Storytime with Mr. Walsh
He had to suppress his gag reflex upon entering the cramped therapist’s office. Whoever had selected the colors for the room was either entirely color blind or took a sadistic pleasure from the nauseating effect it created. Turquoises, maroons, and browns were all swirling together in a way that made John’s stomach churn. If he had taken the time to absorb it all, he would have most assuredly lost his breakfast, lunch and any meals in between. He looked to the homely woman slouching across from him and had to manage his unruly stomach yet again. She lacked any sort of coherent style, existing only as a grotesque hodge-podge of garments. Her fat face rested upon it all, appearing as a sickly pale pumpkin. Her jowls hung upon her face like a sack of moldy tangerines, a trait John would only have expected in a woman twice her age. Her near impenetrable coke bottle glasses received their support from the bulbous protrusion she called a nose. The glasses held in her beady black eyes which longed to escape their vile host. She sported a mop top hair cut reminding him of a rejected Beatle. He reacted to it all with a full body shudder.
Movement began around the edges of her fat peeling lips. A gap formed and then began to emit a horrid sound.
“What has brought you to my office today...” The bellowing stopped as the woman glanced down at her clipboard. “Mr. Wei?”
Grunting out his name with the pipes of the baritone in a Demon barbershop quartet, the woman barely made John's name recognizable.
He paused momentarily, glancing down at his boots to collect his thoughts. Fighting the urge to rupture her unfathomably tiny mind with his mere words took all of the concentration he could muster. He laboriously lifted his head, allowing the harsh light from outside the room to reflect off his hairless scalp. Sighing, he locked eyes with the spectacled Gorgon and began.
“Before I tell you anything, I need certain…assurances that everything said here will be kept in complete confidentiality. I’m aware of the standard patient/client confidentiality clause, but I’m going to have to require something more than that...What’s your greatest fear? Any major phobia you have....something that I can…relate to as I discuss mine.”
Silence hung in the air as the dumpy therapist scrambled for a faux phobia to feed John. The semi-sinister emphasis on the end of his request was lost upon the woman, who focused instead upon the lie she was going present to him. She glanced upwards momentarily while concocting her fabricated phobia, an action that was all too apparent to John.
"Alright John, if it will help you. Since my childhood, I've always found spiders to be absolutely terrifying. When I was five, a spider had nested itself above my bed one night. I awoke the next morning to find hundreds of its spawn creeping all over me. It was a very traumatizing experience."
"Liar,” he calmly responded, “Either you tell me truthfully or I drag it out of you…the hard way."
Her tiny eyes stared beyond John, piercing his skull with intensity. A look of confusion and agitation formed on her face. This was always John's favorite part; refusal to comply. He took a deep, satisfied breath and began.
"Fine then. Judging from your varied, competing attempts to hide yourself behind your outfit you feel about as beautiful as a hippo with the bubonic plague. Blood from the armpits and all that jazz. I'd also venture a guess that you're anuptaphobic or, in layman's terms, afraid of being single...FOR-EV-AH.” Every syllable was emphasized to create a stronger image for the woman.
“I'd continue if it wasn't counter-productive. I need you on you’re A-Game here Miss Shrink a Dink, so I can only go so far. Even if I continued, I doubt I could make your life any worse. But I digress. As of late I've fallen into the costumed vigilante gig. I have to fight for justice against the forces of evil and all that boring crap. The only reason I even get involved is because I have nothing better to do…and I have a divine gift. I've been "blessed" with the ability to manipulate the faults, failings and fears of every man, woman and child. I haven't been able to read animals or aliens but I almost grasped the fear of a Welch Corgi the other day, so I'd say I'm making progress. When I do the whole vigilante shtick, I normally operate under the alias Captain Cutdown but I've been known to use Baron Von Burn and the Analyst but the reaction of more than one sophomoric jackass has forced me to drop the latter. Anyway, I'm here today because I want to stop."
Leaning back in the excruciatingly awkward chair, a chair which screamed art student's nightmare, John locked eyes with the repugnant woman. The careless application of her eye shadow became apparent as she moronically blinked at him.
"Stop?....I'm sorry Mr. Wei but you're going to have to specify what it is you want to stop." The feeble woman said with an air of superiority which John didn't buy into.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I was under the impression that I was dealing with a trained professional who could focus on my problems for more than three seconds. What was I thinking?" Increasing the anger behind his voice he repeated, "I want to stop all of the criticizing, the analyzing, and the constant demeaning of everyone around me! As soon as I entered the room, I began quantifying how much you disgust me and Hell, I almost like you. At first, I only used it upon my enemies as a way to demoralize them but it quickly spread to anyone who annoyed me. Even then it was tolerable but now it has been invading my social life. I need to stop…"
Although he meant what he had said he couldn't help but notice the wavy hair emerging from the mole above the woman’s bulbous lips.
Frustration, boiling over in his body, exploded like an M-80 in a watermelon. John had also fallen victim to his own harsh and poignant critiques, further compounding his problem.
Having taken solace in John's inability to turn his judgmental nature off, the visually offensive woman nodded her head and responded to John's rant.
"You mentioned your ‘divine gift’ crossing over into your social life. Tell me about that. When did you last lash out at a friend? What does that sound like?"
"Where should I start? Tony. I go with Tony because he has got to be the worst. He doesn’t take any adult responsibility and hasn’t for as long as I’ve known him. Today before I left he ate one of my hardboiled eggs. I caught him right in the middle of it! The audacity! I told him that he clung to his adolescence as a way of compensating for the fact that his father tried to force him to grow up. And that Fred Rogers was dead. I’ve been holding onto that one for the right moment and it did some effective damage. I was on a roll, pointing out one thing after the next for about fifteen minutes. I think I really came through to him. People need to take responsibilities for their actions and it is about time he learned that. And the best part was when he curled up in a ball right before I left.”
John began to laugh uncontrollably at this point, slapping his knee as he continued.
“And he kept on rolling around on the floor, like some stupid animal that didn’t know how to properly play dead. Then, and this is the best part, he just began violently sobbing into his hands and…
The joy in John’s voice trailed off after, he was struck by the effect of his actions upon Tony. He sat silently in his chair, crippled with the realization that he was becoming a monster and that he seemed to like it.
A smirk slunk across the therapist's face as John realized his folly. Once again, the bulbous lips parted but that which emerged caught John off guard.
"And your flaw, Mr.Wei, would have to be your lack of restraint."
The woman seemed to gleam as she said this. She was right of course. That vile monstrosity lounging before him was absolutely correct. For a moment, her appearance changed. She did not disgust him and she no longer caused him to force the bile back down his throat. She almost had a unique beauty to her at that moment but it all regressed as quickly as it had arrived.
"What if that is my problem? So what? Knowing it does very little to help me."
"I would have to disagree.”
She paused for a moment as she thought of a way to connect with John.
“As a child, did you ever watch the G.I. Joe cartoon series? Each episode would finish with the corny public service announcement. They tried to advise kids to the dangers in the world around them. Each one would end with the mantra "Knowing is half the battle." The therapist had briefly adjusted her voice transforming its preexisting huskiness into an even manlier level, which drew a slight chuckle from John.
She continued, "The writers may have been campy but they made a valid point. Simply knowing about a problem may not give you that instant solution you crave but it definitely eliminates about a thousand other possibilities. Now tell me John, what do you think someone who lacks control should do to solve his or her problem?"
Hesitantly, John responded, “Exercise some control.”
“Simple isn’t it? Achieving it may not be so easy but the basic strategy is.”
After allowing the idea to simmer in John’s brain for a few moments, she began to wrap the session up.
“It looks like we are all out of time today but I would like you to try something until we meet again. Do you think you could do that for me?”
“Maybe.”
“Try to exert some control over you mind this next week. Your criticizing is well-established in your psyche, so you may only be able to control it for a limited amount of time. Try to focus on the good elements of the world around you. It may not always be easy and you may not always feel like you are making progress but practicing self control is a major step in the right direction. I will be looking forward to seeing your progress in a week and unveiling the origin behind this acute desire to criticize those around you.”
She ended the session by rising from her chair, prompting John to reciprocate the action.
“Although I can’t say I enjoyed our meeting, I can say that I support your decision to change and I am hoping I can help you throughout this delicate process. If you would like to meet again, Eunice will schedule you out front.”
As John exited the room, he heard a voice call from within the office. It came from the therapist but he would have never recognized the pleasant, tender notes ringing through the voice. Something had changed.
“Remember John. Try to think positive. Starting now.”
Positive thinking. So simple yet so hard. He almost felt like an idiot for not coming up with it himself. It can’t be that simple though. These thoughts floated through his mind as his feet carried him to the front desk. Eunice smiled at John, revealing the daggers she carried in her mouth. NO! She...needed some dental work but her dazzling mother of pearl smile drew the eye from these imperfections. Ha! Victory for Team Wei! John calmed himself, continuing his strain of positive thoughts. Her hair rested upon her head like a whimsical periwinkle cloud, almost forecasting a pleasant cleansing rain. She seemed...Nice. As she asked John what date would be most suitable for the next appointment, he imagined her as a matronly, caring figure, protecting both patient and therapist from the bogeymen of disorganization and inner turmoil. Her eyes contained the key to serenity, which she gladly shared with anyone she encountered. Grin permeating his face, John gladly replied that the 24th would be divine. She returned the smile as she enthusiastically typed at her keyboard, hunting and hoping for an opening. Joy raced across her face as her search proved fruitful. She assured John that they would be eagerly awaiting him on the 24th at four, if that worked for him of course. It did and he wished the immaculate guardian of scheduling well and turned towards the door. Laden with his new found outlook he continued his day. A foreign calm washed him of the painful criticisms and failings of the past. His scathing words had abandoned him, retiring from his consciousness hopefully to the beach side of a beautiful tropical island. Down the sidewalk, a group of young teens graced John with their presence.
Eager to practice positive thoughts, he listened to the teens’ discussion as he passed. He focused upon the adamantly passionate clean cut boy in the front. It seemed as if he had a whole lot to say.
“We should kill them all! Those dirty A-rabs do it to each other every day! We would be doing them a favor by putting all of those turban wearing, hummus devouring savages out of their misery. It would be a mercy killing! I mean, they deny Jesus as their personal savior and murder his followers! We’d be doing God’s work by eradicating all of them,” this spewed forth from the gapping cavity of the “clean cut” gangly abomination in the lead. Saliva pooled at the side of his mouth, collecting his hateful spit for later diatribes. The other brainless cretins nodded in approval after hearing the filth. Scowling at John with soulless black eyes, he dared John to reply, to counter his simple-minded beliefs. The whelp wanted death and he wanted it to be prompt. He wanted his mind to be ripped asunder from reality and shredded to bits. It’d be his last soul crushing and it would be one to remember. This boy would pray for quarter but would receive none. His destruction would be like all the others who had been and were to come. John was going to enjoy this.
Movement began around the edges of her fat peeling lips. A gap formed and then began to emit a horrid sound.
“What has brought you to my office today...” The bellowing stopped as the woman glanced down at her clipboard. “Mr. Wei?”
Grunting out his name with the pipes of the baritone in a Demon barbershop quartet, the woman barely made John's name recognizable.
He paused momentarily, glancing down at his boots to collect his thoughts. Fighting the urge to rupture her unfathomably tiny mind with his mere words took all of the concentration he could muster. He laboriously lifted his head, allowing the harsh light from outside the room to reflect off his hairless scalp. Sighing, he locked eyes with the spectacled Gorgon and began.
“Before I tell you anything, I need certain…assurances that everything said here will be kept in complete confidentiality. I’m aware of the standard patient/client confidentiality clause, but I’m going to have to require something more than that...What’s your greatest fear? Any major phobia you have....something that I can…relate to as I discuss mine.”
Silence hung in the air as the dumpy therapist scrambled for a faux phobia to feed John. The semi-sinister emphasis on the end of his request was lost upon the woman, who focused instead upon the lie she was going present to him. She glanced upwards momentarily while concocting her fabricated phobia, an action that was all too apparent to John.
"Alright John, if it will help you. Since my childhood, I've always found spiders to be absolutely terrifying. When I was five, a spider had nested itself above my bed one night. I awoke the next morning to find hundreds of its spawn creeping all over me. It was a very traumatizing experience."
"Liar,” he calmly responded, “Either you tell me truthfully or I drag it out of you…the hard way."
Her tiny eyes stared beyond John, piercing his skull with intensity. A look of confusion and agitation formed on her face. This was always John's favorite part; refusal to comply. He took a deep, satisfied breath and began.
"Fine then. Judging from your varied, competing attempts to hide yourself behind your outfit you feel about as beautiful as a hippo with the bubonic plague. Blood from the armpits and all that jazz. I'd also venture a guess that you're anuptaphobic or, in layman's terms, afraid of being single...FOR-EV-AH.” Every syllable was emphasized to create a stronger image for the woman.
“I'd continue if it wasn't counter-productive. I need you on you’re A-Game here Miss Shrink a Dink, so I can only go so far. Even if I continued, I doubt I could make your life any worse. But I digress. As of late I've fallen into the costumed vigilante gig. I have to fight for justice against the forces of evil and all that boring crap. The only reason I even get involved is because I have nothing better to do…and I have a divine gift. I've been "blessed" with the ability to manipulate the faults, failings and fears of every man, woman and child. I haven't been able to read animals or aliens but I almost grasped the fear of a Welch Corgi the other day, so I'd say I'm making progress. When I do the whole vigilante shtick, I normally operate under the alias Captain Cutdown but I've been known to use Baron Von Burn and the Analyst but the reaction of more than one sophomoric jackass has forced me to drop the latter. Anyway, I'm here today because I want to stop."
Leaning back in the excruciatingly awkward chair, a chair which screamed art student's nightmare, John locked eyes with the repugnant woman. The careless application of her eye shadow became apparent as she moronically blinked at him.
"Stop?....I'm sorry Mr. Wei but you're going to have to specify what it is you want to stop." The feeble woman said with an air of superiority which John didn't buy into.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I was under the impression that I was dealing with a trained professional who could focus on my problems for more than three seconds. What was I thinking?" Increasing the anger behind his voice he repeated, "I want to stop all of the criticizing, the analyzing, and the constant demeaning of everyone around me! As soon as I entered the room, I began quantifying how much you disgust me and Hell, I almost like you. At first, I only used it upon my enemies as a way to demoralize them but it quickly spread to anyone who annoyed me. Even then it was tolerable but now it has been invading my social life. I need to stop…"
Although he meant what he had said he couldn't help but notice the wavy hair emerging from the mole above the woman’s bulbous lips.
Frustration, boiling over in his body, exploded like an M-80 in a watermelon. John had also fallen victim to his own harsh and poignant critiques, further compounding his problem.
Having taken solace in John's inability to turn his judgmental nature off, the visually offensive woman nodded her head and responded to John's rant.
"You mentioned your ‘divine gift’ crossing over into your social life. Tell me about that. When did you last lash out at a friend? What does that sound like?"
"Where should I start? Tony. I go with Tony because he has got to be the worst. He doesn’t take any adult responsibility and hasn’t for as long as I’ve known him. Today before I left he ate one of my hardboiled eggs. I caught him right in the middle of it! The audacity! I told him that he clung to his adolescence as a way of compensating for the fact that his father tried to force him to grow up. And that Fred Rogers was dead. I’ve been holding onto that one for the right moment and it did some effective damage. I was on a roll, pointing out one thing after the next for about fifteen minutes. I think I really came through to him. People need to take responsibilities for their actions and it is about time he learned that. And the best part was when he curled up in a ball right before I left.”
John began to laugh uncontrollably at this point, slapping his knee as he continued.
“And he kept on rolling around on the floor, like some stupid animal that didn’t know how to properly play dead. Then, and this is the best part, he just began violently sobbing into his hands and…
The joy in John’s voice trailed off after, he was struck by the effect of his actions upon Tony. He sat silently in his chair, crippled with the realization that he was becoming a monster and that he seemed to like it.
A smirk slunk across the therapist's face as John realized his folly. Once again, the bulbous lips parted but that which emerged caught John off guard.
"And your flaw, Mr.Wei, would have to be your lack of restraint."
The woman seemed to gleam as she said this. She was right of course. That vile monstrosity lounging before him was absolutely correct. For a moment, her appearance changed. She did not disgust him and she no longer caused him to force the bile back down his throat. She almost had a unique beauty to her at that moment but it all regressed as quickly as it had arrived.
"What if that is my problem? So what? Knowing it does very little to help me."
"I would have to disagree.”
She paused for a moment as she thought of a way to connect with John.
“As a child, did you ever watch the G.I. Joe cartoon series? Each episode would finish with the corny public service announcement. They tried to advise kids to the dangers in the world around them. Each one would end with the mantra "Knowing is half the battle." The therapist had briefly adjusted her voice transforming its preexisting huskiness into an even manlier level, which drew a slight chuckle from John.
She continued, "The writers may have been campy but they made a valid point. Simply knowing about a problem may not give you that instant solution you crave but it definitely eliminates about a thousand other possibilities. Now tell me John, what do you think someone who lacks control should do to solve his or her problem?"
Hesitantly, John responded, “Exercise some control.”
“Simple isn’t it? Achieving it may not be so easy but the basic strategy is.”
After allowing the idea to simmer in John’s brain for a few moments, she began to wrap the session up.
“It looks like we are all out of time today but I would like you to try something until we meet again. Do you think you could do that for me?”
“Maybe.”
“Try to exert some control over you mind this next week. Your criticizing is well-established in your psyche, so you may only be able to control it for a limited amount of time. Try to focus on the good elements of the world around you. It may not always be easy and you may not always feel like you are making progress but practicing self control is a major step in the right direction. I will be looking forward to seeing your progress in a week and unveiling the origin behind this acute desire to criticize those around you.”
She ended the session by rising from her chair, prompting John to reciprocate the action.
“Although I can’t say I enjoyed our meeting, I can say that I support your decision to change and I am hoping I can help you throughout this delicate process. If you would like to meet again, Eunice will schedule you out front.”
As John exited the room, he heard a voice call from within the office. It came from the therapist but he would have never recognized the pleasant, tender notes ringing through the voice. Something had changed.
“Remember John. Try to think positive. Starting now.”
Positive thinking. So simple yet so hard. He almost felt like an idiot for not coming up with it himself. It can’t be that simple though. These thoughts floated through his mind as his feet carried him to the front desk. Eunice smiled at John, revealing the daggers she carried in her mouth. NO! She...needed some dental work but her dazzling mother of pearl smile drew the eye from these imperfections. Ha! Victory for Team Wei! John calmed himself, continuing his strain of positive thoughts. Her hair rested upon her head like a whimsical periwinkle cloud, almost forecasting a pleasant cleansing rain. She seemed...Nice. As she asked John what date would be most suitable for the next appointment, he imagined her as a matronly, caring figure, protecting both patient and therapist from the bogeymen of disorganization and inner turmoil. Her eyes contained the key to serenity, which she gladly shared with anyone she encountered. Grin permeating his face, John gladly replied that the 24th would be divine. She returned the smile as she enthusiastically typed at her keyboard, hunting and hoping for an opening. Joy raced across her face as her search proved fruitful. She assured John that they would be eagerly awaiting him on the 24th at four, if that worked for him of course. It did and he wished the immaculate guardian of scheduling well and turned towards the door. Laden with his new found outlook he continued his day. A foreign calm washed him of the painful criticisms and failings of the past. His scathing words had abandoned him, retiring from his consciousness hopefully to the beach side of a beautiful tropical island. Down the sidewalk, a group of young teens graced John with their presence.
Eager to practice positive thoughts, he listened to the teens’ discussion as he passed. He focused upon the adamantly passionate clean cut boy in the front. It seemed as if he had a whole lot to say.
“We should kill them all! Those dirty A-rabs do it to each other every day! We would be doing them a favor by putting all of those turban wearing, hummus devouring savages out of their misery. It would be a mercy killing! I mean, they deny Jesus as their personal savior and murder his followers! We’d be doing God’s work by eradicating all of them,” this spewed forth from the gapping cavity of the “clean cut” gangly abomination in the lead. Saliva pooled at the side of his mouth, collecting his hateful spit for later diatribes. The other brainless cretins nodded in approval after hearing the filth. Scowling at John with soulless black eyes, he dared John to reply, to counter his simple-minded beliefs. The whelp wanted death and he wanted it to be prompt. He wanted his mind to be ripped asunder from reality and shredded to bits. It’d be his last soul crushing and it would be one to remember. This boy would pray for quarter but would receive none. His destruction would be like all the others who had been and were to come. John was going to enjoy this.