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It's the intro and beginning of my novel |
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More charming than the Devil’s Ass: It ain’t the usual therapy. The characters, incidents, names written in this novel and used are fictitious. Any similarity to the names, characters, or history of any person in this novel is coincidental and unintentional. Hi, my name is Reece Charming, I once was a complete misfit on antidepressant medications. I’m a social outcast, but I worked in retail. I’ve slept with more skanks than is safe or reasonable and I’m a raging dork. But I contribute to humanity in one important way: I share my experiences with my therapist and you! I know what you’re assuming: God, this guy’s a total loser, douche bag, and the opposite of charming. Why should you read any further? Look, it’s a brief introduction and not the entire story. Nobody’s perfect and I’m the first to admit I’m far from it. I mean everyone has a reason they are who they’ve become. I theorize it’s a combo of their environment, parents, friends and work experiences that shape them into a dysfunctional asshole. Even I share the credit for my problems. You’ll hate me in the first story, but it gets better. Please trust me. I’m not a bad guy. I’m just misunderstood sometimes. So if you gain laughter, entertainment or wisdom from reading this… you’re welcome and enjoy. Did I mention I have two cats? Freaking Crazy Chap. 1 Yesterday the wife and I got back from a visit from Southern California. We spent two days there. They were the most grueling days of my life with my wife. We had our worst fight ever. We said things to each other that would cut someone’s soul apart. I don’t want to repeat it because it hurts too much to say. My woman loves me hard and I pushed her away. I allowed jealousy toward my player cousin Country Love to consume me on our visit. It’s easy to blame my behavior on the alcohol I drank, my cousins, Nana, Uncle and Aunt, or even California. The truth is it was my fault. Last night in California my Nana told me to get back on my medications and start therapy again. The wife was against me on medication before I met her and she considered it this time. But, I came too far weaning myself off them only to get back on them again. Minutes before my wife and I took to the road, my Uncle Tom had a chat with me. What he said gave me the extra push to get help. Uncle Tom, “Reece, I had a terrible dream concerning your future. Maybe it’s your present. I don’t know. So I saw you running up to our driveway in shambles. You looked malnourished with tattered clothing and covered in filth. You explained you had a long hard journey to California. Then you asked me if you could live at Nana’s until you got back on your feet. I asked where your wife was and you said… she wasn’t coming.” I made an appointment with a psychotherapist that week. As I approached the door it read Psychotherapist Daniel Tillers the third, MSW, PHD, LCSW, CTA etc. When I walked into the office and shook hands with the therapist, I noticed his handshake was firm and strong. He wore a maroon colored sweater vest over a light blue dress shirt, and a pair of pressed and clean black slacks. I saw my reflection in his shiny black dress shoes. He towered over me at a whopping six foot three with a medium build. The man was as bald and white as Uncle Fester from the Adams Family, wore round wire-framed glasses and had a salt and peppered goat-T. There was a desk to the left, two beige colored chairs and one black leather chair in the middle of the room with a white board on the right wall. The therapist asked me to choose a seat in a thick Liverpool accent. As I made myself comfortable, he asked me what I wanted to discuss. I said, “My marriage problems.” For forty-eight minutes we discussed my struggles with the wife. I explained how our last fight was the worst. Afterward, she didn’t touch or kiss me for two weeks. That’s how upset she was with me. One night I received a phone call from her with an ultimatum to get therapy or expect a divorce. I chose therapy. The therapist illustrated the dynamics of a child state of mind, parent state of mind, and adult state of mind on his white board. It was confusing. We brought up my underlying anger issues and lack of communication skills with my wife. He then asked me a question that stopped me in my tracks because it had nothing to do with my marriage problems. TherapistDan “Do you remember when you were in a pickle you weren’t able to handle other than your marriage?” Reece “I don’t know. Shouldn’t you help me with my marriage issues right now?” TherapistDan “I’m bored discussing that with you. So close your eyes and tell me the first thing you recall?” Reece “There was this gas station incident on the night of my art school graduation.” TherapistDan “Eh huh.” Reece “It occurred on September 24, 2009…” It was graduation night. I received my Bachelor of Arts and to celebrate my accomplishment; my parents invited me to a steakhouse. I felt on top of the world that night (It’s no wonder the air was thin). Before I got to a steak so juicy and tender it’d make a vegan drool, I had to stop for gas. It was in a ghetto part of downtown Phoenix that made me nervous. When I arrived the fragrance of spilled gasoline on the ground of the gas station crept into my nostrils. God, I love the smell of gasoline. As I scanned the location there was red graffiti spray paint on the front side of the forest green dumpster next to the neon lights emitting from the convenient store. It looked like an alien language. In fact, I swear I saw an alien drop a can as it zipped off with its saucer shaped spaceship into the sky! Reece “There’s no alien spaceship.” TherapistDan “Do you realize I’m charging you ninety dollars per one hour session, Reece?” Reece “What?!? My insurance paid!” TherapistDan “Your insurance didn’t pay.” Reece “You got to be shitting me!” TherapistDan “Time’s a ticking, mate. Please pickup that chair you kicked.” Reece “Okay, okay. Where was I? “ TherapistDan “You left off at a flying spaceship.” Reece “Oh yeah.” As I walked up to the double doors to pay for gas, this worn out, wrinkled old looking lady with missing teeth and stringy hair got my attention. She had a warm smile that melted Mr. Freeze’s Popsicle heart. There she sat with a neon pink hat and an over-sized T-shirt with the words “Expect Miracles” printed on it. And sweat pants a few sizes too big with holes in them that left nothing to the imagination. She sat in a rusted, beaten up wheelchair by the double doors. I asked the wheelchair if it needed medical attention, but it said, “Call the police.” Before I opened the doors the homeless lady interrupted me, “Excuse me sir, but could you spare a few dollars?” I said, “I’m sorry, I have enough cash for my gas.” TherapistDan “Why didn’t you give her the cash and pay with your debit card instead?!? That’s horrible!” Reece “Look, I was in a rush to meet with my parents and I graduated from four years of school in computer and traditional animation. That is hard to learn and execute! You know sometimes homeless people pull scams. Besides, down town Phoenix scares me at night. Oh, I was starving too. So fuck off Dan!” TherapistDan “Humph. Fair enough. Please continue.” Reece “So as I tried to make my escape that homeless lady called after me again!” She said in a louder voice, “Sir, I see you must be in a rush, but I’m trying to get by and pay for my pain medication. Will you spare at least a few dollars for me?!?” Ignoring her I thought, I’ll pump my gas, and be on my way. She could’ve been a con artist the way she smiled with her head tilted. I’m sure she’d done it a thousand times. At least I told myself that to rationalize my cynicism. But, I thought her life must suck. She begged for money from strangers in a bent up wheel chair. It’s pathetic. “Sorry I got cards!” I shouted. It was a lie. I could’ve given her my cash, but I didn’t trust people. They always disappoint me. Then a stranger with a pony tail in a white tank top and Dickies yelled from across my pump, “Hey, give the lady a few bucks man! Don’t be a bendejo!” Shocked, I looked toward him and said, “I have no cash, man!” With a scowl he said, “Bullshit! I know you do! Don’t be a fucking asshole and give her some money!” Reece “The guy irritated me and most men do.” TherapistDan “If men irritate you why did you ask for a male therapist instead of a woman?” Reece “I thought you’d understand things from my perspective better than a chick.” TherapistDan “Oh?” Reece “Will you let me finish my story!?!” TherapistDan “You’ve got anger there. Take a deep breath and blow out. In fact, try my Chamomile tea. It’ll help calm you.” Reece “After you drank from it?!? No thanks.” TherapistDan “Suit yourself. Oh, and don’t kick anymore of my furniture, okay. You look agitated. Why are you so angry right now?” Reece “I’m angry because my wife wanted to leave me, I hate my job, I don’t want to be here and you keep interrupting me!” TherapistDan “Okay, I get that. Don’t get belligerent with me.” Reece “I won’t. Where was I again?” TherapistDan “A man at the pump yelled profanities at you.” So I yelled back, “I guess I’m an asshole!” and turned back to pump the rest of my gas. He said, “What deed you call me, ese?” “My name’s not Ese!” I yelled. I need this crazy fuck like a blow job from a rattlesnake! I thought out loud. As I filled my car with gas the intimidating dude advanced toward me and pumped out his chest. I dropped bigger shit logs than him. But I glanced at his body builder, vein embossed arms. That old, tattooed Mexican guy stared at me with his crazy eyes and I noticed a scar on his right cheek. Motherfucker looked like a jacked up Danny Trejo from Machete! I was a thin gringo, dressed in his Sunday best with thick, nerdy glasses! My brain ran wild with thoughts of what ifs. It gave me a head ache. Something was off with him. He was going to snap. It must have been what I said to that homeless lady that got him angry. I got this vibe he had his share of bar room brawls and wasn’t new to confrontations. My palms got moist and my throat tightened. I looked into his glaring eyes and barely found my voice, "I said I guess I'm an asshole?" Reece “I don’t get why he picked a fight with me over that homeless lady in a wheelchair? What the HELL was in it for him?!? Do you have any ideas Dan?” TherapistDan “Because she was a homeless lady in a wheelchair. What was in it for him?!? Standing up for someone less fortunate is valiant.” As the man leaned in closer toward me the stench of a cigar danced off his wife beater shirt. The stranger stood inches from my face and the seconds that passed felt like hours. Then he stared me down while he sized me up with measuring tape. TherapistDan “I’m betting he was measuring how well you’d fit in a hole he dug for you.” Reece “Come on therapist Dan. I made a mistake. At least I regret it now. Do you want to know how much I regret it?” TherapistDan “No.” Reece “Every time I see a homeless person on the street I give them a few dollars now. And if I have none I’ll get cash from an ATM and bring it to them. ” TherapistDan “Good. As you should.” Reece “Where was I? Oh yeah. So with a cobra’s glare, he put his fist toward my face and growled, "You want to go a couple rounds, man?!?" “Eat my Smegma!" I barked back. I realized I fucked up big time. TherapistDan “Yes you did. Seriously Reece?!? Smegma?!? Wow.” Reece “So before I blocked his fist, he cracked my jaw open like a piñata and candy splattered everywhere. That's the last thing I remembered before I blacked out and ended up in this murky warehouse. What happened next changed my life forever. But first, I'll tell you my life story as short stories since my marital problems bore you.” TherapistDan “And our session has ended. Did he teach you a lesson?” Reece “I’ll get into that another time.” TherapistDan “Same time next week?” Reece “Three weeks works best for me.” |
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