Moving Toward Enlightenment

They were sitting in a hot tub in Rob's luxury apartment complex. Brenda felt the bubbles massaging her body as she enjoyed the view.

It was a warm day, but it was cool here because the land between the apartment buildings was filled with the greenery -- mostly eucalyptus and palms -- that grew so well in southern California. This place even smelled beautiful. Brenda, herself, found it hard to believe that she had decided to move away from here. Next Tuesday she would be leaving Los Angeles for Washington, D.C. for years of graduate study, with no hot tubs in sight.

As Brenda got ready to leave, Rob gave her one last hug. "Now, promise me you won't work so hard that you forget the people in your life," he said. "You can end up crazy that way."

Rob explained how he had once had everything, including a beautiful wife and a great job. "But I worked too hard and never related to the people in my life. So I lost the job. My wife divorced me while I was spending time in a psychiatric hospital. So promise me you'll keep on going out, no matter how much studying you have to do," he said. Brenda promised.

On Tuesday, Brenda started driving east. On Wednesday, she stumbled out of the motel and continued driving. On Wednesday afternoon, her engine light went on. Smoke came out from under the hood. At least there was a service station up ahead. The proprietor's shirt said "Jose"; Brenda was glad that she knew Spanish.

The car needed a new fan belt. Jose didn’t have one for her type of car, and to order one would take a day or two. Brenda had no choice but to find a motel and wait.

Jose's brother, Rafael, led her to the nearest motel. Then he asked her out to a movie. Having nothing else to do, Brenda said "OK". She lived to regret it.

They were late to the movie because Rafael had to get gas. He (and/or his perfumed deodorant) smelled so bad that Brenda had to keep the car window wide open. After the movie, they headed for the door.

Brenda stopped and took a flyer out of a rack. When she turned around, Rafael was gone. She stood and waited by the door for ten minutes, wondering how she would get back to the motel.

Pretty soon, Rafael walked by, too busy conversing in Spanish with a lady Brenda's age and a teenaged boy to give her more than a nod. Brenda followed them, smiled at the lady, and said something in Spanish. But Rafael wouldn’t let her join the conversation. He finally said "adios" to the Spanish lady, and they left.

Once they got back to the motel, Brenda confronted him about his rudeness. He replied, "But they don't know English!"

Brenda was glad that the car was repaired by the next day. She got back on Interstate 80 and continued toward Washington D.C. She hoped that, once she was a university student, she would meet intelligent men.

Brenda was eating breakfast at a Mississippi truck stop. It was fun listening to the truckers tease the waitresses in their Southern accents. Until one trucker noticed Brenda. He called her "little girl" and asked why she was sitting there all alone.

Brenda didn’t answer.

"You're the one's got that little Chevette out there ain't you?" He moved over to her table. "This is a dangerous place for a little girl like you to be traveling all alone. But ah'll protect you." He smelled even worse than Rafael had.

Brenda looked down and tried to finish her breakfast. A big man came over. Although he spoke in a friendly manner to the harasser, the harasser left quickly.

"Thank you for getting rid of him. He was crazy," Brenda said to the big man.

"You're confusing 'crazy' with 'evil'," he said. "I'm crazier than he is."

"You're mentally ill?"

"Yep."

Brenda was surprised. He looked relaxed; he was smiling and friendly. She tried to save face. "I have a friend who became mentally ill from working too hard."

"Baloney," the man said.

"What do you mean, 'baloney'?"

"Mental illness is inherited."

"But he was fine till he started working all the time and stopped relating to the people in his life."

"He looked fine. But he must have had the genes for mental illness all along. Then one day he got too stressed out and broke down."

"Overwork doesn't cause a breakdown?"

"Not unless it's accompanied by a severe stressor."

"Oh. I'll have to talk to a psychologist about this."

"You think mentally ill people can't be psychologists?" He grinned

Brenda looked at him. "Thanks, Dr. --"

"Dr. Goldman." They shook hands, and she left.

After Brenda made it to Washington, D.C. and found an apartment, she sent Rob a postcard saying, "Relating to the people in your life is more likely to make you ‘crazy’ than not relating to them is."

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