring Island I want you to attend. You will be fed healthy food, vegetarian, grown from their own garden. And there’s a hot tub. You will be safe. Nurtured. And the entire time you will be silent, getting you closer to God.”

“No, no, no, no, NO!” 

Ken’s eyes widened.

“I’ll go insane!ten days of counting the minutes till it’s over! I’m not going.”

“I understand. I do.” 

Jerry sunk back in his chair and grabbed his sides with crossed arms.

“It’s not your fault, Jerry,” Ken said.

Jerry gripped his ribs tighter.

“It’s not your fault, Jerry.”

“I heard you the first time. What the hell do you want me to say?”

“It’s not your fault, Jerry.”

“STOP SAYING THAT!”

Ken leaned forward and lowered his voice. “It’s not your fault, Jerry.”

“YES IT IS! YES IT IS! I should have stopped him. I should have known better. It was my fault. Why didn’t I stick up for myself.  I’m a coward.” Tears blurred his vision; snot hung off his nose.

“No, Jerry. He is your father. You trusted him; you counted on him for guidance; he was your protector, and he violated that sacred bond.”

“I should have stopped him,” he sobbed.

Ken handed him a tissue, thought better of it, and handed him the box. 

“Thank you.” Jerry blew his nose and wiped off his face. He dabbed the moist scabs forming over his knuckles. 

“You have deep wounds. You are engaging them. There’s nothing easy about this, but this is the only way to God. Meditation will facilitate this process, empower you. But you can stop, if you want. Do you want to stop?”

“Jesus Christ, why’s this stuff so hard?”

“Suffering is a part of this journey. I wish I could take it away from you, I really do.“

Jerry shrugged his shoulders. “As long as there’s a hot tub.”