Center field

I played intramural softball at NNC/NNU. It was a sad, though well-intended endeavor. One of the problems was that there were two fields where the was probably only room for one field. When games were played simultaneously the centerfielders would sometimes be standing next to each other- each player watching his respective game but also acutely aware that a fly ball could be coming at his backside at anytime. You could say that we had some overlap, where the lines between games were blurred and it wasn't always clear what was really happening.

Mental health counseling is like that, sometimes. There are times when I can plainly identify a mental health issue and determine how the diagnosis causes the impairment. There are other times when it seems like there is something else going on, too. There are areas of overlap. Sometimes it's undisclosed substance abuse or some other addiction. Sometimes it's "keeping secrets" or some other family tragedy that isn't volunteered. And, increasingly, I sometimes think it's "spiritual warfare."

I am cautious about sounding like a nutcase, but I believe in dark powers and principalities. That is to say I believe they exist and acknowledge the destructive potential they possess in our lives. I first encountered these forces as a high school junior.

I was working my first full-time job during the summer of my junior year. I was working at the loading dock of the salvation army thrift store in the town where I grew up. It was my job to unload the donations and sort them into different piles where they could be priced. It was a great job- I was always amazed at the types of things people would donate. If you think you see some incredible things for sale at a thrift store, imagine the items which were donated and then determined "unfit to sell." It was a blast.

One hot summer day we had a court-appointed community service worker show up. She had committed some crime and had been sentenced to perform community-service hours. My boss brought her to the loading dock and assigned her to help me. And so it was that I got my first "supervisory" experience. I thought little of it- I was pre-occupied sorting through a mountain of back issues of Reader's Digest. I told the lady to choose a pile of items and begin sorting them out.

Now, it's worthwhile to offer some description of this woman. She was "goth" before "goth" was even a thing. She was clad in all black, and she had long, straight, black-dyed hair. Her skin was incredibly pale. I appraised her age in the late 30's or early 40's, though it appeared hard livin' had aged her considerably beyond that. She looked like a cross between Cher and Emperor Palpatine. She had an unsettling demeanor- she was restless and fidgeted constantly. Simultaneously, her affect communicated resignation. Somehow she was impossibly restless yet calm. I can't describe it aptly. Being around her made me uncomfortable, really uncomfortable. I've been around some odd folks, dirty folks, crazy folks, etc. But to this day I have never sensed the level of discomfort, internal discomfort, spiritual discomfort, that I sensed when I was near her.

I went about my business of sorting things and attacking the endless pile of junk. People just drop stuff off at an incredible clip, particularly during the yard sale season. At one point I looked up over the piles to where the woman was standing. To my surprise, she was simply standing still and staring at me. We were about 15 feet apart, and I thought little of it. I looked away and then looked back at her to make sure she wasn't staring. Sure enough, she was fully "mad-doggin'" me. Even more bizzarre, it appeared that her mouth was moving or she was talking to herself. Her face was expressionless but I sensed menace. It was like the pit of my stomach was telling me to watch out. I looked away again, thinking, "well this is awkward." I galvanized my resolve. She is the volunteer, I am the employee. I have nothing to be ashamed of. This time, when I look up, I'm not breaking my gaze until she looks away.

And so I promised myself to match her gaze until she broke it. After a deep breath, I looked up and our eyes locked. And the duel was afoot. At this point there was no pretending about what was going on: we were locked in a full blown adult staring contest. I set my face like granite. There would be no blinking, no movement at all. She met my gaze and continued moving her lips. I thought she began moving her mouth more aggressively, as if she was speaking loudly. But I heard nothing.

It felt like a decade passed. It was probably ten seconds. Then, suddenly, I looked down and noticed that my nose was spouting blood like a nasal old faithful. It was all over my chin. I have had my nose smashed several times, and never has it bled like this. I went to the bathroom to get a tissue and try to stop the bleeding. She stared at me all the way until I was out of sight.

Once in the bathroom, I replayed these events and tried to make sense of them. There was no way she caused me to get a bloody nose, was there? I came up with a plan to deal with her when I got out- should I confront her? Should I simply resume staring? Just ignore her? Tell on her? I was uncertain on what I would do.

When I left the bathroom and returned to my work area she was long gone. She'd walked off without completing her work. I never saw or heard from her again. But I've always wondered what happened that day.