Inspired, no doubt, by the outcome of the E3 Harelbeke, I recently dreamed that I was a professional empath. My job was simple: console the boys after a particularly difficult loss.
This was an emergency, clearly.
I arrived at the team’s hotel and was ushered up to Cancellara’s room, where he was tweeting while getting his massage. I sat in a chair by the bed trying to get his attention while he made a point of ignoring me. After an age of this, while the masseur wrapped things up, I reached over and plucked the iPhone out of Cancellara’s hand and put it out of his reach on the table behind me.
“I don’t need you here,” he said.
“I think you do. You need to relax so you can recover better. It’s pretty obvious you’re angry. That’s understandable.”
“I still don’t need you.”
“I’m staying anyway. I get paid the same, whether you talk to me or not.”
He got up and went into the bathroom, took a shower and came back. I stayed where I was the whole time. He stripped down and got into bed, but I remained professional, thinking he was trying to shock me into leaving. (Heh. Fat chance of that.)
He put his back to me and then turned on the television. After a while, I got into bed with him, put my arms around him (my front to his back) and just held him. In time I felt him relax, bit by bit, the tension slowly fading away.
He slept and I held him. He felt so wounded, so vulnerable, it was actually quite touching.
When he woke up, he looked back at me, smiled and nodded, and said “Thanks” very softly.
(and that’s when I woke up. Dammit!)