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Give Me Freedom, Give Me Indiana Jones (standard:drama, 2919 words)
Author: rubyAdded: May 14 2001Views/Reads: 1236/665Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Derek, a young psychologist from manhattan, finds his way into an underground world of trouble. The story is structured around an internal monologue, influenced by not only his desire to escape, but also his realization that he lost anything and everythi
 



GIVE ME FREEDOM, GIVE ME INDIANA JONES 

“I had one of those dreams again.” 

“Really, was he as dominating as he was the last time?” 

“No actually, not at all.  He was so nice, I mean, he just stood there
and listened.” 

“Well what did you say Eve?”  I watched as the corners of her mouth
curled in delight, and decided to say no more, for Eve’s content was 
about as rare as her discussion of ‘the conversations.’ 

“If I told you I was sick of it all, being stranded in this place they
call, ‘anywhere,’ would you think I was crazy?  I know I wouldn’t.  But 
what if I told you I wanted to leave this, ‘anywhere,’ and go as far 
away as I could, to a place they call, ‘nowhere’?  Would you come?” 
After listening to Eve for a few moments, her poetic rendition of the 
dream began to reek of fallacy.  A person would only speak in such a 
manner if their dialogue had been rehearsed.  That being, I figured I 
could interrupt her, and she’d go right back to where she was without 
flaw. 

“So, who is this, ‘he,’ you speak of?” 

Of course, I was ignored, and Eve continued, “Ever since my mother shat
me out of her womb, (so desperately indeed, as I have been informed), I 
have longed to escape this place, where I feel I am condemned to a life 
of certain obscurity.  ‘It’s becoming increasingly difficult to focus 
on my, monologue, if you will; his features were just so chiseled and 
pronounced, they kept distracting me as they glistened in the 
moonlight.’  It has been my desire to leave this... ‘my voice slightly 
trailed off, cringing at the mere mention of this god-forsaken 
city,’...place, and find a new one, one of no conformity, but the 
conformity of culture itself.  A culture, that is bound together only 
by the seemingly drug-induced trip that it is.’” 

Oh, okay, I pondered to myself, I get it now, she’s an addict.  Upon
Eve’s purposeful, going-for-the-dramatic-pause pause, I found an 
opportune moment to speak: “So Eve, have you ever ‘tripped’ before, or 
done any other drugs for that matter?”  Instantly I felt the oncoming 
reciprocation of that question, and it was not good.  I had just made 
inexperienced-psychologist-mistake number one: I lost her trust by 
jumping to conclusions.  Damn!  Eve’s well-worn-with stress visage 
quickly twisted into the insulted look I had predicted moments before. 

“What?”  Eve exclaimed exasperated, “How could you, Derek, I, I...” As
she began to erupt, I couldn’t help but to think that I should probably 
have my patients refer to me in a more professional manner, after all, 
I don’t want to get too close to them (some of them are pretty crazy).  
“...Okay fine Derek, you think what you want, but I’m just trying to 
figure out what the hell is going on in my head, and I’m paying you to 
figure out why!  I wish my problems were as simple as drugs!  Make fun 
all you want, but I think that maybe these dreams actually served some 
significance!  Sure, they mostly involved making passionate love to 
Indiana Jones on a rooftop at 2:33 A.M., but so what?  He’s a great 
lover!  And a good conversationalist I might add too!” 

“Indiana Jones, Eve?  Is that who this has all been about?”  Apparently
this sparked that pathetic wick of a flame that lay somewhere beneath 
her confused mindset that ‘daddy’ instilled, because she immediately 
stood up and dashed out of the room.  Damn, lost another one. Eve 
slammed the door to my office so hard behind her, it swung back open 
just slightly enough to see Renee’s head pop into it’s crack.  I stared 
at her through the lack of webbing I feel every human hand should have 
(so many things would be easier, like swatting flies for instance), 
waiting for the smart-ass remark that was about to protrude her lips. 

“She mad cause you wouldn’t give it up?”  There it was.  I laughed, and
got up to walk towards her, stretching in the process.  Looking up at 
my arms extended, I couldn’t help but to wonder how much money I would 
make if I took my patients up on their propositions.  The idea faded as 
quickly as my arms dropped; I know I’m good looking, but I’m a 
psychologist damn it, not a male whore--unless they’re really hot.  I 
laughed to myself, shaking the thought from my head, and had a chat 


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