Lord of the Flies: The Afterward

         Sitting down with Jack Merridew and talking is always the low point of my day. I am his assigned therapist, and I'm apparently “helping” him, so there is no getting out of any appointments with him. He came into therapy on the first day with a bad attitude, and I'm still seeing that attitude today, almost a year later.

         Today, he comes into the room with his arms crossed. He is sporting a scowl, which looks particularly frightening under his flaming red hair. I simply say, “Good afternoon, Jack. Are you ready to begin?” Jack answers my question with a vague nod and sits down.

         We always start our sessions the same way. He recounts his story of what happened on the island that he was stranded on. This way, the most of his anger is let out, and we can deal with that for the rest of the session. However, he never seems to want to talk about it. Much of our sessions are him staring uncomfortably at his feet and mumbling inaudible words.

          He knows that I'm about to ask for the story, and surprisingly, he begins speaking, “Okay, here's what happened. The plane went down, and me and the other boys were stranded. Things were great at first. We all had fun. Then....things started getting...weird. There was talk of this “beastie” I didn't believe it. But then, this one boy, he disappeared. And then things started getting crazy. Ralph....stupid Ralph, he only cared about getting rescued. He only cared about the fire that was going to save us all. Didn't care that we were all hungry. We only wanted meat, and he only wanted that fire. I had to take matters into my own hands. So I left. Left the whole pack of them and told them that if they wanted fun, they could come with me. A few came, but not a lot. That was okay. I was going to be more powerful anyway.....”

         As he says that last sentence, I notice a tone of bitterness in his voice, one that I had never noticed before. I see him grip the arm rests of his chair, and I can feel the anger pouring out of him. He was upset that his peer had more support in the beginning. Perhaps, I thought, he has a power issue? Excited that I was getting somewhere with Jack, I press on. “What happens after you leave?”

         “Me and my boys hunted. That was our skill, and we took advantage of it. Those other boys back in Ralph's tribe all had to live off of fruit. Sucks to them. But me and my boys had real meat. First pig we killed, we chopped off the head and mounted it on a stick. Then, we gave it to the beast. I didn't really believe in the beast, but, ya know. It doesn't hurt to be careful, right?” He pauses here, and looks up at me, as if for approval of his actions.  I nod slowly, but only to keep him talking. The entire idea of being so savage at such a young age is completely insane. It's a no wonder this kid is so messed up.

         He continues on, “Then we stole fire from the other boys. So we roasted our pig on it and had a feast. We even invited the boys from Ralph's tribe up to celebrate our first kill. There was so much meat there. When Ralph and Piggy came over, that's when it started getting bad. They joined in on our dance, and suddenly Simon comes flying out of no where. Except, we didn't know it was Simon. We thought it was the beast. So we beat him. We beat him hard. And we killed him.....then we realized it was Simon...” He trails off there, and I don't pressure him for any more of the story. Experiencing death of a friend is hard at this age, but he is responsible for the death of a friend, and that is probably the most troubling to him. I give him a few minutes to gather his thoughts while I scribble some notes about this conversation down on a paper. We're making good progress, I think.

         I nervously clear my throat, and try to get more out of Jack, “Is this the most troubling to you? You cannot be held responsible for the actions you took on that island, you know. You were lost. You were alone. You cannot be blamed for anything.” Jack shook his head slowly, “You just don't get it do you? Nobody gets it. They all think they get it, but they don't. I was responsible, and I do take responsibility for that. I acted like......like a beast. I don't know what came over me. I acted like that from that point on! My tribe killed Piggy too. And we tried to kill Ralph. Almost three deaths. And it's all my fault that I ran my tribe like that! I'm a terrible person and nobody is willing to admit it! I JUST WANT ONE SINGLE PERSON TO ADMIT THAT I AM AWFUL! TO SAY THAT I'M TO BLAME! YOU SAY IT! I KNOW THAT YOU'RE THINKING IT! EVERYBODY'S THINKING IT, I KNOW THEY ARE!” Jack is yelling at the top of his lungs now. Slamming his fists on my desk, he blinks away angry tears. “This is good. You aren't bottling your anger up any more. Believe it or not, you are making progress.” I state this simply, clearly, and calmly, to avoid any trouble that harsher words may create.

         Jack is shaking. “Now, I want you to close your eyes, take a deep breath, and sit back down. Concentrate on your breathing. Letting your anger out is good, but only for now. At home, you need to direct your anger at another source. Perhaps we could talk to your parents about signing you up for a martial arts program? You simply need another outlet. Until then, express your feelings, but in more quieter means. Do you understand?” I say this in a soft way, but he most obviously sensed my serious, as he nodded gravely, “Yeah, I'll try. Can you talk to my parents for me? They don't take a lot of the things I say seriously any more. They think I'm crazy, convinced that I have some sort of mental illness.”

         I nod away as I put my notes that I have been taking throughout the session in a file folder. “Yes, I'll telephone them sometime this evening and make arrangements. And you most certainly do not have a mental illness. It just takes time to get over tragic events, and you have definitely been involved in a tragic event. Thank you, Jack, for being so cooperative this week. Shall we say same time next week?” Jack nods here. “Alright,” I continue, “We'll work on ways to calm down next week.”

         Jack gets up and starts to leave. Pausing in the door, he turns his head and says, “Thanks for not thinking I'm crazy. I'll see you next week.” As I watch his retreating figure, I wonder what mysteries about this boy I will discover next week.