And did I ever loathe that bastard. From the moment I saw him I felt this distinct feeling of hatred I sometimes got when I knew that someone was trying to manipulate my feelings away from me. There used to be a key to unlocking my feelings, and all my other secrets, but I swallowed it when I turned thirteen. Before I joined the Backstreet Boys had been the time period in which the physical and verbal abuse from my classmates became almost intolerable. I knew that they were just horribly jealous of me because I was achieving something they had only dreamed about. In fact every child at some point in time dreams of fame before success and I was slowly appealing to the eyes of my superiors. I never spoke of my "jobs" or any of my rehearsals, but somehow they always knew. And they always awaited my return with iron fists.
It wasn’t just the boys. I had a hard time with the girls as well because they never got a chance to get to know me. Some would flock to me because they wanted a piece of my pre-success, but I didn’t need that. What I really needed was someone totally sincere and who understood my feelings. A real friend. Thirteen isn’t a good age to start learning about friendship, but I had more pressing matters at hand; my career being one of those matters.
My mother told me that it was all mine, that I could back out whenever I felt like it and she would not be cross with me. As much as I wanted to make friends, I wanted my mother to be happy. That’s why I never told her about the kids at school. When she picked me up for my Backstreet Boys audition, I swallowed my key for good and haven’t heard from it since. At times I did want to back away from everything, but not after my mom had put so much time and money into it. This was now something we shared; something that was entirely mine, something you rarely saw from a household full of children. We didn’t have much money either; I knew that for a long time, so I stuck with it. I got lucky.
Anyway, I hated the Doc as soon as he sat down. How can I hate someone from the way they sit you ask? Well if a guy crosses his legs like that then you know that he’s got to be insincere. In fact, I thought, a guy like that probably doesn’t even know the meaning of the word "debt." He really gave off the impression that he had been of good wealth his entire life because he looked so comfortable living in it. Sure I spent my money on a house here and a car there, but like they say it was just burning a hole into my wallet. I thought of my bank account as I scrutinized Menoza. I had bought so much dope that I probably wasted my entire life savings. On top of that, it looked like I would never set a foot on a stage ever again.
I sighed loudly and Menoza looked up from his paperwork. He smiled at me, the first sign of anything that he was sincere of, then continued to scribble furiously on his paper. He was a pretty good-looking fellow; jet black hair, bluish-purple eyes, and a face that showed no sign of wear and tear. If I wasn’t certain that I was hideous I would have said that he looked almost as good as me. My weak, tired eyes strained to look at his ring finger and found it vacant. Well of course, he was a doctor now, would he have time to date?
"Shall we begin?" he asked in a question that was more like a statement. His eyes seemed to say, ‘you have no choice.’ I nodded, then diverted my attention to the window. A bird flew by and shit on the window, distorting my perfect view of freedom. My face grew numb from scowling and I turned back to Menoza, who had an amused glint in his eye.
"What? What!" I screamed, knowing very well what. "Well, at least I’m not going to live long enough for you to enjoy making fun of me. I’m going to die soon and the maggots are going to eat away at my face and all I’ll be is a painful memory."
"Don’t say that." Another statement, but I could tell that his eyes were frightened.
"Why not? If I can handle the truth, you should be able to as well, no problem. You don’t even like me."
"That’s not true. You have to admit that you hated me since before you walked in this door. Stop using your condition as an excuse for your behavior." He had me there, but he had not only won the battle, but had succeeded in making me terribly angry.
I slammed my fist down on the table in front of me, vaguely aware that the computer that was resting on it was on the verge of shaking off the table. Apparently I still had my strength and soon that would be taken away from me along with…
Everything else. My friends, family, my voice, my career… everything. In fact it had already started to gobble up my friends and family like appetizers. Brian’s visits were seldom, Kevin’s didn’t exist and AJ came to give me porno mags. As far as I was concerned, Howie existed among Kevin’s visits – Lord knows why he wouldn’t come. My mom and dad saw me everyday, my siblings on the weekends – all except Aaron of course. He refused to watch me die and I cursed him for being weak. I cursed them all to death for being so damn weak.
The doctor was looking at me pensively, like a specimen he wasn’t quite sure how to cut. I snapped out of my reverie of loss as quickly as I had thrown myself into it. He appeared as if he was trying to strip away what was left of my soul so that he could see right to my thoughts. But I didn’t care anymore; I felt miserable.
So instead I wept. I wept over my losses, my health, my life – everything. The doctor just sat there watching, unsure of what to do. The more I wept the more my vision of him blurred and faded away. I felt nothing from this sudden waterfall of emotion yet the tears kept flowing and staining my white hospital johnny. It gave me such a horrible cramp to cry the way I was; with my head bowed as low as it could go and my hands clammy and clasped together on my lap. One of the wheels on my wheelchair groaned, but elsewhere in the room there was silence.
When I’d finally finished Menoza offered me the tissue box. I cleaned up most of my tears and snot, then began to shred the tissues nervously. Hopefully there were enough tissues in there to last me an entire session. My eyes burned a little from where I rubbed off the tears and my hands shook as they shredded the paper into little bits.
"You’ve never cried in front of someone like that, have you?" Menoza asked. He looked as if he was about to scream, "BRRREEAAAKTHOUGH!!!"
"Ohuh?" I answered dumbly in my state of shock. I was so shocked at my sudden outburst; I hadn’t even expected myself to do that. Still, it didn’t improve my relationship with Menoza any. If anything, it made me even more stubborn than before.
He was smiling at me with the kind of grin I just loathe; the type that says to you that this person is only smiling at you because it seems right to do so. The kind of smile a bully puts on his face when he’s caught by the teacher just before he beats you up. He’s smiling and patting your back in a friendly gesture that’s painful and menacing at the same time. The doctor wouldn’t dare pull a stunt like that though. My mother was paying for this session hourly and the longer he kept me in there, the better for him.
After ten minutes, Dr. Menoza was ready to move on. He dug into his desk drawer, his black hair toppling in the direction his head was bent. While he was doing this you could compare him to a fat kid who dropped his last Smartie on the floor – he was that intent on finding whatever he was looking for.
Finally he emerged with a stack of cards inches thick. I had a feeling I knew what he was up to. He was going to give me the Rorshach test. You know the one; someone holds up a card with inkblots and asks you what you see. It helps to test intelligence based on what you see in those cards. Those cards made me furious.
"I’m not stupid I’m crazy you moron!" I shouted at him. With what I thought was dexterity I swiped at the card in an attempt to knock it to the floor. Instead I almost toppled off of my chair and on to the ground. Dr. Menoza helped me up but I was bitter.
"That’s not going to change anything! Just because I’m handicapped it doesn’t mean anything!" I panted.
Dr. Menoza put a hand on my shoulder. "You’re not handicapped, you’re just weak. You think that you are, but in reality what it means is that you can’t do what you used to be able to do and-"
"Don’t you think I know that?" I muttered. Menoza nodded with what could be respect, and continued to hold up the cards. I told him I saw a witch in the first card and he wrote something down and on the second card I told him that I saw his ugly face burning in hell. He was less pleased with this observation than with the first. In fact he was getting so pissed off that he nearly threw the stack of inkblots at me. I looked at him with an evil look that said people would believe my story if I told them what he did. The look made him reconsider.
"Like I said before, I’m not a fucking retard! Just because I’m in this wheelchair doesn’t mean my brain isn’t functioning!" He was getting me all worked up and now I felt like I could sleep forever. But first I would wait to see what he says.
"Watch your mouth boy," he snarled. He got up from his desk in such a startling fashion that my heart began to pound faster than normal and I felt like sleeping more and more.
"My daughter is mentally retarded," he continued. His gaze locked on mine and I realized I’d hit a nail on the head – a sharp, pointy nail that would be drilling through my foot if I didn’t shut up. I just had to keep on going.
Gesturing at his hand I asked, "But you’re not married?"
"No, and I’ve never been married. That’s not the point. The point is-"
"But they don’t let you have a child if you’re not married."
"No, it was a unique circumstance. My brother had a problem with heroin just like you and when he died I was awarded custody of the child because the child seemed to like me best."
"You talk about her as if she was some kind of science project!" I shouted. "Is that why you picked to fix me, doc? So that you wouldn’t screw up and let me die just like your brother-"
"Enough!" he shrieked. His hand contacted with my face so hard that I lost my grip on the wheelchair and tumbled to the carpet. He gasped and moved quickly to offer his hand but I smacked it and just laid there, helpless.
After a little while he strummed up some guts to say, "You stars are all the same. You’re all weak little snobs with bullshit problems."
"Technically I’m not a star," I told him, "I’m just a memory."
"Tell me what’s going on in your life," he said. And I did. It took me hours just to get up to the part about Nancy and when I did the session was over. Menoza had tears in his eyes. The numb bastard was crying for me, what a day. He still had those tears when he picked me up from the floor and hesitantly put me back in the wheelchair. I really didn’t want him to feel sorry for me, but it was good to get all of that shit off of my shoulders. Even if I didn’t have time to finish.
I was about to leave when Menoza stopped me. He put a hand on my shoulder reluctantly, but when he saw I wasn’t making a move to brush him off, he kept it there.
"I want you to do something for me."
I laughed bitterly. "What can I do?"
"Could you write this all down? Everything you told me into a journal, please?"
"Why?"
"It will help psychologists everywhere after you’re gone. I’ll find the finest editor for it and I promise we won’t change a thing."
"I’ll think about it," I told him, "it is about my personal life you know. There are a lot of things I’m not particularily proud of." He opened the door for me and a nurse led me down the hallway and back to my room so that I could rest. I didn’t want to go to any doctor today, in fact, I wanted to go see the children, but my mother had planned this. Apparently she was worried about the effect all of this was having on my mental health. As far as I was concerned, she had every right to be worried.
Because every day I lived, I just wanted to die.
Chapter 53
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