Sadie: Sa—
Sadie was knocked sideways by a draft of anger from Ford. His contempt for happy was so potent that she wondered if part of his constant anger was simply a way to avoid the far greater discomfort happy apparently represented. If the very idea that he had to find a word to go with it enraged him.
Sadie heard him settle on Ending—happy ending, thinking that would show them for picking such a stupid word. Adding: Here’s what I think of your little—
Ford: Ever after.
Rondy: Nude.
Sadie: Dressed.
Ford: Thigh highs.
Rondy: (Laughing) I’ve never heard that one before.
Ford: Does that mean I pass or fail?
Rondy. You’re doing great. Feel.
Sadie: Think.
Ford: Free.
Rondy: Father.
Sadie: Mother.
Ford: Nothing.
Rondy: Sister.
Sadie: Brother.
Ford: Safe.
Rondy: Angry.
Sadie: Calm.
Ford: Door.
Rondy: Drugs.
Sadie: Drinks.
Ford: No.
Rondy: Snow.
Sadie: Rain.
Ford: Man.
Rondy: Winter.
Sadie: Summer.
Ford: Cold.
Rondy: Mother.
Sadie: Father.
Ford: Artist.
Rondy: Ice.
Sadie: Water.
Ford: Fear. Sorry, I meant to say “beer.”
Rondy: Friend.
Sadie: Foe.
Ford: Jame—Bucky.
Rondy: Old.
Sadie: New.
Ford: Unexpected.
Rondy: New.
Sadie: Old.
Ford: Dull.
Rondy: Home.
Sadie: Alone.
Ford: Alone.
Rondy: Love.
Sadie: Tennis.
Ford: -ly lady.
Rondy smiled. “Excellent. Let’s stop there. What did you think, Ford?”
“Fun,” he said, and Sadie sensed bright candor and bouncy surprise. But he was also apprehensive, worried he hadn’t impressed this lady, worried he hadn’t done well enough. “What does it mean? Am I, um, normal?”
Not just this lady, Sadie thought. He was so nervous about what his mother thought that he couldn’t even turn to look at her, and there was a constant low buzz as though someone was running a lawnmower around his mind. He was afraid to hear what they said, afraid he’d disappointed them both.
Sadie knew Ford felt his mother tense when he paired thigh highs with nude, but after that his word choices were almost all unconscious, sliding out without thought like a sled ending a smooth, easy run. She wasn’t even sure he knew what he’d said for any besides ice, when he’d changed fear to beer, or friend, when his mind had gone blank and she’d glimpsed for the first time how James had been not just his brother but his best friend for his entire life.
Rondy laughed. “You’re quite normal, and anything but average, Mr. Winter,” she said, which acted like magic to reduce the volume of the lawn mower. “Your answers were all associations,” she went on, glancing down at her notepad, “which means either phrase completions like ‘sun–day’ or ‘snow–man,’ which you favored more at the beginning, or words that had a personal connection to you. People with patterns like yours tend to be what we call integrated, suggesting you are at ease with others and adept at making connections.”
Slightly milky opalescent dots hung as though suspended from filaments in his mind, turning from one side to the other in a swaying, pleasant rhythm as he listened to the woman. The feeling was a good one, but not associated with any powerful memories since there were no images, no voices to go with it. It resembled the shimmering current of pride he’d felt when he built the tree house, but quieter, like a private smile.
“What are other ways to do it?” he asked, and Sadie made a mental note about how a sense of personal achievement led to broader curiosity about the world and others.
“Some people use only antonyms, words that mean the opposite of the associative word,” Rondy said.
The milky circles stopped swaying. “Why would they do that?”
Because it is sensible and orderly, Sadie told him. It is the cleanest, most efficient approach to word association.
Rondy’s answer was similar: “It’s their natural tendency to see things in opposition. It feels tidy and comfortable. These tend to be orderly, rational individuals.”
“So everything to them is black or white,” Ford said with a tiny bit of the mind-curling contempt he’d lavished on happy. “That sounds repressed.”
Like you couldn’t teach me a thing or two about repression, Mr. I-associate-“angry”-with-“door,” Sadie pointed out.
Rondy shook her head. “We don’t judge. Everyone’s mind works in different ways.”
And by the way, Sadie wanted to tell him, my mind is flexible. Not all of my answers were antonyms. For example, love wasn’t.
Somewhere in the back of her own mind Sadie heard a shimmering laugh and a voice say, You picked tennis. Are you sure that’s the point you want to make?
This isn’t about me, Sadie snapped at herself. Focus.
Ford had shifted, nearly facing his mother, and now said, “Mom, what do you do?” Sadie could tell he genuinely wanted to know and that he was nervous about asking.
“Your mother has a brilliantly associative mind,” Rondy said. “She pulls things together I wouldn’t have imagined.” Her smile became a look of concern. “Vera, are you all right?”
Ford’s mother’s lips pressed together, and she gave a tight little nod. “Thank you,” she said and reached for Ford’s hand.
Sadie felt Ford’s pulse grow stronger and hers slipped into sync with it. The power of Ford’s heartbeat overwhelmed her, as if he had been waiting to unleash it for a long time. The milky opalescent rounds began to turn and sway again, darkening in color to a silvery purple.
Rondy looked at the two of them. “That’s about the end of our time today. Do either of you have any questions or concerns for me?”
Ford’s mother shook her head, but Ford said, “I have a question.” Giving his mother’s hand a squeeze, he pulled his wallet out of his pocket and flipped out his ID. After Bucky’s reaction to it, Ford had compared it with the IDs of the guys at work and discovered the only difference between them were the symbols in the bottom right-hand corner. He pointed there now, at a roman numeral three with a line through it: