Without even having had time to miss working with Brid, here we are again, starting with a new charge! I am very excited at this new beginning. However, it is clear to me that our newest charge will indeed be a challenge.
I met Brid at the small apartment where Lewis Deyerle lives. Lewis is a young man in his mid-twenties, who has just come back from a tour in Afghanistan. It seems so strange that they would use that phrasing, as if this were something pleasant and idle, wandering through a strange place to see its best points. I’m afraid that what Lewis saw on his tour was rather the worst of that place and of human struggle.
When we arrived, Lewis was on his computer, laboriously filling out an online application. The job was not one that excited him, and so he could not help but feel gloomy even as he reached for it. But under the gloom was a buzzing wire of anxiety that made him stop every once in a while to get up and pace or go to stare into the nearly-empty refrigerator. Most curious and concerning of all were the shadows I could see permeating his aura, underlying everything he does. I could not see the source of these shadows, but they shrouded him like a cloak, filling his head with a rhythm like gunfire and making it hard for him to focus.
“He received a 50% rating on his psychiatric exam,” Brid explained to me. “Which sounds not very bad, but I wonder if their rating system is off in his case. Such a rating leaves him alone more often than not, and he doesn’t have very many social connections to lean on.”
As we watched, Lewis tried to think of the answer to a question. He shook his head and lowered it until it was resting on the desk.
“I hope that he can get this job,” Brid said to me. “It’s just a retail position, but it will get him out of his house and out of his head every once in a while.”
I took a closer look around the apartment. It was as neat as a pin, but I wondered if that was because Lewis kept it compulsively tidy or because he simply does not have enough personal items to fill the space. The carpet is beige, the walls are white with nothing to break up the monotony. The windows look out on a dirty brick wall and down to a grimy alley. In his bedroom is the bed, the desk, and a dresser; hardly anything hangs in his closet. In the other room, a second-hand sofa and a tv are the only features, while the tiny kitchen is poorly stocked. In the tiny bathroom, everything is tucked away in its place, except for the single-blade razor Lewis uses to shave, which sits on the counter. Brid assures me that Lewis does not have any intention of using it for anything else, but it soothes something in him to leave it in sight—just in case.
“I am not sure that I can help this man, Brid,” I said, looking sadly down at him.
“Of course you can,” she said to me. “He isn’t ready for a commitment yet—he had a long-term girlfriend, but he broke it off with her after he came home. But you know what he needs better than anyone.”
Lewis pushed away from the computer and stared out the window. The lines in his brow were too deep for a man so young.
“You’re right,” I said, “I do.” And I wrapped my wings around Lewis and told him in no uncertain terms that he is not alone, that he is loved, that his sacrifice is not ignored and his struggle was not in vain.
When Lewis lifted his head a few moments later and went back to work, his eyes were a bit brighter, his mind a little clearer. Only a little, of course—it will be a long process to bring this one back to the light. But I noticed it, and so did Brid, for she was smiling as I came back to her side.
“So,” I said lightly, “it seems that I’ll be doing all the work on this one.”
She didn’t rise to the bait. “A good healer prescribes the best medicine for her patient, even if it doesn’t come from her. We’ll get Lewis back on his feet a bit, and then there will be more to tell.”
It is a simple plan, and yet I think it is precisely what Lewis needs. And with Brid and I both to take care of him, how could we not succeed?