Maurice has come into our agency for several months, if not years. Homeless for many years and extremely delusional, he can be loud and frightening. As part of his protective street persona, he rarely smiles, is loud, and often talks to the voices he hears so it frequently doesn't make sense.
For a long time, we've just been working with him so that he'll become used to a routine, coming into our program every day, remaining calm, remaining around people all day, the fundamental kinds of social intercouse that can be extremely difficult for one so delusional and accustomed to censure. He became willing to complete an intake with us - something that had before now been too threatening. I was assigned as his direct worker - someone he would connect with on a regular basis, someone with whom he would, eventually, utilize a treatment plan.
The first morning he had his route sheet - the slip of paper someone needs to enter the program every morning - he was taken aback when we asked for it. He did not react abraisively, as I was afraid he would, but I could tell that he was starting to feel overwhelmed, which can easily elicit an expected response. Having a hunch that he perhaps didn't fully understand, I approached him later in the morning and asked if he had a minute to talk. "No," he said, his face expressionless. After a moment, the mask cracked as I saw the corners of his mouth turn up. "I've got years." he finished, streching out the vowel sound. It took m a second to piece together his joke, but he was smiling wider than I'd ever seen before. We sat down together, my mind racing with what I would say and also marveling at how proud he seemed of himself, what this might mean for him.
I took out a route sheet and explained it to him: the purpose of it and our expectations surrounding it. This hadn't before been explained to him, and I could tell he didn't understand at first, but he paid close attention to the things I was saying and eventually got it. On these sheets are spaces left for people to attend certain programs we offer, but I wasn't going to ask that of Maurice just yet. He pointed to the spaces anyway and asked if he needed to attent them. I told him that, eventually, I would ask it of him. For several minutes, he stared off straight ahead of him, he face arranged in a scowl I so often see on him. Suddenly he said, "Different music." At first, I was unsure whether he was talking to me or to something else only he heard. Then I realized that he was referring to the classical or ambient CDs that people play sometimes. By that point, he was smiling, and I realized that, while he was serious, he was also playing with me. I asked him what music he would pick, and again, he started in the distance. "Soul," he finally answered with a large smile. I laughed with him for a little bit, and then we went on with our mornings.
Insignificant, this interaction could be, perhaps for someone historically more functioning. For Maurice, however, this is evidence of playfulness and good humor that I've never seen before, that he may have never been able to reveal before. This interaction also revealed to me how little I know him, how little I know of him, but that's the fun part.
