Psycho Therapy

by Alan Spencer

  He listened with anguish, cringing on the inside. Dr. Krone was a genius to drum up this memory. This is what gnawed at him on a subconscious level. How many scenes like this were saved up and shoved into his psyche and stewing about his brain? He was bound to burst at some point in time, and Willis, his best friend, had been the victim. An overwhelming sense of appreciation washed over him for this gift bestowed on him. It was magnificent as it was unbelievable. This treatment would be effective. He’d come out of it a changed man, even a bettered man. The first thing he’d do after his treatment had concluded was to visit Willis and hug him. He would apologize and mean it.

  Tina kept chattering, inducing her own form of therapy. “He’s wonderful when he’s sober. If he could stop drinking. He’s not happy with his job. That’d make anybody moody. As long as he doesn’t hurt Craig. No, I wouldn’t stand for it. He needs time alone. I have lots of time alone. Every time he’s at work, I’m alone. I could start a new job, if he would let me. No. Forget it. He won’t listen to me. He wants to be the sole breadwinner.”

  Craig had listened to the words without comprehending them as a child. He was maybe eight or nine then. Old enough to start absorbing their marital mess, but not decoding it.

  He was about to speak up and boost her confident when she added, “He can do whatever he wants. I can forgive him because I have secrets too.”

  Preacher Stevens

  Craig scrambled to stay in the moment, but it wasn’t possible, because the change was inevitable as it was jarringly fast. He was disappointed the change happened when it did. Tina was about to reveal something, and here he was in his backyard, away from the important facts. Now, the sun was hot against his back. Alice wasn’t in the backyard. He was alone. He kicked at the grass and clods of dirt shot up. “Damn it, what was she going to say? Dr. Krone, you asshole, why did you pull me out of there when you did?”

  The doctor was watching him from somewhere nearby. Perhaps on a computer monitor, because the man said he was hooked up to the machine. And how did the device pick out the memories? Did he have a mental locker of juicy history, a membrane in his cerebellum that contained this psychosomatic bullshit? Psychobabble talk was one thing, but to actually rip open the mind and relive these moments was an attack on his personal history.

  Craig was disoriented, and the backyard spun around him, the sky tilting and the sun blinding and golden white. He landed on all fours and wretched at the assault. He was around thirteen or fourteen, he guessed, as he clutched his aching head, sucked in a round of breaths, and stood up again. He wiped the side of his mouth dry. The nauseous sensation stayed in the pit of his throat, and it would make its home there for a time.

  A stifled laugh breeched the silence, rousing his attention. He peeked through the wooden slats of the fence at his next-door neighbor’s yard. It was Parker Stevens’s house. But what was Tina doing there? They were both exiting the back sliding door together. Tina’s face was flushed pink, and her smile, her face was conquered with the glowing sentiment of joy. It was a womanly thing he recognized with Katie as the after-sex glow.

  This is getting interesting.

  Parker was dressed down in black basketball shorts and a Celtics shirt. He dyed his gray hair brown. Tina wore a black tube top and cut-off whitewashed jeans. They hugged each other and punctuated it with a friendly kiss. The fence border was up on Parker’s property, and Craig supposed they were comfortable with the backyard display of affection.

  The gate to their property opened. Craig ran back to the swing set and acted like he was minding his own business. Tina waved the man into the yard after spotting Craig. She whispered something in his ear, and there he came, edging toward him to have a talk.

  I remember this. But now it makes sense.

  Parker relaxed on the swing beside him. “Hey, kiddo. What’re you up to this summer?”

  “Nothing.”

  He smirked, thinking a second on what to say next. “All the kids say that. You’re doing something. You’re swinging.” He snapped his fingers. “You’re having a swinging summer.”

  Good one.

  The joke was lame even as a kid. He couldn’t think of what to say in reply. It was the on-the-spot feeling he couldn’t shake.

  “You ever think about going to church?”

  Craig had a good response, and this was his original statement. “My dad doesn’t believe in it.”

  He placed his hand on Craig’s shoulder. “But do you?”

  That’s a heavy question for a kid. Tell me your religious faith, kiddo, and while you’re at it, how do you feel about the Middle East and yoga?

  “I like to see friends there,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. The adult in him added, “That’s about it, really.”

  Parker moved on. This was a test, and he became more intrusive. The point of the entire conversation was about to happen. “So how are things, Craig? Are you happy? Anything you’re concerned about? You know you can tell me anything.”

  He did say this back then, and he said it again now, “My dad yells at Mom a lot. He gets mad easily.”

  “Do you love your father?”

  “Yeah. He’s my dad.”

  Parker understood, looking at him from the corner of his eye and then training his focus on the house. He caught Tina standing in the window. Parker admired her. She gave them a quick smile and went about what she was doing in the house.

  He initiated conversation again. “Do you love your mom?”

  “Yes, I love my mom.”

  “She’s good to you. And she’s a wonderful lady. Your dad’s a lucky, lucky man. The good Lord will see to it she gets what’s due to her.”

  After a stretch of awkward silence, he asked another question. “Is there anything at all you want to talk about?” He crossed his heart. “I swear it’s between you and me.”

  And the good Lord, and my mom…

  He stayed silent, and Preacher Stevens prompted him, “You wish the best for your mom, right?”

  He shook his head, baffled. “What do you mean?”

  Parker realized he’d asked too deep of a question for a kid. “You know your mother loves you no matter what.”

  He was frozen, confused, and couldn’t say anything. Ten seconds later, Parker gave up the battle, but adult Craig refused to let him off the hook. “You said I could ask you anything. We’re friends, right?”

  He perked up. “That’s right, pal.”

  Craig rolled his eyes, though Parker didn’t see it.

  The question slipped out of him. “Are you fucking my mom?”

  “The mouth on that brat! With a father like that, no wonder he’s talking to a priest with such language.” Parker muttered this on the way to his kitchen in a frenzy. The taste of Tina was on his lips—her saliva, her skin, and the potent flavor of her sex. “I guess it doesn’t matter. Woman’s stuck in a dead-end abusive marriage. She won’t quit that bastard, but that’s okay with me. I don’t love her, really, and I don’t need to.”

  Dr. Krone rifled through the cabinet and discovered Parker’s secret stash of bourbon.

  “Hey,” Parker yipped, double backing from the intruder, almost stumbling over his feet in shock. “How did you know where that was? And what the hell are you doing in my house? Do I know you? I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

  “I know everything in Craig’s mind, and I know what’s in yours too.” The man poured a shot and threw it back. “Grrr!—the mangy hair of the dog.”

  “What are you doing in my house?” Parker raised his voice, now standing tall. “I don’t know you. Get out. I’ll call the police. Right now, I want you out. This is trespassing.”

  “The line is dead,” the doctor warned him, pointing at the phone broken in ten pieces on the floor. He had a romp of a time smashing it. “And there’s no police here unless I want them to be here. Listen, I’m your friend. Let’s talk.”

  Parker was shaken. He didn’t trust him. The man didn’t have a choice but to hear him
out, too scared to be physical with the intruder.

  “Calm down.” Dr. Krone placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’m a friend. So tell me—and level with me, huh?—is Tina a good fuck? Does she enjoy missionary position? I guess any position with you is missionary.”

  Dr. Krone knew he could instruct the man to obey him. All he had to do was think it. Will it. And he did. Flexing his strength was one of his favorite pastimes.

  Parker’s face relaxed. He no longer distrusted him. He gave Dr. Krone a chiding expression. “That’s desperate pussy, man. She’s so scared of Brandon. It’s more passionate like that—you know, women in those situations. That’s why I like her. I can avoid marriage and still enjoy that high-altitude fuck. Women like Tina, they pretend they’re in love with you, but it’s exaggerated because of how shitty their romantic life has become. She even said she loves me. Isn’t that funny? She whispered it in my ear. One fuck, and it’s monumental to her.”

  “Her tits look great in that tube top.” Dr. Krone poured a shot of bourbon for each of them. They toasted each other, swigging the warm bullets down. “I wish I could have a round with that head case. I know all about the emotionally abused. The insane are the best. You ever fuck a girl in a straightjacket? Fucking girls with dementia, it’s the best time you’ll ever have. The things they say and do, no ordinary woman would ever conceive it. I’ve been around let—me—tell—you!”

  The doctor confided in him, now that they were good friends. “What would you do for another round with her, seriously?”

  Parker stared out the kitchen window at Tina’s house, weighing his options. “It’s taking risks. We’re next-door neighbors. It’s been fun. And she’s one hell of a woman. I’m afraid of Brandon, though. He’d smash my face in.”

  “Why not have more fun? It doesn’t have to end. You don’t have to be scared of him.”

  He shook his head, dismissing the notion. “Naw. It’s for the best. She’s married.”

  He winked at him. “She told me she wanted otherwise. She wants to be with you, and only you.”

  Parker’s eyebrow arched. “Oh. She said that?”

  It was so fun to inject hope into people. It always worked to his advantage, the doctor thought.

  “Yes, it’s true, but we’ll have to do something about that husband of hers. You’re right to be concerned about him.” His tone demurred into a cretin’s. “I’m sure Tina will be receptive to anything you suggest.”

  Picking Up the Tab

  Craig washed his hands in the bathroom at The Italian Garden Restaurant, having been sent to a new memory. In this part of his life, it was the night of his high school prom. He was on an arranged date with Janna Cunningham. Janna was dumped by Bobby Keaton, and Craig didn’t have a date to begin with, so it worked out for the both of them. The majority of the kids with them tonight he wasn’t familiar with except for Rose Farrow, and she was the one in his Biology class who had arranged his date with Janna. Senior year, and this was the final hoorah, aside from graduation. His powder-blue suit was purchased from the thrift store. His mother bought it for fifty bucks. The waistline was a tad too tight, and the extra tension made it feel like he was full of gas, but this was the big night.

  Prom night.

  Brandon’s pep talk before he left the house went like this: “You’re eighteen and graduating. Go attack the world. I’ll help you get an apartment.” And you'll help me get the hell out of your house, right, Daddy?

  Why had he wanted to go to prom so badly? He didn’t have that many friends, and his best friend, Alice, refused to attend. She detested it and wrote up anti-prom posters in the school cafeteria to promote her cause. Pictures of couples holding babies, facts about early teen pregnancy, the cost of raising children, and the statistics of condoms and birth control methods failing was her poster material. Alice had been sent to the principal’s office, but beyond a talking to and a call to her parents, that was the extent of the reprimand. He didn’t relish prom either, but that was before he had a shot at dating Janna Cunningham.

  He’d taken a piss before the memory started, and now, he washed his hands and held them under the air dryer. Standing there, Craig realized something.

  Damn it, I missed Parker’s answer to my question. Dr. Krone, you’re timing is shit. The look on the priest’s face was priceless. Caught. The man even blushed. That meant it was true. He was having fun with his mother between the sheets.

  But now he had a new worry. This night was one of the most embarrassing in the history of Craig Horsy. He didn’t want to leave the bathroom. He was stuck standing there, nailed to the floor in fear.

  If this is your idea of therapy, Dr. Krone, then you suck.

  “I have to leave sometime.” He squeezed his fists together. “You won’t let me go into the next memory until I do so, huh? Is that the catch?” Growing defiant, he shoved down his apprehensions and built himself up. “I’ll be proactive. Fuck it.”

  He trudged out of the bathroom. Ahead of him, the restaurant was dimly lit. A semi-romantic Saturday evening at a high-priced restaurant. The walls were styled with columns like an Italian coliseum. Painted murals of vineyards decorated the walls, men and women in rough-neck clothing picking precious grapes from a vineyard. He saved money from working extra shifts at the Burger Barn for two months to afford this expensive evening, but his excitement and hard work was ill-fated.

  The table in the back, his table, was empty. All eight seats. Janna was missing. The bill was propped intentionally in front of his seat. The bill was over three hundred dollars.

  It burned him so bad in that moment his pulse pounded and pounded. The guys at the table were jocks on the football team, and it was typical they’d play a joke on Craig Horsy, the unpopular and unknown kid. It was easy to pick on somebody without friends, he thought bitterly. And here he was the helpless victim, fooled by his gullible good intentions.

  He called his father for the cash that night, but Brandon immediately turned him down, saying, “You let those kids bamboozle you, then you’re going to fix your own mess, you idiot. I don’t have the goddamn bread to pay for your friends’ meals.”

  No—wait! What am I thinking?

  He skirted to the window, and he caught the group romping and bursting out in laughter in the parking lot. He did this the first time it happened, but he was too hurt and afraid to challenge them. Craig simply watched them carry on with the night.

  They hadn’t left the parking lot yet. He couldn’t leave without committing mischief. What did he have to be afraid of? This was his mind, and he wouldn’t be arrested. He wouldn’t be grounded. The moment was truly his own to decide.

  He ripped the fire extinguisher from the wall, cackling at the flurry of ideas spinning about in his head. He jacked open the window and crawled through, a new energy surging through him, willing him on to commit his darkest desires. It was well into May, the night air a brisk sixty degrees. He couldn’t help cackling again at the prospect of revenge, even throwing his head back in delight. This is what he dreamed of all these years.

  Revenge.

  He recalled the owner, Rick Margolia, forcing him to wash dishes for a week to repay the debt. Prom didn’t happen. He was stuck at the place until three in the morning that night.

  Pacing faster toward them, he whispered, “Oh, they’re gonna get it now.”

  Janna noticed him first, catching the darting figure in the corner of her eye. Mark Stolburg was next to spy him. And then Jack Neilson, Bryce Johnson, and Alex Cartman stepped out of the car one after the other to challenge his challenge. They were the defensive line for the Theodore Roosevelt High School Bears. They went to state, but lost the championship. They wore matching black suits with bright red cummerbunds. This was the joke to commiserate the loss of the game.

  The other girls wore pastel dresses. They screamed, knowing what was coming, and looking into Craig’s diabolical face, they knew it was coming without mercy.

  They’re not yucking it up any
more! Yuppie bastard assholes.

  Mark, the burly lineman, stepped up to intercept Craig, waving his hands to stop him. “It was a joke, man. We were coming back in.” Forming his hand into a fist and punching his open hand, he threatened, “Seriously, put that down or else I’ll beat your ass.”

  “That’s why Janna’s got the getaway car started, huh, you were coming back for me?” He lifted up the fire extinguisher. “Beat my ass after this!”

  He sprayed the extinguisher at Mark’s face, caking him in white foam. Caaaaack! Mark charged forward, slipping on the foam and crashing to the pavement with an audible collapse. “You fucker—!”

  “Tackle that prick!” Jack lunged for him. “Get him!”

  He showered the rest of the group in white, laughing in glee, unafraid of the group approaching him, knowing he’d ruin their precious prom night. They battled to avoid the flurries of whipped white, but they couldn’t dodge it. “This one’s for Craig Horsy, assholes!”

  Janna’s face looked like an opened container of whipped topping, the white staining the front of her dress and between her breasts.

  He channeled his scorn into words. “Jokes on you, bitches!”

  Alex Cartman swung a punch, being close enough to him now, but Craig rammed the butt end of the extinguisher into his stomach. “Uggggh!” He faltered to the curb on his knees, coughing and groaning in pain.

  Craig challenged them, feeling on top of the world. “Who else is next? Want some more anyone?”

  Janna wept next to the car. Her real date was in the passenger seat, Hank Pinzer. He was pissed, he could see, but the expression was muddled by a dollop of white foam across his nose and lips.

  “I have one last parting gift,” Craig shouted. He hurled the extinguisher at the back windshield and shattered it. “Pay for that with your own money—maybe you can wash dishes inside to pay it off, you dick lickers!”