Session with the Wolf

Sitting so close to the wolf still makes me nervous. Though it’s our second session together, and he lies comfortably on the leather couch, my heart beats faster than it should. I run through a few mental calming exercises; therapist heal thyself and all.

The notepad I hide behind is more a false front than a tool. I get everything I need from digital recordings and automated transcriptions. But it calms me to scribble the occasional observation. Seated on my high-tech office chair beside a ferocious predator two-thirds my weight, long fangs flashing whenever he speaks, I need the distraction.

I’ll just refer to him as the wolf for confidentiality. Same for the little girl and the old woman: Riding Hood and Grandma. Not that they need protection anymore. Had either of them seen me before meeting him, we might have talked about validating trust in others.

“I’m still tired all the time. I only got out of bed today for our appointment.”

His deep, smooth voice might be relaxing if I could stop thinking about how he’d eaten the last two people he was with.

“Have you thought further about what we discussed in our last session?”

“Very much. I keep coming back to where we ended last week. I guess that’s what I always come back to: being unfulfilled. Two people. All that supple, tasty meat, and only days later, I felt so… empty.”

Curled up on the couch, he drops his head onto his paws.

“How do you feel about what came before? About eating them?”

“Okay. I’m not a deer who can live on leaves and berries. Damn vegetarians. After almost two weeks without a good meal, you can’t blame me. I only considered people because it had been so long.”

“So you typically avoid people. Why is that?”

“Well, they’re scary for starters. A well-aimed shot from one of those rifles can be real trouble. I was barely old enough to fend for myself when I lost my mother to hunters. When I first ran into the Hood girl, one nearby woodsman had a shotgun. I did not want to tangle with that.”

This time, the wolf buries his head under his paws, like he’s hiding from the memory. I’m tempted to probe further on the mother angle. Instead, I jot “lost mom” in my notebook as a reminder to revisit it later. There is another thread I want to tug on first.

“The girl and her grandmother didn’t have guns. Were you scared of them?”

“Not really. I thought the child seemed rather nice.”

“Nice?” A curious word choice.

“Nice to eat, I mean. A tasty morsel. Not like the old woman. She was tough, all tendons and gristle. The old ones get that way, you know. Better for soups and stews.”

“I’ll take your word on that.” I tell myself the shiver running down my back is from the cold. This late in the fall, I need to remember to raise the heat a degree or two. “Yet you started with the grandmother. Why?”

He tilts his head, reflecting. I can’t help but experience a twinge of satisfaction. These moments tell me I’m doing my job. So much of this work is about leading people to discoveries about themselves. To find I could do the same with a wolf was a welcome surprise. There might be a journal article in here somewhere, if not a book.

“That was more a matter of location than flavor. The grandmother’s house offered the privacy I needed to enjoy the Hood girl.”

“Did you intend to eat the grandmother?”

“Honestly, I wish she’d run off. But she kept going on about how her granddaughter would arrive soon. As if I didn’t already know. I had done a spot-on imitation of the girl to get her grandmother to let me in the door.”

He had performed the voice for me in our first session. While I had never met her, I had to admit it was a damn good impression of a young girl. This skillfulness on his part nagged at me as he spoke of his later encounter with her.

“You’re quite adept at voices.” While probing questions are my primary stock-in-trade, stroking the ego can be a valuable tool in building rapport.

“The key to getting it right is empathy. Finding something in their manner you can grab onto.”

“So, what did you grab onto?”

“The girl’s innocence, I guess.” The wolf pauses, thinking back. This is the magic I bring to the conversation: the ability to go back and reconsider things from a healthy distance. He continues, “And that youthful confidence that everyone they meet wants to hear what they have to say.”

“Do you believe empathy helped you fool her grandmother?”

“Certainly. My impression was perfect.”

There’s a glow of pride in his voice. It’s tempting to pull the thread myself, unraveling the curtain that separates the wolf from a deeper understanding of himself.

Instead, I ask, “why do you think Riding Hood could sense something wrong with your impression of her grandmother?” I pretend to consult my notes, although my memory is clear enough. “I recall she said something like, ‘what a deep voice you have?’”

“I suppose the young girl’s hearing was better than the old woman’s.”

“Is that all? You’re so adept at impersonation when you want to be.”

I give him a moment, some time for the mind to untangle a twisted knot.

“I suppose my heart wasn’t entirely in it. Maybe a part of me… part of me wanted to be found out.”

The hook is set. Now, I just need it to catch hold.

“Why do you believe that?”

“The Hood girl, she was so innocent and bright, with thoughts and dreams all her own. How different was she from me as a pup? What gave me the right to call her food? I thought if she was smart enough to see through me, maybe it would be a sign. Maybe I would let her go. But she wasn’t, so I ate her.”

“And how did that make you feel?”

“Empty. Worse, I felt sick, and raw meat is never a problem for me.”

“Empty and sick. We have a word for that, you know.” I put the notebook on my lap, so the patient can see my eyes. These are the moments when connecting is vital.

He looks up at me, hungry for an answer. “What is it?”

“Guilt. I believe you felt guilty.”

The wolf sits at full attention, excited to put a label on what ails him. “You’re right! All this time, tired and hollow with no appetite. It’s guilt. But what do I do? I can’t become a damn vegetarian.”

“No need to go down that road just yet. You can’t deny what you are. The issue may not lie with what you’ve done but with how you feel about it.”

“So, eating people might not be the problem?”

“Not necessarily. The first step is learning to accept yourself.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” The tension leaves his shoulders.

I sneak a glance at the clock on the wall, positioned for easy viewing while looking at my patients. “Wonderful progress. As we’re getting close to the hour, I’d recommend we pick up here next time.”

The wolf nods. I can tell he feels good about where things are headed. His eyes glimmer, and his lips curl in the near approximation of a smile. All the same, I’m not thrilled by how it reveals the full length of his sharp canines.

“About next week,” he says. “I was thinking this might be our last session.”