This Is Not a Tragedy

26 | The First Three Lessons

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

I stand at the door to the building of my first case. The iron gate in front is rusted, the brick around it old and crumbling. The lamp above the door flickers while humming loudly. There's an intercom on the wall below it. I enter the flat number and wait.

"Yes?" says a man's voice.

"Is this the home of Caius?"

"Yes, that's me."

"I'm from IVA." To maintain anonymity, I pronounce it as instructed: Ee-vuh.

"Oh, yes. Come in."

He buzzes me in, and I enter the building, feeling nervous. The right door is one flight of stairs up. After knocking, it's a matter of seconds before the door opens, and the man I presume is Caius appears. He's a white guy who looks to be in his late twenties, has a five o'clock shadow, and is wearing jeans and a wrinkled shirt.

The studio flat has clothes on the sofa, which reminds me that these inspections happen without warning. Caius runs to tidy up, then gestures to the sofa and says awkwardly, "Please, have a seat."

Well, at least I'm not the only one feeling awkward. I place the unmarked box of appetite suppressants on the table. Deliveries are part of my duty, along with gathering information. As I sit down on the worn sofa, I open the folder containing a script and case information.

Caius. Changed last year after being attacked by a rogue Transformatis behind a bar. No family before the incident and was in and out of jobs after recovering from substance abuse-induced depression. Healthy and clean for two months before the event. Support system consists of a few friends, two of which are also Transformatis. Has chosen supplements as "nutrition."

"Here's your new supply." I gesture to the box.

He picks it up and places it closer to him. "Thanks."

There's an awkward silence. I flip to the script. Sergius gave me a rundown of my duties on Sunday, and they sounded easy enough. I had no clue I'd end up feeling this clumsy. "How are things?" I read. "Any concerns or difficulties?"

"Nope, everything is fine." His smile is tiny, and he looks tired, but his tone is light.

"Everything?" I look back at my notes. "How safe do you feel?"

He looks like he wasn't expecting that question and ponders for a while. "As long as I have these," he pats the box, "very."

'What makes you feel safe/unsafe' is the next question, so I skip it and throw in my own. Sergius never mentioned it not being allowed... Granted, I didn't exactly ask. "Did you feel safer at the center?"

"Of course. But now I can kind of get back to my old life."

I nod.

"You're new to this, aren't you?"

I'm embarrassed but fight the urge to look away. If I give the impression or verify that he's right, will he take advantage of it?

"I am too." He rubs the back of his head and gives a small smile. "So, don't feel nervous."

Despite myself, I'm comforted by his vulnerability. I return to the script. "How do the people around you seem to act in response to you?" What a weird question.

"Well, no one has come at me with a pitchfork..."

Fair enough. "Do you feel like you're pretending?"

He looks at me closely. "No. Although I can feel awkward at times, wondering 'Should I pretend to go to lunch?' or 'How much should I pretend to strain lifting this'..." He pauses. "Other than those small things, who I am... I don't feel I'm pretending."