Ten
He stared at the window, the bill
of his hat blocking the top half view of the tall palm trees that dotted the LA
freeway. His mouth was dry and his hands
sweaty. He wanted to wipe them on his
jeans, but one of his hands was occupied, grasped in a tight grip from the
woman beside him. They were silent most
of the ride. Mike was in the front seat,
tapping his thumb against his thigh to a song Justin couldn’t hear as he
maneuvered expertly on the road. He
didn’t know where they were going. He
didn’t know if anyone else knew where this place was. His mother had assured him the night before
that serious security measures had been put into play so that no paparazzi
would come up at the office.
But that wasn’t what he was most
afraid of.
It was going to be one of those
days where the sun shone but you could hardly tell because of all the
smog. He stared at the sun that was low
in the sky and dulled by the tinted glass.
When his eyes hurt he closed them, seeing green dots against the black
nothing.
He reached into his pocket and
turned up the volume to the microscopic mp3 player in his pocket. His head rested back against the seat. He had never been a huge fan of theirs, but
he had come across this song and fallen in love. Something had changed in him lately. He had stopped wanting to listen to smooth
vocals and cool harmonies. He’d been
interested in drums, guitars, and pianos if used correctly. He didn’t want to listen to love songs
anymore. They all were the same cliché
thing in his mind. One: I love you but
you don’t love me. Two: I love you but this is killing me. Three:
I love you so much.
Love was a word far from his
vocabulary at that moment. He wanted to
scream. He wanted to scream at them both
for leaving him a stranded state of temporary insanity. It wasn’t fair. Damn them.
He breathed deeply, his mother squeezed his hand again. He smiled, knowing she was staring at him.
But he kept his eyes closed,
comforted in the darkness. “I want
someone to know me, ” he mouthed. “Maybe tell me who I
am.” He opened his eyes and watched the
freeway veer away as they pulled off a ramp.
“'Cuz I've faced down my demons
and cried out to a god, a god I've never seen…Lights…”
“What baby?”
He turned his head and looked at
his mother who was looking at him strangely.
“Oh, sorry, nothing.”
“You’ll be fine. We’re almost there.”
He just nodded and pulled his hand
away from hers for a moment. She shifted in her seat and turned to look out the
window as well. He wondered what she was
thinking. Did she think he was
crazy? Was she scared too? She looked scared.
He turned his gaze down to his lap
and looked at his hands that were lying casually against his crotch. They were the hands that touched her, the
hands that held her, the hands that loved her.
He could feel her skin, smooth and soft.
Her hair was silky, and thick, so much so that his fingers got lost when
he touched it. He didn’t want to learn
the truth. He didn’t want to hear the
words.
But you’re not real.
He had said them himself, but he
didn’t want to hear them from someone else, especially someone who he didn’t
even know. He closed his eyes again and gripped the seatbelt that was cutting
into his neck. “I want you to love me like
you did before you knew me…” He wondered
what she was up to. No not her…but Britney. He wondered if her and Wade were dating
now. He wondered if she was as depressed
as he was. He wondered if she still
loved him. Maybe, just maybe, she dreamt
of him.
He let his mouth form the words, trying to hold himself back from causing any
sound to come out. He wanted to
sing. He desperately wished he was in
his own car, alone, the radio turned all the way up, Third Eye Blind in the
stereo, hitting the steering wheel and just yelling or singing or shouting or
whatever he felt. He put his thumb on
the small button and pushed it until he heard nothing but the song, no road
noise, not even the sound of his own thoughts.
“'Cuz the world darkens around me.
Strange friends all surround me. New
ideas in my head start to burn. Trust no one, that's the one thing that I've
learned…”
He bent his neck and squeezed his
eyes shut, nodding his head lightly with the beat, swaying back and forth,
beating imaginary drums, tapping his foot, completely wrapped up--no, enraptured
with the song. “Bring me the sun 'cuz I
slide off the moon. Bring me the sun!”
He kept singing the song in his head until it finished, and he rolled his
shoulders and opened his eyes. He saw
Mike looking at him with a mischievous smile, completely turned around in his
seat. He panicked for a fast second and
then realized they were parked. He slid
his eyes to his mother. She looked
worried still.
“We’re here, baby,” she said in a
soft voice.
He pulled the earphones out of his
ears and donned a sheepish grin, “Didn’t mean to sing out loud.”
“We’re kind of use to it.” Mike’s
deep voice echoed in his ears.
He wondered how many times that
had happened and no one had said anything.
He knew he sang a lot, just verses or lines here and there, mainly to
annoy his mom. But he didn’t realize he
sang out loud when he thought he was just mouthing the words. He started to feel a little embarrassed, but
it didn’t last long because the hot, fuzzy feeling that was in his face and
head surged down to his belly when he saw his mother pull on the door handle
and say, “Guess we better get goin’.”
He pulled the hooded part of his
black sweatshirt over his bright red trucker cap and pulled the bill down so
that it blocked his eyes. Terror filled
him. What if someone found out? Why couldn’t the doctor come to his
house? That’s what happened whenever he
got the flu. The doctor came to him.
Going to a hospital was out of the question. In fact, it was rather dangerous.
His mom had told him earlier that
other people “like him”, as she had said, went there. It didn’t really make him feel better. He knew most celebrities were psychos and
needed therapy, and he just hated that now he was one of them. It had gone to the his head. He had too much money, too much power, too
much attention and now he was going to a shrink. And if the press found out, he’d be
ruined.
But most of all, he’d be
embarrassed.
The nervousness he had dismissed
earlier about people finding out had decided to emerge and he felt like he was
going to be sick. He let his eyes glance
around cautiously as he walked behind his mother and in front of Mike. He stared at the shrubbery next to the
building, waiting for someone to come out and flash those damn lights in his
eyes and click the shutter. “Walk
faster, momma,” he muttered.
She looked over her shoulder and
stuck her tongue out at him. The
building was in what looked like some corporate park. There were a couple other medium sized, brick
buildings with black windows in the area.
None of the buildings had writing on the outside. There was a lot of parking space with only
about half the spaces filled and lots of green trees and grass above the curbs separating
the parking lots. They got to the door,
and he hesitated as his mother walked in.
Finally, he turned to keep the glass door open for Mike. But Mike wasn’t there.
“Momma!” He said in a surprised but hushed tone.
She turned around, her hand on the
handle of the other set of glass doors.
She sighed and rolled her eyes at her son, “I know baby. He’s just checking out the building, and then
he’s gonna wait in the car.”
“But…”
“Think about it. A 300 pound black man sitting with me and you
is gonna look a little odd in here, and we don’t wanan cause more attention to
ourselves than there already is.”
It made sense to him at first, but
the more he thought, the more scenes of an truly crazy girl attacking him in
the building started to freak him out, much more than a few weird stares would
having Mike there. “But…”
He watched his mother roll her
eyes again and pull on his sleeve. “Hush! Come on, we’re already late for your
appointment.”
“I thought you said we were
early.”
“I lied.
I wanted us to be late so that we wouldn’t have to wait too long in the
waiting room.” He followed her into the building. He looked around. Cream colored walls with palm trees trimed the walls at the top. There was a big plant in the corner and a
young looking, olive skinned girl sitting behind a huge desk with a perky
smile. He started to feel nervous. She was staring at him. She was going to attack him.
“How long do they make you wait?” He asked.
“Good lord I forgot the last time
you actually went to a doctor’s office.”
He thought hard, “I was 14, I
think.”
They approached the desk and he
stood a foot behind his mother, hoping that she blocked the girl’s view of him.
“Hi! Mrs. Harless, correct?”
At first he panicked, wondering
how the hell she knew his mother’s name.
Then he remembered she had spent Friday here, checking out the place for
him. “Yes ma’am.”
The girl smiled at him and he just
looked at the floor. She handed his
mother a clipboard with a sheet of paper on it and a pen attached to the
clipboard with a beaded string. “Ok, we’re
gonna need you to fill out this form. I know we got you to fill out all the other
forms on Friday, but we need Mr. Timberlake to read and sign this one. You can have a seat right over there,” Justin turned to
look at the sitting area that she pointed to.
She continued, “and Cathy will call you shortly and take you to Dr.
Baitman’s office.”
“Thank you.”
He followed his mom to the small
waiting room where there was only one other person sitting there. She was an older lady about 40 years old and
was clutching her purse, which was really a large bag, like she had all her
possessions inside. “You said we
wouldn’t have to wait.”
He sat beside his mother, and she
plopped the clipboard down in his lap.
“It won’t be that long. Read and sign.”
“Are they gonna make me pee in a
cup?” he asked her, leaning over a bit to whisper.
She laughed. “No.”
He thought back to the last time
he actually went to a doctor’s office and his eyes widened. He leaned back
over, “They aren’t gonna do the cough thing, are
they?”
“Justin Randall…”
“I’m serious!” He widened his eyes
at her, remembering how nervous he felt back in the day when he realized the
doctor was going to have to touch him, down there. He bowed his head when she narrowed her eyes
at him.
“No honey, his office looks like
Paul’s but a lot bigger. This isn’t like
a medical doctor’s office.”
“Oh…” He nodded slowly. It made him feel better that it wasn’t going
to be all technical and medical. He
didn’t know what this was going to be like, though. He licked his lips, nervous as hell. The pen shook in his hand as he read over the
form that was about confidentiality. He
started thinking about the Enquirer coming here and telling the doctor they’d
give him a million dollars to tell who he’s helped and then the doctor would
tell and then he’d be laughed at. People
would call him crazy and he’d die sad and alone, cause who would want to date a
freak?
That’s what he felt like. He felt like a freak sitting there in the
waiting room. He was going to a fucking
therapist. There was a lady staring at
him with angry eyes and clutching her bag across the small room. Was the that crazy? He
was clutching the clipboard. Oh shit, he
was that crazy. He eased his grip and sighed. Where had he gone wrong? What had he done to become so insane? Why did she have to invade his dreams? He didn’t ask for her. He didn’t want her there.
But now that he had had her, he
wanted her again and again. He wanted
her lips on his, and he wanted her sleeping beside him at night. He wanted her smile and her laugh and the
sound of her voice. Shit, he wanted her.
Dear god, I’m
pathetic, he thought.
“Think of this as an office
building, baby, or a business,” he heard his mother say from beside him, who
looking around at the paintings of various beach scenes on the walls. “I don’t even think their nurses here. Well, actually I take that back. They do have nurses incase anyone flips out.”
“Flips out?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Baby we are at the psychologist.”
“What if I flip out?” He nudged her.
She chuckled and shook her head
saying, “No sir. I’m not gonna let you.”
“How could you stop me? I’m crazy, right? I mean like you said, we are at the psychologist.”
He received a look from his mother
that he knew was not a pleasant one and immediately looked down at the form and
mumbled, “Sorry momma.” He wondered if
she babied him too much, or if he depended on her too much. Here he was, 22
years old, and he had to have his mother take him to the doctor.
How pathetic was he?
“Justin?” He jumped and looked up,
seeing a woman in a skirt and a blouse standing there with a smile. She waved her hand at them and smiled. “Come on back.”
“Have you signed, yet?”
He jot his name on the form and
stood up. He followed his mother who followed
the other lady. He looked around,
nervous, terrified. Dear God, where were
they taking him? They stopped at a
wooden door, and the lady stuck her open hand out and smiled at him. “I’ll take that, thank you.” He looked down at the clipboard gripped in
his hand and handed to her. She smiled,
put her hand on the doorknob, turned it, and pushed the door open. “In
here…”
He took a deep breath. He was going to have to do this. There was no backing out, now. He couldn’t run away. Or could he?
Shit, that lady was on his trail making him walk forward. He sighed and followed his mother into the
room. He was immediately
intimidated. A leather couch lay in
front of a huge mahogany desk. A leather
chair sat near the couch. A painting of
a man he’d seen but didn’t know the name of was on the wall, along with a
handful what looked like certificates or diplomas. Five different species of
mounted fish also adorned the walls.
And then there was the...the guy.
He had stood up when they walked
in the room and came around to the front of his huge desk. He had on a comfortable smile and a shirt and
tie with brown slacks. He was shorter
than Justin but not by much. He had a
full head of grey hair and wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. He looked fairly normal, he wasn’t harmful…yet.
“Hello Justin,” the man said,
sticking his hand out. “I’m Dr.
Baitman.”
Justin shook his hand, “Hey.”
The doctor pulled away and stuck
his hand towards his mother’s direction. “Nice to see you again,
Mrs. Harless.”
“You too.” He watched his
mother and saw she was smiling and looked comfortable. Her accent was blaring full blast even though
they hadn’t said much. That was always a
sign for him that she was comfortable.
With people she didn’t like or people she was nervous around she always
tried to sound less southern. But if she
liked you she let that twang drawl out. This
was a good sign, he figured.
The doctor motioned to the couch
and took a seat in the leather chair. “Have
a seat. Would either of you care for
something to drink?”
“A beer’d be nice,” Justin
mumbled.
His mother swatted him in the
stomach and sat down on the couch. “Hush.” She turned to Cathy who was standing by the
door. Apparently, she had been asked
this before here. “Water’s fine, thank you.”
Cathy smiled, “Two glasses of
water? Ok, I’ll be right back.” She slipped out of the door.
Dr. Baitman sighed and placed his
ankle on his knee of his other leg. He
leaned comfortably back in the chair. “Well,
here we are.” He cleared his throat and continued. “First off, I want to let you know that you
shouldn’t be scared or embarrassed about coming to therapy. More people than
you realize actually go to therapy. And
a lot of people are out there that really need it but never get the courage to
help themselves. You’re mother told me
that you were a little, uh, apprehensive about the idea.” Justin shot his mother a look. She smiled and grabbed his arm. “But rest assured,
no one’s going to put you in a straight jacket.
We’re not going to prescribe anything to you right away. In fact, from what your mother has told me, I
doubt that will be a path we’ll go, but keep in mind that might be an
option. We just joined forces with a
psychiatric firm about two months ago, and now we share the building. So if someone needs to be prescribed any
medicine it’s quite easy and the transfer of forms and insurance and information
is all in the same system.”
He paused for a moment and Justin
sat there, taking it all in. He was
going to be drugged dup on happy pills.
Shit, that’s not what he wanted.
He clenched his fist and bit his lip.
He wanted to throw up. “I know it
seems like I’m spouting all this information off at you, but I just wanted to
make all that clear. Uh, have any
questions about the office? I hope you
didn’t have any trouble getting here and what not.”
“Oh it was easy, Dr. Baitman. There’s no trouble,” he heard his mother’s
voice and relaxed a bit. He was still
leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, ready to jump up if he needed to
run out of there.
“Ok well, then, let’s get started. I always find it easier to-” He jumped when
he heard the doctor cut his own speech off.
“Thank you Cathy.”
He hadn’t even noticed that Cathy
lady come back in, but there she was offering him a glass of iced water. He took it and looked at her, “Thanks.”
She smiled and left them
alone. He drank half the glass in one
gulp and then felt his mother’s hand on his back, rubbing it
affectionately. He sighed. He didn’t think he’d be this jittery. He didn’t think he’d be acting like a
pussy.
He turned his head to Dr. Baitman
when the man started to talk again. “I’d
like to introduce myself a little bit and let you know about me. That way you don’t feel like you’re spilling
your heart and soul to a complete stranger.”
Justin sat back on the couch and bit his lip, staring at the man sitting
in the chair and trying his best to figure the guy out. He seemed ok so far. “I’m from a small town in northern Virginia,
about an hour from Washington. I went to
He cleared his throat, feeling a
little more relaxed now that he knew this doctor dude seemed rather
normal. He pointed to the large
swordfish that was mounted above his desk.
“Did you catch that yourself?”
Dr. Baitman looked to where Justin
was pointing and smiled. “Yes, that is
my prized possession. I swear the girls
in the office thought I was crazy 5 years ago when I carried that thing in
here. And please, spare me the Baitman jokes. I hear them way too often.”
Justin nodded and smiled, feeling
more and more relaxed. He was never one
for hunting or fishing, but talking about anything other than himself was ok
with him. Hell, if all they were gonna
talk about is fish in therapy, that’d be cool, just as long as they didn’t have
to talk about his life, or his dreams, or Britney, or Darcy. Especially Darcy. “I went deep sea fishing a couple months
ago. I caught a pretty big Marlin, but
we threw it back.”
“When you went with your dad?”
He nodded at his mother, “Yeah, he
was pissed because he couldn’t catch anything but these little thin guys. They were pretty, but they weren’t that big.”
“Were they blue and spotted?” Dr. Baitman asked.
“Yeah. They were shiny and
had black spots, kinda long and skinny.”
The older man smiled. “Wahoos.
They’re good fish to eat.”
“Really?” he shrugged. “I’ve never
had one. I don’t each much fish,
though. I’m more of a steak guy.”
“I like chicken.”
He laughed and rolled his head to
his mother who was sitting there, her curly hair pulled back in a ponytail
looking about as country bumpkin as possible in her jeans and t shirt and flip-flops. He was glad she was there with him. “Ma, I’ve seen you rip a steak a part.”
“But I like chicken better.”
The doctor laughed heartily and
smiled at them, “Well I’ll have to turn both you guys on to fish.”
The next few minutes were spent
with all them debating which was the best meat.
It was odd for him. He didn’t expect
this at all. He didn’t expect to be
laughing at his mother who insisted on chicken and then started to feel bad for
pork and said from here on out that was all she was going to eat. He didn’t expect this doctor dude to be so
laid back. He thought he’d go in there
and lie on the couch and be asked the meaning of life and cry and then the
doctor would click his stopwatch and say, “times up.” But it wasn’t that way at all.
The meat conversation died down,
and the next hour the doctor asked Justin a few questions but nothing too in-depth
or serious. He asked about how often he
had had dreams and for how long, and since when had they started to really
affect his real life. He asked about
his past relationships and his lifestyle, if drugs or alcohol was a
problem. But nothing really bothered him,
and he realized that this guy wasn’t that bad.
Yeah, he might have a huge, intimidating office with big fish on the
walls, but he was nice and he was personable, and as far as Just could tell
there weren’t any straight jackets ready to be forced on him.
Things were ok, and he thought to
himself, maybe it would work out. Maybe
the doctor would cure him and he wouldn’t have any more dreams, and he’d be
able to gain his life back and the guys and his mother wouldn’t worry about him
too much.
The only thing that bothered him
was the fact that this man was a professional and seemed like he knew what he
was up to. In the short hour he spent
there he started to develop a faith in Dr. Baitman. He learned more about his specialty and a few
other cases like his that he had successfully treated. And it bothered him. What if he really did have his dreams taken
away? What if she never came back?
It frightened him and he didn’t know
how he was going to handle the loneliness.