It took fifteen seconds of staring at his own Nikes, but
Craig Dunham finally said what he needed to say: “Look, Scott…I’m probably the
last person who should be asking you for help right now. You threw a garbage
can at me only a few months before. Hell, you probably feel like doing even
more than that, maybe deck me a good one on the chin. But…I didn’t ask for this
appointment for nothing, I swear to god.”
Sitting in his comfy swivel chair with the ease and
professionalism of a true counselor, Scott calmly said, “Listen, Craig,
whatever happened between us in the past, it’s all over now. Things are
different now, just like Miss Williams said they would be. I have a new job and
you happen to be my first client. You’re here for a reason and I’d probably be
right in thinking it has something to do with that scar on your hand.”
Craig sighed and lifted up his hooded sweatshirt to reveal
he had even more scars than that. One on his belly, one on his ribs, and a
couple of bruises on his chest. Scott hypnotically gazed at them in sympathy
and replied with a whispery, “Holy shit. Those are fresh. Who did this to you?”
No response. “Craig, if I’m going to help you, I need to know everything that
happened. How did you get these bruises? Walking into a doorknob doesn’t do
that to people and neither does falling down stairs.”
“Funny, because that’s what I’ve been telling people this
whole time. Anytime I took off my shirt for gym class or football practice,
they’d be as plain as day. I’d laugh about them with the guys, but there’s no
way in hell I’m telling them everything. Oh, and I also said they’re from being
tackled during games. I think that was what threw them off my trail.”
“Craig, you didn’t answer my question.”
“My dad did this,” said Craig with trembling lips, causing
Scott to lean back in his chair with even more pathos in his eyes. “He, uh…he
caught me listening to some…questionable music. Here, let me show you.” As
Craig choked back tears, he pulled various CD’s out of his backpack, all of the
cases cracked, all of the music preaching nonconformist values: Marilyn Manson,
Rob Zombie, Motionless in White, and Ghost to name a few.
“Is your dad religious?”
“Oh, that’s putting it mildly. He makes the old testament
look like a Disney movie.” Craig still refused to make eye contact with Scott.
“The first time I heard about him talking about God and shit, I didn’t know
what to make of it. And just for that little bit of doubt, he beat the shit out
of me. I was only six years old then. That’s not some Freudian shit and I know
it doesn’t excuse what I’ve done to people like you. It’s just that…” The tears
slowly fell from his face and Scott was there to hand him tissues.
Scott leaned forward in his chair to further engage in his
subject and placed folded steeple hands in his own lap. “Listen to me. I’m sure
not many people are inclined to tell you this, but I’m going to tell it to you
right now. Nobody…and I mean nobody…should ever use their religion or politics
as a weapon against another human being. It’s not a dad’s job to beat the shit
out of his kids over a minor disagreement. It’s not discipline. It’s barbarism.
There’s nothing wrong with the music you’re listening to and there’s nothing
wrong with questioning authority.”
With his lips trembling even harder, Craig wept, “What will
the team think of me? They can’t see me crying like this.”
“Well, that’s funny, because I always thought the true
definition of a friend is someone who is loyal to you until the end. It’s like
Marilyn Manson always said: if you want to find out who your friends are, sink
the ship. The first ones to jump are not your friends. If your football
teammates make fun of you for being emotional, they’re not true friends.
They’re bullies with a close connection to you. The reason you picked on other
students so much was because of all these negative influences, and no, that’s
not Freudian bullshit.”
Craig shrugged and said, “They’re the only friends I’ve ever
had. I can’t just tell them to fuck off.”
“You know what’s worse than having no friends at all? Having
shitty friends who bring you down just to build themselves up. I’m sure those
kids have some deep-seeded issues just like you do, but until they come forward
with open arms and open hearts, they don’t deserve you. If you want to cry your
eyes out, you’re more than welcome to do so. Not only is this stigma of men not
being able to cry bullshit, but you’re doing it in a safe place: my office.
Nothing you do here will ever leave this room…except for one thing.” Scott
handed Craig the phone cradle and nodded knowingly at him.
“You want me to call 9-1-1 on my dad? Are you crazy? The
cops aren’t going to believe me. They don’t believe anybody who doesn’t have
more DNA evidence than a CSI laboratory.”
“Your bruises and cuts are more than enough evidence to put
your father away for a long time. And even if the cops don’t believe your side
of the story, at least this police report will set everything in motion so that
you don’t have to see him again. If there’s another family member or friend you
can stay with, find them and pack your bags. The cops may be overly skeptical,
but if you don’t try to at least reach out to them, this is going to continue
and things will only get worse. Come on, Craig. Just try.”
After a while of staring at his counselor with dewy eyes,
Craig took the phone cradle with a convulsing hand and slowly brought his
fingers to the keypad. “Would you mind giving me some privacy, Scott? This is
my first 9-1-1 call and I…I can’t explain it right now.”
“You don’t have to explain it to me, Craig. I’ve been there
before. The first call is never easy. I know this, because I was the one who
made the call when my own father died. You never forget your first time for a
lot of things. If you want privacy, I’d be more than happy to step outside the
office for a little while. Take as much time as you need and don’t leave out
any important details.”
With one arm, Craig gave an awkward hug to Scott and thanked
him over and over again for his help. Scott reluctantly returned the hug and
stepped out of his digs to give Craig his due privacy. Once the door was
closed, Scott rubbed his face and breathed sobering sighs. He almost didn’t see
Adrienne standing in front of him with a brown paper sack and a smile on her
face.
“I take it your new job’s getting pretty intense right now,”
said Adrienne.
“It’s a lot to handle at once, but overall, I’m glad I took
the job. I just need some time to recuperate after that, that’s all. Is that my
lunch?”
“Sure is. You left it on the kitchen counter this morning.
And no, there aren’t any worms or maggots in your lunch today. Instead, you’re
getting a classic favorite: peanut butter and jelly. Not just any kind of
P&J, but Concord grape jelly and crunchy peanut butter. Your favorite!”
“No way!” said Scott with a sudden burst of happiness. Sure
enough, he pulled the sandwich out of the sack and there it was in all its
glory: the ever important grape jam. “You’re the queen!” he said before kissing
Adrienne on the cheek and hurriedly unwrapping the plastic from his sandwich.
“Let me know when you get off work and we’ll see a movie or
something. See you soon!” smiled Adrienne before she waved and hopped off to
her next class. She didn’t see it, but Scott waved right back at her in a
hypnotically slow manner. She probably got the message by now.
Scott had a seat in one of the chairs outside his office and
eyeballed the contents of the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He even pulled
the two pieces of sourdough bread apart to see if there really were worms
crawling around in there. His smile slowly descended into a faraway
introspective expression. He searched every corner of his sandwich, every
squished grape, and every broken peanut in the peanut butter. It was as though
he was a detective honoring a search warrant. But no. Not one worm, not one
maggot, and not one sing-songy command from his now-known biological mother.
The real test came when Scott took his first bite of
sandwich. As he chewed, he rolled the food around in his tongue for yet another
throughout inspection. Not one slime-covered creature swirled around in his
mouth. In fact, the sandwich tasted as delicious as a P&J could be,
probably because it was his personal favorite. Scott took another bite. And
another. And another, until the whole thing was gone in record time. For even
more reassurance, Scott lifted his T-shirt and saw that the skin was forming
nicely over his previously exposed ribcage. If someone was looking for signs of
an eating disorder or PTSD, they’d have to actually have the detective skills
of someone honoring a search warrant.
Principal Williams made a throat clearing sound and Scott
was immediately yanked out of his trance long enough for him to realize he’d
been exposing his belly this entire time. Pulling his shirt down, he smiled and
allowed redness to envelop his face. Principal Williams didn’t punish him for
it, just smiled right back at him and said, “It’s good to have you on the team,
Scott. Carry on.”
