Positions, Points and Postures
A Cry for Help
The patient was hardly more than a boy, seventeen years old, but he looked younger. He was pale and thin and he had a curious, uncertain quality to his face, as if someone had thought better about creating him and tried to erase his features but had only succeeded in smudging them. He was dressed carelessly and sloppily, and he sat in a listless way, his arms crossed, his eyes vague. When he moved, his motions were tight and restricted. When he came to rest he was slumped over and passive.
The therapist glanced at his watch surreptitiously, grateful that the hour was at an end, and he forced a smile. “That’s all then, till tomorrow.”
The boy stood up and shrugged. “What tomorrow? Don’t you ...