by T. J. Klune
Example: the two monster Persian cats that roamed his office through the entire session sounding like lawnmowers running out of gas as they undoubtedly stalked me because I looked like Fancy Feast Tuna Melt. (“Carl Jung and B.F. Skinner,” he said, pointing at one and then the other. “My heroes. They keep me calm and help to bring a sense of peace to the room.” I didn’t ask, only because I didn’t care.)
Example: The way he eyed the Kid when Tyson sat down in front of him, his scowl evident, his arms across his chest. (“I’ve heard a great deal about you, Tyson. But I wasn’t told how shocking your aura would be. It’s like a blast of rainbows across my eyes, like liquid Skittles raining from the sky.” I had no words for this. I mean come on: liquid Skittles raining from the sky? I’m going to kill Erica for hooking us up with this whacko.)
I’d sat out in the waiting room (“Lounge,” Eddie told me. “Waiting room implies you are waiting for something. Never wait, always seize. No one ever got anything by waiting.” The Kid had asked why it wasn’t called the “Seizure Room,” then. Eddie hadn’t been able to answer that) while Tyson and Eddie had talked, Eddie telling me he wanted to get to know each of us individually before moving forward. Otter had shown up partway through, apologizing for being late, but that a family in for portraits had run long when the three kids had all started throwing up at the same time.
“You must hate me,” I muttered at him as he grabbed my hand, bringing it up to his lips for a kiss.
“Why do you say that?”
“You lived in San Diego,” I reminded him. “Worked in a big studio, met famous people, everyone loved you for your work. Now you’re taking vomiting family portraits back in Seafare. Not exactly a great career trajectory. And today, you’re sitting in a therapist’s office while waiting your turn to go in and have your innermost secrets divulged for all the world to see.” I shook my head. “Bet you didn’t know what you were getting into when you signed up for this.”
“And yet,” he says with a grin, “somehow, I wouldn’t change a damn thing.”
“Uh-huh, you say that now. Wait until you meet the therapist.”
“That bad?”
“Let’s just say I can’t believe he’s a real person.”
“Like Santa Claus?”
“More like if Santa Claus and Ron Jeremy had a child and then that child had a child with Richard Simmons.”
“So, like a leprechaun?”
“Yes, Otter, exactly like a leprechaun.”
“I’m going to tell him I believe in Santa Claus, just to see what happens.”
“I dare you.”
“Totally going to do it now. What’ll you give me if I do?”
I leaned over and proceeded to fuck with us both by describing (in great detail, I might add) how I’d let him fuck me through the wall when we got home and how I’d moan his name and beg for what I want done to me. I get to the point where I tell him I want his fat cock in my ass, and I allow my lips to graze against his ear, causing him to shudder as a strangled noise bursts from his throat.
I’m such an asshole.
So we waited until the Kid had come out, rolling his eyes, muttering to himself, motioning that it was my turn. He’d climbed into Otter’s lap and laid his head against Otter’s chest. Otter leaned down and whispered quietly in his ear, and I saw the Kid’s shoulders begin to relax as I walked through the beads.
And this is where the fun begins.
“I think you should consider therapy,” Eddie repeats, reaching down to pet Carl Jung while B.F. Skinner stares at me from his perch on the window, obviously wondering what my eyes would taste like.
“I’m fine,” I assure him. “We’re doing this because it’s a requirement of the state in order to petition custody.”
“Are you fine, Derrick?”
I nod. “I think I just told you I was.”
“I see,” he says as he writes something on the notepad in front of him. “Tell me, Derrick, why do you want to adopt Tyson?”
You’ll have to do better than that, Eddie. “Because he’s my little brother, and I don’t want anyone to be able to take him from me.”
“Mmm-hmm.” More writing.
I wait.
Finally, after ages: “And you are the only family he has, other than your mother?”
“Biologically,” I agree. “But we have friends that are more than enough family for us.”
“Mmm.” Somehow, the thirteen words I’ve just said translate into him writing a paragraph that’s almost as long as the piece of paper. And his handwriting is small and cramped. “Fascinating.”
I’m starting to sweat, but still I say nothing.
“And tell me about Oliver,” he finally says as Carl Jung starts using my leg like a scratching post. I want to yell at Carl Jung, but I’m worried the therapist will see this as being aggressive and will note that I’m an unfit guardian, that I’m too quick to lose my cool, even if it’s because a mountain lion is clawing my jeans.
My eyes narrow. “What about him?”
“He lives with you too?”
“I assume you already know that.”
“Sometimes it helps us to say it ourselves.”
I can barely resist the urge to roll my eyes and to punch Carl Jung in the face. “He lives in my house.”
“Your house? Interesting.”
“Wait. I meant our house.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.” Of course I do. If anything, it’s Otter’s house, seeing as how he’s the one that bought it. He did say he was going to add my name to the deed, but we’ve been so busy he hasn’t gotten around to it yet. Well, that’s what he says, at least. For all I know, maybe he’s waiting to see if I go out and fuck someone else like he thought I would. Crap, how the hell am I going to convince him—
“What was that?” Eddie says sharply. “Right there, that thought that just crossed your mind. Say it aloud.”
I open my mouth without giving myself time to think. “I wish there was an Arby’s nearby. I really feel like roast beef.”
He starts writing furiously. “You have a very expressive face, Derrick. It’s like reading a pop-up book about emotions. You pull the little tab and a glut of feeling just launches into the air. Tell me about this Arby’s. Do you think about roast beef often? Is it guilt because your brother chose to be a vegetarian and you yourself daydream of meat?”
This I can do. “Yes,” I tell him. “That’s exactly it.”
He nods like it’s the most profound thing he’s ever heard. “You know, Freud would have said your obsession with meat is about sex. Freud thought everything was about sex. One might think that the man never got laid in his entire life. Or he was in love with his mother. I was never sure which. But regardless, it does bring up an interesting point, your fascination with the beef industry and this place you call Arby’s. I understand you are currently expressing your newfound sexuality with a man. Your first.”
I glare at him. “And you know this how?”
“Tyson was simply a fountain of information,” he says. “The words just spewed from him in a geyser of truth and love.”
Somehow, I doubt this. If Tyson had spewed anything to this man, it was not done in truth and love. “I wouldn’t call it expressing—”
“Are you the dominant one in your relationship?” he interrupts.
“Depends on what you mean by dominant—”
“Is he bigger than you?”
“Like, way bigger. He’s huge and—”
“Uh-huh. So is he the dominant one?”
“I guess that’s one way to look at it.”
“And do you enjoy that, Derrick?”
“Sometimes.”
“Giving up control? Letting someone else handle things?”
“I suppose.”
“And does it give you peace that he can provide that for you?”
“Sure, why not.”
“Would you consider yourself to be an aggressive lover?”
> God, I’m such a prude. “What does this have to do with Tyson?” I ask, mortified.
He throws his hands in the air. Testify! I think wildly. “How can you know what’s best for Tyson if you don’t know what’s best for yourself?”
“I do know what’s best for Tyson because I do know that Otter is what’s best for me,” I snap at him.
“So you let… Otter control you, then.”
“That’s not what I said!”
“You know,” Eddie says, leafing through his copious notes, “in the animal world, a bear is much more ferocious than an otter.”
This can’t be happening. This guy has to be in on a joke that people are playing on me. Nobody in the real world is like this guy. I almost want to look around to see if I can spot a camera crew who’ll jump out and scream “You’ve just been Rehabilitated! Sundays, on Fox!” They’ve got good hiding places, it would seem. “Is that so?” I say in response to his astute observation about the natural order of the animal kingdom.
“Oh, very much so. I’m sure you’ve never heard of a bear and otter fighting with the otter emerging victorious.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a bear and otter fighting at all,” I mutter.
“So you and Otter don’t fight, then?”
What? “What?”
“You just said you’ve never fought with Otter.”
“That’s not what I said!”
“It’s what you didn’t say that I’m more interested in.” He flips the page and begins writing even more. “So no disagreements? No petty squabbles? Nothing he does makes you want to rip his face off with your paw and digest his innards? We’re all animals, Derrick. Some of us are better at showing it than others.”
I think this guy might be my new favorite person, it says in awe. Like, in the history of all time.
You stay out of this.
“I don’t want to rip his face off. Of course we fight. Everybody fights.”
“Do they?” he says, arching an eyebrow. “And what do you fight about?”
“Just stupid things.” I feel sweat drip down my spine and land in my ass crack. I’m not amused.
“Like what? Money? Laundry? Who’s going to top?”
“Otter likes to top more than I do,” I say before I can stop myself. I cringe slightly. Why do I feel the need to share that information with everyone?
“Ah! So do you consider yourself a submissive, then?”
I snort nervously. “Not hardly.”
He flips open his laptop and types something in. “You’ll have to forgive me,” he says. “I’m what you’d call asexual, so I’m not really up on the lingo of the gay culture.” He types in a few more things, and then I can hear the sounds of rough gay sex coming from his computer. His eyes widen, and he cocks his head to the left. Some guy on the screen growls about how his boy is going to take that baseball bat all the way to the handle, and Eddie leans forward on his hands, and I can hear the other guy wailing in what sounds like writhing ecstasy as I’m sure the bat is going just where the guy said it would. “Do you like baseball?” Eddie asks me, averting his eyes momentarily from the screen.
“Not particularly,” I grind out.
He squints at the screen. “So, would you call yourself a… hmmm, that doesn’t sound appropriate… a ‘nasty come hungry bottom dumpster bitch’?”
I wish life was more like cartoons and a piano would fall on him and his teeth would become the piano keys as stars circled his head. “I wouldn’t refer to myself as that, no.”
“Good… to… know,” he says, as he closes the laptop.
“Are you for real?”
He looks surprised. “What do you mean?”
“This,” I say, waving my hands around. “You. This has to be a fucking joke.”
“I assure you it’s not. I simply like to get to know the families I am counseling.”
“Are you serious?” I snarl at him.
“Anger!” he practically shouts. “Good! It shows that you’re alive! What are you?”
I wonder if he’s a Sith Lord, because I am angry. I’m Luke Skywalker, temptation personified.
“What are you!” he says again, louder.
“Pissed off!”
“And what are you pissed off at!”
“You!”
“And why is that!”
“Because I shouldn’t have to sit here and answer these stupidly ridiculous questions! It’s not about me. It’s not about Otter. It’s about Tyson, and how he’s mine, and how my mom thinks she can take him away from me when she’s done nothing to make him who he is. If there’s any good in him, it’s because I sacrificed everything to make sure it’s there. If there’s anything redeemable about him, it’s because I made sure it’s there. Not her. She didn’t do shit! How dare she think she can come back, that she can wreck what I’ve worked so hard to make? I didn’t ask for this! I could’ve run, just like she did. But I didn’t. I stayed. I will never be like her. This is my family she’s fucking with, and I will never let them go! She wants to take me on? She wants to start this fight? Fine! I’ll make her sorry she ever decided to fuck with us!” I stop, breathing hard, pretty sure I’ve just been shouting at this man in front of me and that no beads or door would have blocked out the sound of my voice. Otter and the Kid are probably sitting in identical positions, their faces in their hands as they both think we can’t take him anywhere. At least Carl Jung is not gnawing on my shin bone anymore. I must have scared him off when I went to the Dark Side of the Force.
“Feel better?” Eddie grins at me.
You know what?
I do.
Goddammit!
“Sometimes people just need to shout,” he says with a shrug. “Look, Bear or Derrick or whoever you are today, I’m not here to make your life difficult. I’m not here to make things harder for you or Tyson. Like Georgia, it’s my job to make sure Tyson is safe. But I’m also here to make sure that you and your brother are still somewhat sane after an insane situation.” He sighs and whatever façade he’s had since I’ve walked in the room slowly melts away. “Look. I’ve seen some horrible things, heard some horrible stories. I’ve seen children that have been the victim of such horrendous abuse that I don’t know if they’ll ever recover. I’m a firm believer that children should have at least one parental figure in their lives because it helps to shape who we are.
“That being said, I’ve never come across a situation as… unique, as yours. Bear, you may think you’re angry. You may think you’re confused. I wouldn’t blame you. But I am here to tell you that you’re also one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. You’ve had to be, to do what you’ve done. Some people may call you foolish, some people may call you brave, but no one can say what you did was wrong. Lesser men would have broken under such a burden, much less agreed to take it on. Tyson is very lucky to have you as a brother. Just remember that you need to love yourself as much as you love him and Oliver.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. If anyone here is lucky, it’s me. Otter may be the reason I can live now, but the Kid is the reason I’m alive at all.
Eddie watches me for a moment before clapping his hands together. “Okay! Let’s go get your Otter-man and allow me to talk with him for a bit. You and Tyson can sit tight, and then I’ll pull you all back in to discuss what’s next.” He puts his hands on the doorknob and is about to turn it when he looks back at me. “Why do you call him Kid?” he asks. “I noticed in some of the intake paperwork that you referred to him like that was his name.”
I shrug. “Just something—”
did you hear what he called you derrick
—“that we’ve always called him.”
“We?” he asks.
I lower my eyes. “My mother and I. It started when—”
it sounded like he called you a bear oh oh his first word
—“he was a baby.”
He nods and looks like he’ll say something more but opens the door instead and f
ollows me out. Otter sees us coming and stands.
“Oliver!” Eddie bellows. “It’s your turn.”
Otter eyes him warily. “Give us a moment?”
Eddie nods and walks back into his office.
Otter reaches and grips my chin, forcing me to look him in the eye. “You okay?” he asks, looking frustrated. “I heard yelling and I wanted to come in, but I didn’t know if I should. Did you need me in there?”
I shake my head gently, not wanting him to let go. “I think I handled myself, big guy. He’s not as bad as he seems. I think.”
Otter looks like he doesn’t believe me, like he wants to wrap himself around me and not let anyone at me ever again, and this causes my heart to skip a few beats in my chest, because I almost want him to do it. Fuck me. Maybe I am a submissive bottom bitch dumpster whatever, after all.
But I’m drawing the line at a baseball bat.
He leans forward and kisses me gently, his tongue briefly touching mine before he moves past me and toward the office. “I totally believe in Santa Claus,” I hear him say as he enters the doorway.
“You do?” Eddie asks, sounding impressed. “That’s fascinating. Please, shut the door and tell me more.”
I turn toward the Kid, who’s watching me with those big eyes of his, and I can’t help but think of a time when I was only Derrick and he was only Tyson and how we didn’t come alive until we’d been given our true names, that I was—
I WAS sitting with Tyson on my lap, watching TV as he slept against my chest, waiting for my mom to get home from wherever she was so I could start my homework. Tyson—
is nine months he’s nine months old
—had been fussy all day, and the moment I laid him down, he started crying again, only to quiet when he was in my arms. I wondered briefly if he had nightmares while he slept, and for some reason that scared me, so I figured if he could lay against me while he was asleep, he would know that I was there and that nothing in his dreams was real.
