Breakfast at 7:15 a.m.

CARMA SHIELDED HERSELF by reading the morning paper.

     Carma and Burny were having breakfast at the kitchen table. Carma was drinking a cup of coffee; Burny, pouring milk on his bowl of cereals, was glancing at his mother. Carma hid behind the newspaper.

     —Burny scooped a spoonful of cereals from his bowl.

     —His whole body goes rigid, freezing the spoonful of cereals halfway to his mouth.

     —A swift attack of catatonic stupor.

Nona at the café.

"SPEAK ENGLISH, you fuckin' shrink," Nona said, chewing gum.

     Nona was on the Internet at a café, skimming an article on Catatonic Schizophrenia.

     Among the major types of schizophrenia, catatonia is the most interesting, yet baffling. It is manifested in a bewildering variety of symptoms: motor disturbances and schizophrenic thinking and affect.

"Dude, you talk too much," she said aloud, unmindful of the people staring at her.

Breakfast at 7:53 a.m.

CARMA CHECKED THE TIME on her wristwatch, caught a look at Burny. "Here we go again."

     She sighed and shook her head with an expression of strain upon seeing his condition. She gulped her coffee down and put the cup on the table.

     "I gotta run, I've got a presentation," Stan Lucierno said, as he walked into the kitchen. He is in his early forties, clean-cut and tough, exuding an unmistakable aura of ill will despite a permanent smile.

     As if on cue, Carma stood, wrapped her hands around Stan's neck, and kissed Stan on the lips.

     Stan stared at Burny, smiled a mocking smile.

     "Carma, aren't you a big Pope Francis fan?" Stan said.

     "Sure thing. We have some kind of spiritual relationship," Carma said. "His words speak to me."

     "The Pope said it's okay to hit kids to discipline them," Stan said.

     "So?"

     "You should smack this wacko son of yours to make him stop being a nuisance. That'll get him outta your life for sure."

     Burny blinked several times.

     Carma uncoiled and licked Stan's ears, whispered, "Every nuisance gets out of my life, honey."

Nona at the café.

NONA FINGERED THE WORDS "sit and rock his body backward and forward and muscular rigidity," on the computer screen.

     A catatonic patient may sit and rock his body backward and forward for hours on end or he may manifest muscular rigidity.

     "Whoa, sounds familiar!" she said.

Breakfast at 8:36 a.m.

CARMA WAS RUSHING for work.

     "Shit, where'd I put my bra?" she was screaming. Carma was getting dressed in sight of her son.

     She ran her hand before his face.

     No reaction.

     She left for work.

Nona at the café.

NONA, NOW BORED AND JADED, drummed on the table as she continued to read.

     "Catatonic stupor is similar to the posturing found in echopraxia, echolalia, blah, blah, blah and tons of fuckin' jargon..."

Breakfast at 11:55 a.m.

BURNY'S FOOD was now soggy.

     He was alone at the table, sweating, a catatonic mannequin.

     A poignant spectacle of helplessness.

Nona at the café.

NONA WAS YAWNING and stretching.

     "Posturing of catatonic patient may last from a few minutes to several hours," she said, cracking her neck. "Yeah, like I don't know shit?"

Breakfast at 2:05 p.m.

BURNY'S EYES CONTRACTED and dilated in an erratic manner.

     He saw Carma's coffee cup coming to life, morphing to form a face that looked like a bespectacled George Madden.

     It spoke in George's voice, "Hello, Burny. My name is Dr. Cupput, your friendly kitchen psychiatrist."

     I'm going crazy, Burny heard his own voice inside his head.

     "Oh, no, Burny," Dr. Cupput said. "You have very annoying symptoms but you're not crazy."

(Stop talking.)

     "Therapist-patient communication is essential for success in psychotherapy," Dr. Cupput said.

     (But you're just a cup.)

     "Think of me as a nonjudgmental and realistic therapist coffee cup. You can tell me anything without fear of censure."

     (How I wish my mother were like you.)

     "Do you want to talk about your mother?" Dr. Cupput said.

     (No. She hates me.)

     "Well, is it correct to say you feel unloved by your mother?"

     (Yes.)

     "Could it be the other way around?" Dr. Cupput said. "Could your mother feel unloved by you?"

     (But I love her.)

     "Did you ever tell her that?"

     (No.)

     "Burny, have you done anything to show her your love?"

     (I'm not sure.)

     "Why?"

     (I don't know.)

     "Have you thought of the possibility of your mother not knowing how to express her love for you?"

     (It's silly, but yes, sometimes.)

     "Burny, it's not silly," Dr. Cupput said. "It's the way things developed. How do you feel about it?"

     (Terrible. It gives me this spreading doubt.)

     "Spreading doubt?"

     (I doubt my actions too much. I feel things I do upset my mother.)

     "Why?"

     (Because she's cold and distant.)

     "So you question every single action?" Dr. Cupput said.

     (I'm doubting and doubting my doubts and doubting the doubting of my doubts. Something like that.)

     "You doubt doing anything?"

     (Sometimes I find myself afraid that if I move, bad things will happen.)

     "And just like now, you sink into real immobility." Dr. Cupput said.

     (I can no longer move even if I want to.)

     "If your mother loves you, do you think you'll have the same problem?"

     (Maybe I won't be afraid to move anymore.)

     "Burny, do you want to tell your mother you love her?"

     (But what if she doesn't love me?)

     "What if she does?"

     (What do you want me to do?)

     The coffee cup wobbled; its face contorted. "Well, Burny, that's about all the time we have for today's session."

     (Hey, Dr. Cupput, wait.)

     "Remember this, Burny," Dr. Cupput said, "fear and pain are just in your mind. Everything is."

     The coffee cup reverted to its original form.

Nona at the café.

"SHIT. THIS IS SO BURNY."

     Nona pointed at the words on the screen.

     Besides motor disturbances, the catatonic experiences vivid fantasies, fears, and hallucinations.

Breakfast at 6:28 p.m.

"JESUS, STILL A MANNEQUIN?" Carma, back from work, found Burny in the same position as she left him in the morning.

     Burny was soaking wet with sweat, breathing heavily.

     Carma staggered toward him, almost touching his face, but she snatched back her hand.

     She walked toward the cupboard, opened it, and pulled out her half-empty bottle Jack Daniels.

     Made her whiskey tea.

Nona at the café.

"SO IT'S LIKE BEING A breathing mannequin like Burny." Nona's chin rested on the knuckles of her fist as she continued to read.

     Despite being unresponsive to external stimuli, the patient in a catatonic stupor is aware of events and conversations in his vicinity.

Breakfast at 7:47 p.m.

CARMA, HALF-DRUNK, was having dinner across Burny, who remained motionless.

     She belched aloud and glanced at Burny. Their stares locked for a long time. She looked away.

     Carma rose as if to escape, but got a grip on herself and turned on the kitchen TV instead. She switched channels until she came upon the videoke channel showing a vapid music video.

     She sang along with the music.

Nona at the café.

"YEAH, I GOT YOU now, demon," Nona said.

     She spread her hands like an orchestra conductor as she read one part of an article word for word.

     Schizophrenic thinking is evident in the catatonic patient's tendency to create an imaginary world and merge it with reality.

     "Your name is Catatonia."

Breakfast at 8:46 p.m.

AS CARMA SANG the intro to the 70's disco song I will survive, Burny saw a cockroach creeping up his right hand, marveled at the sight of the clammy cereals on the spoon.

     "Whoa, baby," the cockroach exclaimed, "the best things in life are free."

     It clambered to the cereals, stood on two feet, looked around with full theatrical aplomb, and cracked its joints. "Let's party!"

     The cockroach danced, sang, and munched cereals all at the same time.

     Carma saw the cockroach. She waddled toward Burny, hell-bent on murdering the bug. When the song got to the line "I will survive," she plucked the cockroach and crushed it with her thumb and forefinger.

     Burny broke out of the mind trick and his immobility. He put the scoop of frowzy cereals into his mouth as if to continue the action averted hours earlier. He chewed the food, swallowed it, and turned to his intoxicated mother.

     "Mother, I love you," Burny said.

     Carma was thunderstruck, but she was too drunk to react. She reeled back and collapsed on the floor, dozing off.

Bedtime at 9:13 p.m.

BURNY CARRIED HIS MOTHER into the room. He laid her in bed and covered her body with a blanket.

     He turned out the lights and left.

Passing the love forward at 11:49 p.m.

CARMA AWAKENED. She was disoriented. I don't remember going to bed.

     She noticed the blanket. It disturbed her. Burny touched me? She flung it off her as if it were a scorching blanket of fire. No, no, no, no, no!

     Words erupted in her mind...

     (The demon that possessed Burny has me as the real target. It's using Burny to destroy my soul. Corrupting my heart, pushing me to the brink of despair. Knows where to strike me with the most powerful form of attack of them all: fake love.)

     She slid out of bed, felt her way in the dark into the living room. Fuzzy street lights led her to the telephone sitting atop a directory on the low table.

     She opened the book to a random page.

     Carma saw a row of similar names: Bryan Smith.

     Carma's middle finger selected one.

     She dialed.

     The number rang several times. A man's grating voice answered, "Hello?"

     "Bryan Smith...I love you," Carma said.

     "Who the hell is this?"

     Carma replaced the receiver in the cradle.

     "I will beat you at your own game, demon. I'm passing the lie forward to unburden myself of it."