PSYCHOSOCIO
NARRATOR
After the Grayduck girl left, Principal Levitt appeared in David’s office in that way he had, materializing like smoke rising from a hole in the ground where something noble or useful used to be. “Counselor,” he said. “How was your meeting?”
David hemmed and hummed and even hawed a bit, wondering if Levitt had been listening at the door; it wasn’t beyond him. But he owed Principal Levitt his livelihood—he’d given David this job, saying a man needed useful work to keep him occupied, especially if his wife and his faith deserted him, in that order. Principal Levitt had actually been School Superintendent Levitt until his retirement a few years back. He’d agreed to come out of retirement and effectively accept a demotion to run Woebegotten High after the old principal, Mr. Jorgenson, ran off with the old guidance counselor, also coincidentally named Mr. Jorgenson (no relation), along with the entire contents of the football team’s booster club fundraising account. So here they were: David not entirely sure what he was supposed to be doing, and Mr. Levitt so profoundly overqualified that he could probably float through the days with his eyes closed. One day, David thought, it would be nice to feel confident and not full of doubt, but now that he’d lost his path to God, that day was probably even more distant than it had been a year ago, when—
“Inkfist!” Levitt shouted, and David snapped out of his reverie.
“Erm, sorry, I was thinking about, ah, what was the question?”
“The Grayduck girl,” Levitt said patiently, sitting in a chair across from David. “What do you think of her?”
“Oh, she seems nice, ah, gregarious? She’s already making friends, I think she’ll do fine—”
Levitt sighed. “You didn’t read her file, did you?”
David winced. “I skimmed it, I didn’t have much time, I’m afraid—”
“You skimmed it, but overlooked the letter from her old principal, right on top? Maybe you should read it.” Levitt moved papers around until he found the folder on David’s messy desk, removed a single sheet—a photocopy of something written on a sheet torn from a legal pad—and handed it over.
David read it. Then he read it again. He considered reading it a third time, but that would only get him more upset. “That girl… she did this?”
Levitt shrugged. “Nothing proven, of course, no charges brought, nothing official, which is why that note isn’t written on school letterhead, I’d guess. But the principal clearly put enough stock in the rumors to send us a note warning us to keep an eye on young Bonnie, just in case.”
David frowned. “Do you think her father knows? I mean, how could he not know?”
Levitt shrugged. “The girl lived with her mother. The mother knows, no doubt. But a girl like that… I bet she has her mother wrapped around her finger and firmly on her side, so they may have decided to keep it from Harry.”
David blinked. “Should we tell him?”
Levitt laughed. “You’re so prompt to violate student-counselor confidentiality?”
“Ah. I didn’t—I didn’t realize there was such a thing.”
Levitt showed his teeth. “You might have read your orientation packet, David. You have to maintain confidentiality with your students, with three exceptions: if you think the child is being abused, in which case you’re legally obligated to tell the law, though in this case the law is Bonnie’s dad, so let’s hope Harry isn’t the child-beating type, it could get awkward; if you think the student is going to kill herself or someone else, you tell me, and I’ll refer it to a psychologist who has an arrangement with the school; and in the case of a student disclosing something that could cause serious and foreseeable harm, like plans to run away from home or set a house on fire. Do any of those apply?”
“Ah. No, though the bit about serious and foreseeable harm could be arguable, I think, if this letter is accurate, though there’s nothing to say she’d do something like that again… But, technically, Bonnie didn’t tell me anything, so it wouldn’t be a breach of confidentiality to tell Harry—”
“So you are paying attention,” Levitt said, in his dry voice, like the rasp of lizard scales on sand. “Good. That’s true. So call up Harry and tell him you think his daughter is… what? A monster?”
“Ah, I guess I’d say… troubled? Confused?”
Levitt’s eyebrows went up. “Troubled? You wouldn’t go so far as to say psychopathic?”
David made one of the array of noncommittal noises he’d mastered over the years.
Levitt clucked his tongue. “Or, in your considered professional opinion, is she more properly termed a sociopath?”
David nodded sagely for a moment, cocking his head thoughtfully, then gave in to the inevitable. “What’s the difference?”
The old man sighed. “Trick question. Technically, no one is a psychopath or a sociopath anymore—they’re sufferers of Antisocial Personality Disorder now, and even back in the ’50s the distinction was disappearing, with the terms used interchangeably. But some people say there are two varieties of APD. For instance, maybe psychopaths have poor impulse control, and they’re more fearless, risk-seeking, and incapable of internalizing social norms. Psychopaths are louder and easier to notice. Sociopaths, though, have better impulse control, they can hold their tempers better, and don’t often take unnecessary risks—they can control themselves, and they’re better at passing as… for want of a better word… normal people. Psychopaths are incapable of love, while sociopaths can love, and intensely, though being the object of their love can be extremely dangerous—they might just kill a pretty waitress who flirts with you, for instance, or burn your house down to encourage you to move in with them. A sociopath is a selfish lover—they don’t respect rules or boundaries, and deep down they don’t much care about your needs, they begin to see you as an extension of themselves. Probably sounds romantic, to someone who’s an idiot. Passion and madness are so thinly divided, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’ve… never thought about it,” David said.
Levitt continued. “Then again, some people flip the words, and say sociopaths are the ones who are obviously crazy and can’t fit into society, while psychopaths are the manipulative con men who cruise through human society like sharks. You shouldn’t use either term, really, though people still do, even doctors, even though neither one really means a damn thing exactly. But psychopath or sociopath, organized or disorganized, both lack empathy, both have a propensity for violence—or at least a willingness to engage in violence more easily than other people do—and deep down, they don’t believe other people are real, not entirely, not like they are.”
“Ah,” David said. “I… I’m not sure Chief Cusack would like hearing his daughter was a sociopath. Or a psychopath. Or anything like that.”
Levitt grinned. “You think? I think so too. Probably it’s all a misunderstanding, anyway, the principal’s note is careful to say it’s just rumors and rumblings, nobody’s sure.” Levitt shrugged. He looked at the ceiling for a while, long enough that David looked up there too, wondering if there was a water stain in the shape of Jesus or something similarly arresting, but it was just acoustical tile. “Who are we to say lack of empathy is a bad thing?” Levitt mused, still looking up. “There’s a movement among people with APD, self-diagnosed and medically diagnosed, to be considered just… non-neurotypical. Not crazy. Just… different. They call the rest of you—ah, us—‘empaths,’ some of them. They’re just not like the rest of the human race. Perhaps even superior, their minds unclouded by sentiment, capable of a sort of ruthless rationality. What do you think of that idea?”
“I think it’s something I’d have to think about a lot more before I had any thoughts about it, if you see what I mean,” David said.
“That’s what I like about you, Counselor. You fully commit to failing to commit. Well, let’s keep this letter to ourselves—” Levitt plucked the note from Bonnie Grayduck’s old principal from the desk. “—and keep an eye on Bonnie. If any of her friends… meet a bad end… we’ll make some discreet inquiries. No reason to bother Harry when this could be nothing, hmm?”
“Of course,” David said, delighted to have the decision taken out of his hands. Having Mr. Levitt make decisions for him was almost as good as having the church or God telling him what to do, though his moral compass, David had to admit, was likely a bit more uncertain in its orientation.