How Stories Can Heal

A week ago, a large box arrived on my doorstep. Inside, wrapped in beautiful paper, were two stuffed animals, with a note: “Here are a couple of friends to help create smoother journeys for many others. Thank you for all the insight, support and care you provided me and my family this year–I can’t fathom doing this without you!”

I smiled. My client’s stuffed platypuses were a reference to a story I had shared with his family. I don’t exactly know why the story had come to mind: the note of anxiety I sensed? We had been gathered outside on the patio together, talking over a cup of coffee. I knew my client faced a difficult decision. Was I really going to take up their valuable time with a story about platypuses?
Yes–I was.
I launched in.
It’s a true story. Sadly, I can’t remember the name of the elderly lady who told it at a public reading organized by our local library, so I will call her Zelda.

Zelda’s story

Zelda told us that she had been deeply traumatized by the death of her husband, who died in the 1988 explosion of Pan Am flight 103 over Lockerbie, Scotland. Following that wrenching experience, she was paralyzed by overwhelming fear at the thought of flying in a plane.
She worked with a therapy coach, however, and was at last ready to try flying again so that she could visit a new grandchild in North Carolina. The day of the flight was dazzlingly clear. As she pulled into the airport parking lot, she saw her coach’s car pull up to meet her before the flight, as they had agreed.
He leapt out of the car and handed her two small furry stuffed animals–platypuses, she noted with surprise. “What am I supposed to do with these?” she asked. She was, she noted, a rather formal person; she was dressed in a business suit and had brought her briefcase along as her sole carry-on to get some work done during the flight.
“Take them with you. This is Jacquie, and that’s Albert. Let me know how it goes!” And with that, her coach jumped into his car and was gone.
With heart pounding, she wondered where to put them. Not in her checked luggage; but would they fit into her briefcase? She stuffed them absentmindedly into a side pocket. They almost fit.
When she settled into her seat, she heaved a sigh of relief. She would have the row to herself. But just as the doors were closing, a large man made his way down the aisle–and took the seat just next to hers.
I may as well be social, she thought. It will help distract me.
The man had stowed a large train set under the seat in front of him. “Taking that to a grandchild?” she inquired. “No,” he confessed abashedly, “it’s mine. I have about 40 of them at home. I collect model trains, you see. My wife collects stuffed animals,” he said with a smile. “I see you have some there,” he said, pointing to Jacquie and Albert, who were peeking out of the briefcase, not quite out of sight. “May I see them?”
“Oh.” Zelda froze for a moment. “I had forgotten they were with me.” She pulled them out.
Her fellow passenger let out an appreciative sigh. “My, these are some mighty fine platypuses. Do you know–I bet my wife would give anything–anything!–to have one of those. I know this is an odd question–but would you consider selling one to me? I would give you a hundred dollars for him.”
That was a LOT of money in the 1980s. Zelda was a bit short of cash in those days, but she demurred. “No–these are the gift of a friend. I wouldn’t dream of parting with them.”
“Oh, I understand.” Her seat-mate sighed. “Those are some very fine platypuses. I would have a hard time parting with them, too.”
“How about 300 dollars?” he asked earnestly.

By the end of their conversation, the plane was touching down. So far, so good, thought Zelda. She went on to spend a lovely week with her family in North Carolina.
The return flight fell on a less promising day. The sky was dark and threatening as the plane took off. Fifteen minutes into the flight, torrential rain and wind gusts pummeled the plane and lightning crackled around the wings, seemingly close enough to strike the plane.
Without thinking, Zelda snatched Jacquie and Albert out of her briefcase, where she had stowed them away. Her seat mate hadn’t said a word since the beginning of the trip; she noticed that he had taken out some pictures of his kids and was looking at them. He saw her hugging the platypuses and asked their names. “Oh,” he said, “can I hold Albert?” Sure, she said uncertainly– but handed him over. The man across the aisle noticed. “A platypus? Wow. Never seen that before. Can I see him?”
The next thing she knew, the two platypuses were making their way up and down the aisles while the storm raged around them. “Look at Albert–isn’t he the cutest? No, I like Jacquie,” she overheard her fellow passengers say. The platypuses were a sensation.
When the plane was safely landed, the stewardess approached Zelda. “The captain would like to see you up front,” she said. “He said to let you off the plane first.”
Zelda approached the cockpit wonderingly. The captain addressed her seriously. “Thank you for keeping my entire cabin so well distracted during that flight. That was one of the worst storms I have ever flown through, and you kept everyone calm and happy. Brilliant idea, those platypuses. I just wanted to thank you.”

When I finished the story, my client and his family were all beaming. “You see,” I said. “Sometimes it’s a good idea to take a few platypuses along in case the journey gets bumpy.”
We spent another two hours discussing the decision my client had before him–but we found ourselves facing it from what felt like a completely different place. He was calm as we weighed the difficult choices for the journey ahead.

Postscript

I was curious to know if this story had ever been published anywhere–I could find no trace of it–so I decided to try to find the author who read the work aloud at a story hour at the Scandinavian Living Center years ago.The program was organized by our local library; a few emails connected me to the author.
She confirmed the story as I told it, with some important differences. She had taken the stuffed platypuses home before the flight. Her counselor had given her the two, and told her they would be of help, which she greatly doubted–but she said she was wrong, they were really very therapeutic. But it was a good friend of hers, not her therapist, who had given them to her as she was boarding the plane. When she asked her, “But what am I going to do with these?” her friend left quickly, and the author was left holding the platypuses.

She added some funny details about the return flight. She was the sole woman on the flight–it was full of businessmen. What a remarkable image — all those businessmen in suits, hugging those platypuses. Lovely. Another detail: the captain actually asked to see the platypuses at the end of the flight, and patted their heads and thanked them: “The two of you–thank you so much.”

The author commented–”I am so glad you reminded me of that story.” At age 90, she said, she would still like to get it published–and a few others that she has in her head that she would like to get on paper. “I never thought of publishing,” she said. “I just liked to tell stories off the top of my head, ever since I was a young girl. Maybe now I will try to write them down.” I said I would help her find a scribe.