Chapter 7

“So Billy,” said his mom. It was Tuesday after dinner, the only time Billy really saw his parents. He was drying the dishes as his father washed. His mother was sweeping the kitchen floor, and Justine had gone to her room to listen to Carly Simon for the umpteenth time. She said Carly’s music spoke to her soul. ‘Ashe never helps out around here,’ Billy thought, but he was buoyed by the fact that when the dishes were done he was free to leave the house for the nightly frisbee game.

“Before you run off, I’ve got something to ask you. Well, to tell you, actually,” said his mom.
This did not sound like good news.

“What?” asked Billy.

“Well, I spoke with Dr. Chow today. You know, tomorrow is Justine’s appointment.”

“So?”

“Don’t be like that,” said his father.

“Like what?”

“Just listen to your mother.”

Billy shrugged his shoulders and took another plate. Only a few left.

“Dr. Chow seems to feel that Justine…that all of us…could benefit from another family session.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“I have to take time off from work?” asked Billy, trying to enlist his father’s support.

“No. Dr. Chow re-scheduled for 7:30 so Dad could be there, too.”

“Oh, mom,” Billy whined. “Seven-thirty? We won’t get back until after 9:00!” By then, it would be hard to find the gang.

“It’s only one night,” snapped his father. “You can miss seeing your friends for one night, damn it.”

Billy stopped drying and leaned against the wall. He stared at the floor. His head weighed about fifty pounds.

“It’s not just that,” he said.

“Then what?” asked his Dad.

“Oh, forget it,” he said, and took another plate.

“No,” said his mom gently, “Tell us what you were going to say.”

“What good comes out of those sessions? I’m not the one with problems. I mean, haven’t we been through this before? I thought we had our last little family session.”

“Our little family sessions,” said his mother, getting annoyed, “will be over when your father and I say they are. Now, you are coming with us.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t come. But I don’t have to say anything.”

“Then just sit there,” said his father.

“Like you do?” asked Billy.

“What did you say?” snapped his dad.

“I was making a joke,” retreated Billy.

“You weren’t making any joke,” said his father, turning from the sink.

“Don’t talk to your father like that,” said his mom. “I’ve got a good mind to make you stay home tonight for that remark.”

A streak of panic shot through Billy’s chest. “It was only a joke. I’m sorry, OK? I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“We didn’t raise you to be a smart aleck,” said his mom.

“I said I was sorry, OK? The dishes are done. Can I go?”

“Yes,” said his mother. “But tomorrow we’re going to Dr. Chow’s.”

“Fine.”

Billy threw the dish towel into the drain and headed out the side door. He felt like slamming it but the short term release wouldn’t be worth the repurcussions. ‘God damn Justine,’ he thought. ‘God damn Justine. God damn Dr. Chow. God damn them all. Why can’t they just leave me alone? One year. One year, baby, and then it’s off to college and I am outta here!'
The more he thought, the more worked up he got. He knew he must look funny, mumbling to himself, bristling with nervous energy. His hands clenched and unclenched as he raised them to the sides of his head.

“You OK?” asked Mr. Sloan, a neighbor out walking his Scottish terrier.

“Yes, I’m fine,” said Billy, as calmly as he could, putting his arms by his sides.

‘They’re everywhere,’ he thought. ‘Just leave me the hell alone.’

As he strode away he could feel Mr. Sloan’s eyes on his back. He looked back over his shoulder and saw him quickly start fussing with his dog, pretending like he was oblivious to Billy.
Billy marched on. The anger inside him was too great to conceal. ‘In this dinky town,’ he thought, ‘I’m bound to run into somebody else.’ He broke out into a jog to release his energy. With each slap of his sneakers against the pavement he cursed out his parents, Justine, and everybody else who gave him grief or tried to make a claim on him. By the time he arrived at the football field he was emotionally spent. The gang was choosing up teams.

“Hey, Billy!” cried Rooster. “You’re on our side. That makes six on six.”

He lined up for the throw off. On the side of the field he saw Shari talking with Margaret. She was laughing. Margaret was reading to her from some book.

“Here we go,” cried Rooster, and he let the frisbee fly.

The game went on for a while longer. Billy got caught up in the flow and stopped consciously trying to impress Shari with his athletic prowess. She probably wasn’t watching him anyway, he thought. For some reason she wasn’t even playing tonight. She only joined them on the frisbee field intermittently but she usually played when she came. Right now, she was too engrossed in whatever Margaret was reading. He also forgot about his parents and the looming session with Dr. Chow. That is until he saw Justine.

Susan had just caught a sharp pass from Kyle for a goal and the teams were collecting for the next throw-off. Standing on the opposite side of the fence, her hands clutching the top of the fence at about chin height, was Justine. She saw Billy catch sight of her, and waved.

“Hi Billy,” she said sweetly.

Billy felt like someone had punched him in the gut and poured hot tar down his throat. He almost pretended not to see her, but he knew that wouldn’t work. “I’m out!” cried Billy back to the group. Someone ran in to take his place. Billy jogged over to Justine, trying to appear nonchalant. He felt like everyone’s eyes were on him, although he knew that probably wasn’t true. The last thing he wanted to do was make Justine angry. He had to get rid of her, but if he got her angry then everyone’s eyes would definitely be on him. “Hi Justine,” he said.

“Are you upset that I came here?” asked Justine.

He had to be careful with that question. “No, Justine, I’m not upset. But why did you come here? You don’t like ultimate frisbee. You don’t even know how to play.”

“I can learn.”

“Justine…”

“Well, I can.”

“I know you could, but you don’t like it. You’ve told me so yourself. Besides…” He paused. “These are my friends. I told you to leave me alone when I’m with my friends.”

“But I don’t have any friends.”

“I know that. Look. I’m sorry.” He felt like shit. “But you can’t be here. It’s just not going to work.”

“Why?” Her eyes started watering.

Billy looked back at his friends. Most were still playing. Shari and Margaret were talking about something with Kyle stretched out by their feet.

“I’ve gotta go.”

“But why?” asked Justine, getting insistent. “Are you afraid your crazy little sister is going to flip out? I won’t. I promise,” she pleaded.

“You say that Justine. You say that, but then someone will tease you – or you’ll think they’ve teased you – and you will flip out. And what will you talk about? All you ever talk about are weird things like Carly Simon lyrics.”

“A lot of people like Carly Simon.”

“But you’ll talk about her forever. And then if you’re excluded from the conversation you’ll feel all hurt, and then you’ll start getting nasty and I’ll have to deal with you in front of my friends.”

“They don’t like to talk about Carly Simon?”

“Forget Carly Simon. That isn’t the point.” He sighed. “The point is,” he continued, trying to control himself, “the point is that I know what is going to happen.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it’s happened your whole life. You’ll get all hurt or pissed off and then I’ll sit there worried that a time bomb is about to go off and you’ll do something nutso.” He flinched.

“Nutso!”

“I didn’t mean that.”

“Did you say nutso?” She was becoming agitated.

“I didn’t mean to say…”

“I am not nutso,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“I let that word slip, Justine.”

Her anger transformed to sorrow before his eyes and she started crying.

“Don’t cry. Come on, now, don’t cry.” He glanced over his shoulder. Shari was in the game, now. He saw Rooster smoking a joint and looking over his way. “I didn’t say you were nutso,” said Billy. “I said, you might do something nutso. When you get upset you can’t control yourself. That’s why you go to Dr. Chow.”

“He’s not good. He’s the one who makes me go nutso.”

“I just want to spend time with my friends alone.”

“I promise I won’t talk about Carly Simon.”

“Forget Carly Simon!” Billy said sharply.

“Don’t yell at me!”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” said Billy, getting softer. “Look…” He paused, trying to find the right words.

“I won’t go nutso. I promise,” said Justine.

“What about the time you got down on all fours like a cat and tried to scratch people.”

“They were being mean. I was defending myself, and that’s not fair. That was a long time ago.”

“Only two years.”

“Why are you bringing that up?” she asked angrily.

Billy tried to stay calm. “I’m trying to explain to you what I am afraid of. What about the time you got out of the car at a red light and started taking your clothes off and throwing them at the windshield, yelling at Mom, ‘So you give me a roof over my head and food and the clothes on my back. So take your God damned clothes back!’”

Justine turned red. “That was a long time ago.”

“Two years.”

“Two years is a long time. I won’t do anything now.”

“I get nervous, Justine. I can’t relax. I know that I sometimes overreact when you get upset. I’ll give you that. But then I look like a bully in front of my friends.”

“I’d never do anything to you.”

“Yeah? What about the time you went to the police and told them I was beating you? You tried to get me locked up! And that was only one year ago!”

“You were the only one who could understand me. And then you stopped. I thought if you got locked up, then you would know what I went through when they put me in the hospital. I thought if you were locked up, too, then you could understand me again.”

“So you wanted to send me to jail?” Billy was angry but he was confused, too. How could she aggravate him and make him feel guilty at the same time. She had tried to get him arrested!

“I wouldn’t have let you stay there long,” said Justine.

“Thank God they knew better than to believe you.”

“Why didn’t they believe me?”

“Because they know you do nutso things.”

“So what if somebody really did abuse me? Those fucking police would do nothing just because sometimes I do something that they think is crazy?”

“You had no bruises, Justine. You said I had been pounding on you but you weren’t beat up at all.”

“Well, what if I were raped at gunpoint and I didn’t fight back? They’d just let the guy go?”

“No, but they might be more skeptical of you.”

“So they wouldn’t protect me? That’s their job, those fuckers.” She was starting to wave her arms.

“Justine, how did we get off on this? I just asked you to leave me alone with my friends.”

“I am going to go down to that fucking police station and break their fucking windows. I’ll show them who is crazy. They want to see crazy? I’ll show them crazy!”

“Justine, please.” Billy put his hands on her shoulders but she immediately pushed him away and backed off from the fence.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Calm down, Justine. Just calm down.”

“Oh, am I embarrassing you?” She gave him a challenging look – a look of power.

“No, you’re not. But please don’t. Please?” He grabbed at the hair on either side of his head and then let go. “Listen. If you leave me alone, I’ll listen to your Carly Simon records before we go see Dr. Chow tomorrow.”

“We’re all going to see that jerk?”

“Yeah, I hate it, too, but we all have to go.”

“At least it’s not just me.”

Billy let out a short chuckle. It was a relief to have something in common with her. “The guy is really pompous,” he said.

“And he’s got squinty little eyes,” said Justine happily.

“Stop it! That’s racist,” said Billy.

“Well…he’s pompous.”

“I’ll give you that.”

Justine looked across the field at Billy’s friends. Darkness had almost fallen and they were making their way to the end zone.

“I gotta go,” said Billy, uncomfortably.

“Then go,” said Justine, and mercifully she turned on her heels and trudged off in the direction of home. The opposite direction, Billy noted, from the police station.



Chapter 8

“Don’t drown the vegetables, just wet them down a little.” Mr. Graves shut off the sprinklers. The new produce guy – his name was Mitchell – nodded his head vigorously. The mop of curls on top of his head bobbed like a jello-mold under his hairnet. Billy smiled and pretended to be absorbed with his new shipment of yogurt. Mr. Graves grimaced slightly, allowing a quick glimpse of yellow teeth packed loosely behind his thick lips, the color of a plum. His face was lined and his skin dark brown. Under his nose sat an impressive and meticulously groomed silver moustache.

“You try hard, son, but you forget things.”

“Sorry about that, Mr. Graves,” said Mitchell, busily playing with his apron strings.

“Don’t forget things.”

“I sure won’t, Mr. Graves.”

They stood facing each other for a few seconds. Mitchell became conscious of what his hands were doing and brought them sharply to his sides. Graves clicked his tongue and said, “Why don’t you put out those bananas?”

“You betcha, Mr. Graves.” Mitchell looked eagerly at his boss.

“Well, go ahead.”

“Right.” Mitchell turned back to the cartons of bananas and went to work rapidly taking the yellow and green fruit from the waxed boxes and arranging them on the end of the aisle display. Mr. Graves looked back at the sprinklers and the mound of soaking romaine lettuce underneath them and shook his head. Then, he walked back to his little office at the front of the store to finish filing the day’s invoices. Mitchell followed him out of the corner of his eye.

Billy stopped stocking the yogurt, and watched as Pete, a muscular boy with a square chin covered in peach fuzz, paused from unpacking his cartons and called over to Mitchell. Billy knew what was coming. Pete picked up a soggy piece of lettuce and tossed it on top of the bananas.
“What were you trying to do, float the store down Central Avenue?” he asked.

“Mr. Graves said to run the sprinklers.”

Mitchell removed the piece of lettuce and shoved it into his apron pocket. He went back to his bananas.

“He didn’t say to flood the aisle.”

“I’m new, OK?”

“Not for long.”

Billy stood up and walked over to Mitchell. Pete caught his eye and gave him a smirk as he went back to the dolly of charcoal briquettes he had been unloading. Off to the side there was a cardboard cut out with a three-foot thick hamburger oozing juice and cheese, and crisscrossed with perfect charcoal stripes.

“He’s just messing with you,” said Billy. “Ignore him and he’ll go away.”

“I know.” Mitchell tried to hide his concern but failed.

“You’re more trouble to Graves than you’re worth.” Pete lifted a large box with a grunt. Billy and Mitchell looked at his arms with envy. “You know the man is brutal.”

“What are you saying?” Mitchell asked fearfully while backing up into the giant hamburger. He caught it before it fell and tried to restore it to its original position. Peter laughed so hard he snorted.

“Hush up!” said Florence who had overheard the conversation. “Mitchell you’re doing just fine. Pete here is trying to scare you.”

“I’m just joshing with him.” Pete laughed.

“Yeah, I know that,” said Mitchell, rearranging a particularly precarious mound of bananas.

Florence said, “Well, much as I love you boys, and you know I do…”

“Yeah, right” said Pete.

“Well, some of you. Anyway, I’m not wasting any more of my lunch break talking with you. Life’s too short.”

Mr. Graves voice came booming over the loudspeaker. “Breakage in Aisle 5. Breakage in Aisle 5.”

“I’m going to the break room,” said Florence.

“Me, too,” said Billy.

Florence headed to the back of the store with a plastic container filled with salad from the salad bar and a pre-made egg salad sandwich. Taking his cue from her, Billy stocked the last of his yogurt and went to buy his lunch. Florence got caught up in a conversation with the folks in the deli so Billy beat her to the break room, waving to her as he pushed through the swinging double doors that led to the back. Florence coaxed a free pickle from one of the people behind the counter and then followed Billy into the back and up the long flight of metallic stairs that lead to the employee break room, a set of lockers, and the rest rooms. Pinned to the bulletin board outside the break room were notices about employee rights, safety tips, and an exhortation to wash your hands and be properly groomed.

Florence opened the break room door and found Billy sitting by the table reading Rolling Stone and unwrapping a huge chocolate chip cookie. The remnants of his lunch – a banana peel and a couple pieces of the silver foil used to wrap his chili dogs -- were spread out in front of him. He shoved the last of his chili dog into his mouth as she watched in amazement.

“You already done with lunch? You must have finished that in under two minutes,” said
Florence.

“Yeah, I eat fast,” said Billy.

“You don’t eat. You inhale.”

Billy smiled.

“I don’t know how you do it. Chomping down all that food. And, you’re such a skinny thing.”

“I never gain weight.”

“Mmm…Mmm. How I wish those words could come out of my mouth without the Lord striking me down dead for being a liar.”

“I wish I could gain weight,” said Billy. “I look like a stick.”

“You’re not so bad,” said Florence, as she unwrapped her sandwich. “You’re too hard on yourself. You should be more like Peter.”

Billy closed his magazine.

“Peter? That dufus?”

“Peter’s got some of the devil in him but at least he doesn’t go dragging himself around all over the place.”

“I don’t need another mother, Florence.”

“Ouch! Listen, baby, if I was your mother I’d straighten you out right. You always look like you’re on the verge of a coma or something. You party too much. You can hardly stay awake out there sometimes. I’m gonna start calling you ‘sleepy’.”

Billy sniffed and opened his magazine again. “I don’t party that much.”

“Mmm, hmmm. And I’ve told you before I’m not old enough to be your momma.” Florence took a bite of her sandwich and continued. “So do you ever go out with Mitchell or Peter?”

“Not a chance. Peter’s a jock.”

“And Mitchell?”

“Mitchell? I don’t know. He just hangs out with other people.”

“Kind of a dweeb, huh?”

“You said it, not me.”

“But he’s a nice dweeb. He’s sweet. And he tries hard.”

“Too hard,” said Billy. “He should lighten up.”

“I hear you,” said Florence, smiling.

Billy put his head down on his arms and moaned. “Oh, man, I better get back to work, although I sure don’t feel like it.”

“Tired of working, huh?”

“Just tired.”

“I see. I wouldn’t know about that. All I did last night was re-grout my bathtub and match wits with an 8-year old ball of fire.”

“Reggie?”

“Who else?”

“I guess I should get to work.”

“So you keep saying. If you don’t, old Mr. Graves will be after you like white on rice.”

“He doesn’t scare me.”

“Oh, I see. You’re a big tough guy. Well, I’ll be sure to steer clear when I see you coming my way.”

Billy smiled. “I don’t know about that. I think you can take care of yourself.”

Florence sat back in her chair and laughed. “Sometimes, Billy, sometimes. But I can definitely handle you!” She pointed her sandwich at him. Billy tossed his garbage into the big cylindrical trashcan in the corner of the room, and shoved his seat back. “I’m outta here,” he said.

“Go ahead. I’m not stopping you.” She leaned over to grab the copy of Rolling Stone. “But if you want to come back with one of those chocolate cookies I won’t say anything to Mr. Graves.”
Billy went down the stairs and into the back corner where the cleaning supplies were kept. His shelves were fully stocked so he was planning on wiping down the outside of the cases. From the other end of the store he heard one of the janitors cursing the trash compactor. He started cleaning the display cases, and had made his way down most of one of them when he heard a familiar voice. His heart raced. It was Shari. He stood up and turned to face her.

“Hi, Billy.”

“Oh. Hi, Shari.” He tried to sound casual. “What are you in here for?”

“To buy a new winter coat.”

“Right.” He let out a weak laugh and cringed at how fake it sounded.

“Sorry. That wasn’t very funny. I promised my Mom I’d stop by and pick up a few things. So, how long do you work here?”

“From 7:30 to 4:00 with a half-hour off for lunch.”

“Just weekdays?”

“Usually, though I put in the occasional Saturday to get the overtime.”

“That must be a drag.”

“It’s not so bad. Last summer I was a janitor. That was worse. This year I’m the stock boy in dairy. It’s a lot better.”

“Big promotion, huh?”

“More like survival of the fittest.”

Shari tossed her hair back over her shoulder with a flick of her head. Billy tried not to stare at her. “So you’re saying it’s kind of like a jungle in here.”

“Oh, yeah.” Billy kind of bobbed his head.

After a brief pause, Shari said, “Well, I guess I better get some of this milk and be on my way.”

“Yeah, go ahead.” He desperately wished something witty would come out of his mouth but it didn’t. She turned to go. He didn’t want her to leave. “Say, Shari?”

She look at him expectantly. “Yeah?”

“Are you going to play frisbee, tonight?”

“Maybe. Margaret’s coming by after dinner. We might stop by.”

“Oh.”

“You know, I saw you talking to your sister the other night.”

Billy’s heart dropped to his feet. So she had been looking. “Oh, don’t pay attention to my sister. She gets upset really easily.”

“Yeah, well, when you were talking to her…well, it seemed sweet.”

“Really?” He was incredulous.

“Yeah.” She gave him a little smile and held up her gallon of milk. “Thanks for the dairy product. It was very well stocked.” She turned and walked to the next aisle. Billy was almost too excited to go back to work. He wrung the washrag in his hands and started daydreaming about walking hand in hand with Shari.

“She’s a looker, huh?” asked Pete.

“What?”

Pete was making his way down the aisle with a shopping cart collecting items that people had put back on the shelves in the wrong location. People were always doing that. They’d put canned pineapple in their cart and then decide two aisles later that they’d really prefer pudding so they’d put the pineapple back on the shelf.

“That Shari. Man, I’d like to get into her pants.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh, like you weren’t thinking the same thing.”

“What I was thinking is none of your business.”

“Your eyes were all ga-ga. Cut me a break.”

“Get lost.”

Peter laughed and continued down the aisle. He called out over his shoulder. “Chill out, dude. I didn’t catch you drooling over Mitchell.”

‘I’m like an open book,’ thought Billy. ‘Rooster, Peter, everyone can tell I’m crazy about Shari. I hope she can’t. But she said I looked sweet when I was talking to Justine. That’s nuts. I sure as hell didn’t feel sweet.’

He turned back to the display case and sprayed some cleaner on the chrome strips at the end of the shelf and then wiped it off with his rag. He looked at his reflection. It was distorted and fuzzy. You could barely make out his features. Then the shock of remembrance came over him. He wasn’t going to the frisbee game tonight. He was going to that stupid session with Dr. Chow. He threw his washrag on the floor in disgust, then quickly picked it up and threw it down again. And again. What awful luck! He finally had an opening to talk to Shari and now it wouldn’t happen. And what if she came by the game after he asked her about it and he wasn’t there? What would she think then?

‘God damn Justine,’ he thought. ‘God damn Justine.”



Chapter 9

Dr. Chow’s office was located in an outer region of the university campus near the edge of a large wooded area. The campus sprawled over a couple square miles, most of which hummed with activity during the school year. In the summer, things were more sedate. You could still usually see students strolling between the buildings or camped out on the well-groomed lawns, but not near this end of campus. Here there was a large parking lot that was usually guarded by a lone employee in a little hut that resembled a tollbooth, but was left vacant in summer.

The mental health clinic was in one of the newer buildings, more glass than brick and without any ivy or fancy facades. The lawn was well tended but without any flowers. The only shrubbery were low, dense bushes that encircled the building along a narrow strip of ground covered with small, white stones. The back of the building was a short-term mental hospital with semi-private rooms. Billy had never been in that part of the building, but he had peered through the windows in the security door leading to it. Through the wire mesh embedded in the glass, he could make out a nursing station with a blue Formica counter and a sitting area with uncomfortable looking couches and chairs and a television set. The chairs’ cushions could not be removed. They looked like waiting room furniture.

Justine had told him that the bedrooms weren’t much friendlier. There was no carpet, only gray tiles, and the drapes were pale yellow. The mattresses were hard and the only things on the wall were framed prints of flowers. They weren’t cheerful pictures, though. They were more like botanists’ renderings used for cataloguing new species. Worst of all, there were two beds to a room. Having a roommate, Billy had deduced from Justine’s rants, was a mix between embarrassment over being seen there – even by another patient – and curiosity over their history, as well as competitiveness, sometimes trying to appear more sane and sometimes less.
The front part of the building had the aura of a regular, fairly non-descript office building. The hallways, though, were unnaturally wide, and it felt oddly deserted, even when school was in session. When their family came through, they rarely ran into many people in the halls, and when they did they didn’t make eye contact.

Dr. Chow’s office was on the second floor. He didn’t have a receptionist. He was actually on the medical school faculty, and had another office some place else with a secretary. He used a room in this building for his sessions. A row of hard, plastic chairs were out in the hallway, probably taken from some classroom. Clients were supposed to sit there until Dr. Chow came out to usher them in. It wasn’t very inviting, but Dr. Chow was always prompt so they never had to wait very long.

Being early in the evening, the building felt even more deserted than usual. Billy noticed that the lights were off on several hallways that they had passed on the way to Dr. Chow’s office. A lone janitor was emptying trash cans from offices along one particularly long corridor.

They each sat in a plastic chair and remained silent, except for a few grumblings from Justine. Each member of the family was lost in his or her own private thoughts. Justine sat with her arms folded in across her chest. Billy slouched in his chair with his legs stretched out in front of him. Carol had her hands on her lap with the toes of one of her feet nervously keeping time to the beat of some song she was singing in her head. Frank was trying to work a crick out of his neck.

Carol broke the silence. “Dr. Chow is usually right on time.”

“It’s only 7:28,” said Frank.

“My watch must be fast.”

A few more minutes passed without any words being spoken. Then the door opened up and Dr. Chow stepped out. He was about the same height as Billy but much more solid. He was nearly bald except for a ring of hair around the base of his head. Crisply dressed in a pale blue shirt, dark blue tie and cuff links, his nails were manicured and his shoes shined. He had creased khaki pants and a pleasant, clinical smile on his face. His movements were swift and precise.

“Mr. and Mrs. Rogers,” he said, nodding at them in turn. “Justine and Billy, please come in.”
The Rogers family filed in and took their customary positions. Carol and Frank shared the couch while Justine and Billy made for the big overstuffed chairs on either end. They formed a semi-circle in front of Dr. Chow, who sat facing them on a leather chair he had wheeled out from behind his desk.

Dr. Chow’s office was huge and decorated more like a room in a regular house than any room Billy had seen in the building. Silk flowers were neatly arranged in vases set about the room and painting of landscapes adorned the walls. A rust and gold colored rug the shape of a racetrack lay on the floor in front of the couch. You could almost forget where you were except for the big office desk. He supposed that was the point.

Dr. Chow crossed his legs and flashed a perfunctory smile once again. “Beautiful weather we’re having, aren’t we?” he asked. “But then, I like it a bit on the warm side.” There was the smallest trace of an accent in his voice.

“Yes, it’s been lovely,” said Carol.

‘Lovely weather,’ Billy said mockingly inside his head. As if Chow actually cared about the weather. Dr. Chow always started off with one sentence of chit-chat before plunging into the session, regardless of the response. He guessed it was some lame technique he learned in Psych 101 about establishing some sort of personal contact or something.

Dr. Chow looked at them in silence for about five seconds. Billy hated that. Why couldn’t he just get on with it? What was he thinking about?

“Mrs. Rogers, why don’t you start? Can you describe what things have been like around the house the last few weeks?”

“OK. Well.” Carol let out a sigh. “Where should I begin?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Doctor Chow.

“Well, in some ways things have been good. It’s been quite awhile since Justine has made any major public display and she’s even done a few things around the house.”

‘Like what?’ thought Billy.

“But she still loses her temper at the drop of a hat, and then goes storming off to her room. And if you attempt to reason with her…” She stopped. “Well, we’ve been through all this before.”

“No, go on,” said Dr. Chow.

“It’s like she waits for you to say something she can pounce on, and then she loses control. If you ignore her, she gets worse, and if you try to calm her down…well, eventually she does calm down but not before making a huge scene and saying some very hurtful things.”

“So you can’t just ignore her?”

“No, that doesn’t work.”

“She’s doing it for effect,” broke in Frank. “Sometimes I think she could control herself if she really wanted to. It’s like Carol said, she’s got a chip on her shoulder and she wants you to knock it off so she can go ballistic.”

Billy looked over at Justine. Her mouth was clamped shut, her eyes were straight ahead, and her arms remained crossed in front of her. This was the only place, thought Billy, where by this time she wouldn’t have been screaming her head off.

“What do you think, Justine? Do you have a chip on your shoulder?” asked Dr. Chow, rotating his head ever so slightly to face her. She didn’t respond, but only re-positioned her arms.
“Justine, I asked you a question. I expect the courtesy of an answer.” There wasn’t the slightest trace of impatience in his voice. It was maddening.

“I dunno,” she said.

“She may be looking for trouble, I don’t know,” said Carol, “But I do think she honestly gets out of control. She gets beyond a point where she can’t step back. Like when she got out of the car and started undressing…”

“Not that again!” yelled Justine.

“Let you mother finish,” said Dr. Chow, calmly. Justine sat back in her chair, silently fuming.

“There are many examples. Throwing her food in the restaurant, scratching people…I don’t want to embarrass Justine by going through them all again.” She looked over at her daughter.

“No one should be embarrassed here,” said Dr. Chow.

“Like I said, it’s been…oh, I don’t know, maybe over a month since the last public display –other than just shouting, I mean. But lately she’s been throwing things in her room.”

“I didn’t throw anything,” said Justine.

“That’s not true, and you know it,” said Frank, crossing his legs, and drumming his fingers on the couch.

Dr. Chow raised his hand. “Let Mrs. Rogers continue,” he said.

Carol readjusted herself in her seat and looked over at Justine as she continued. “The reports from school haven’t been good.”

“In what way?” interrupted Dr. Chow.

“She hasn’t been keeping up with her schoolwork.”

Dr. Chow nodded.

“She’s being more combative at home, and…well, I started thinking that maybe she’s been too upset to really keep focussed. I think she needs some way to stay calmer.”

Justine uncrossed her arms and spun around to look at her mother. “You aren’t going to dope me up again, are you?”

Carol looked flustered. “I haven’t said anything.”

“You are NOT going to dope me up again.”

“Why do you think that’s what your mother meant?” asked Dr. Chow.

“Don’t you sit there with those beady eyes…”

Billy winced, but Dr. Chow was unfazed.

Justine thrust a finger in his direction and continued. “Don’t you sit there with those beady eyes, and act so calm and innocent. You put her up to this, right? You think I’m crazy. You want to lock me up and give me drugs.”

“I never said those things,” said Dr. Chow.

“You don’t have to. You just sit there and say nothing. It drives me nuts.”

Billy smiled to himself at the irony, but he didn’t dare laugh.

“You’re a quack,” she yelled.

“Hey, little girl,” said Frank, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward. “Show some respect.”

Billy could sense his father’s blood pressure rising. His neck started turning pink.

“Why? He doesn’t respect me!” snapped Justine. Some of her hair fell in front of her face with the force of her remarks.

“You don’t have to like me, Justine…” started Dr. Chow.

“Good!”

“But calling people names serves no purpose.”

“It does to me!”

Dr. Chow put his hands on his knees and took a breath. “In this room we listen to each other, and when we do speak we are honest and respectful. And nothing leaves this room. Those are the only rules.”

“So be honest with me,” said Justine. “Are you going to give me drugs?”

“We’re considering it. What do you think we should do?”

“I knew it!” said Justine. She gave her mother a hateful stare. Frank studied his hands, as his neck progressed from pink to a purplish red.

“Your father and I are concerned about you,” said Carol. “We thought if you were calmer, more relaxed…”

“Like a zombie!”

“No, not like a zombie,” said her mother. “Frank?”

“You do get out of control, Justine. We don’t know how to handle you,” said her dad. He almost sounded apologetic.

“So just drug me up!”

Dr. Chow turned towards Billy.

“So Billy, you’re being quiet. What do you think about what your father just said?”

“What?” asked Billy.

“Do you think that Justine is out of control?”

“I don’t know,” said Billy.

“You have no opinion? I don’t believe that,” said Dr. Chow.

“I don’t know.” Billy paused and repositioned himself in the chair. He realized that he wasn’t going to get off the hook, so he continued. “She flips out a lot.” He glanced over at Justine who was now back in her stare-straight-ahead mode.

“What do you think when she flips out?”

“I don’t know,” said Billy. “She just…” They waited for him to continue. “I mean…” He stopped and looked down at the floor.

“What?” asked Dr. Chow.

“I never know when she can really stop it and when she can’t. When I think she can, I get pissed.”

“Are you scared when she flips out and you don’t think she can stop it?”

“No.”

“Well, what do you feel?”

Billy squirmed. Dr. Chow usually didn’t focus this much attention on him, and it was uncomfortable. He sat up and looked the doctor in the eyes. “I feel like I just want her to stop.”

“I see,” said Dr. Chow. He turned to Billy’s father. “Mr. Rogers, do you think she can stop?”

Frank furrowed his eyebrows and rubbed his temple with his right hand. “I’ve thought a lot about this. I think she can stop it at first. I mean, she can prevent it from happening. Most of the time. I believe that. But once she gets rolling, she loses that ability.”

“Justine?” asked Dr. Chow.

“What?”

Billy thought she looked less angry, even drained.

“Can you stop it from happening?”

“I don’t want drugs.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“I don’t want to be like them.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked her mom.

“Let her talk,” said Dr. Chow.

“They’re so boring.”

“Boring?” asked Dr. Chow.

“Yes, boring. They lead their boring lives and talk about this and that. When I’m on drugs, I’m boring. Life’s boring.”

“In what way?” asked Dr. Chow.

“In what way?” she said mimicking him, but with a high-pitched, nasal voice. “You’re the worst of all. You sit there all calm, thinking you know everything. In what way? In what way? Why don’t you ever answer a damn question?”

“It’s my job to ask the questions.”

She mimicked him again in the same nasal twang. “It’s my job to ask the questions.”

“Justine…” started her father.

Dr. Chow held up his hand.

‘I hate when he does that,’ thought Billy.

“Yes, it is my job to ask the questions, and it is your job to answer them.”

“Nobody’s paying me for my answers. How much do you get paid?”

“That’s not important.”

“Where are we going with this?” asked Frank. “Do you think she needs medication, or not?”

“Well, Justine obviously doesn’t think she needs it. At least, she knows she doesn’t want it. The rest of us aren’t so sure. Justine, can you control your temper?”

“When people aren’t being jerks.”

“Well, how about if we do an experiment?” offered Dr. Chow. “How about if we all get together again next week…”

Billy put his head back and closed his eyes. Not again.

“…and if you prove to us that you can keep your temper for a whole week then we’ll agree that you don’t need some medicine to help you keep calm.”

“I can’t even yell one time?”

“No, that wouldn’t be fair. You can yell but you can’t flip out. No throwing things, no screaming, no slamming doors, and no tantrums. Do you think you can do that?”

“I don’t know,” she said defiantly.

“Well, we’ll see. If you can, great. If you can’t then we’ll revisit the question of medication next week. Fair enough?”

“Sounds good to me,” said Carol.

“Good. Now it appears our time is up for today.”

They all got up and filed out. Dr. Chow closed the door behind them.