I sit staring at Mr. W. Scott. I can't believe he just stood up for me the way he did. No one has ever done that before. Well, his daughter did earlier so I guess that counts. I'm gonna love being a part of their family. Their so...righteous.
“Remove that look from your face” Mr. W. Scott says. I do. “Now.” I thought I did. “Do not believe for a moment that I was defending you from your father. I was not. I defended me and my facility. I will not have a man with an obvious drug addiction insult my good name.”
“My dad isn't on drugs” I say far more defensively than I intended.
“This is one of the problems with most of society. I say 'drugs' and you think marijuana, heroin, or cocaine. Recreational drugs.” He flips the clipboard over. “Cymbalta replaced Abilify which replaced Lexapro which replaced Paxil which began with Prozac.”
“All drugs, Mr. Thompson” he told me. “Others would say that you have inherited your addictions from your father and even his father. Genetic, they say. You have the alcoholism gene.” Mr. W. Scott looks up from his clipboard and at me. “But that is nonsense. They are excuses for you and thousands like you have as a way to not cope with the fact that you are weak.”
“Why is your daughter here?” I ask.
I don't even see him move. I'm just on my back staring at my feet and the ceiling. He leans over me with one knee on my chest and his clipboard over my face. I feel a punch. He punched me through the clipboard! He removes it, fixes his tie, rolls his sleeves down, and leaves the room.
After five minutes or so I am able to stand. How many times have I been assaulted in the last hour?
I gather myself and stumble to my room. Happy Hands is in his room eating some Fruit Roll Ups. How did he get these snacks? He sees me and motions for me to come in. I do and he motions for me to sit down. I plop down in a chair and rub my head.
“Who?” he asks.
“Who what?” I reply.
“Who hit you this time?”
“Mr. W. Scott.”
“Sounds about right” he says and unwraps another Fruit Roll Up. He tosses one to me and I do the same.
“I haven't had one of these since I was in school” I tell him. I tear into one, wrapper and all. “Damn it. This always happens.” I peel it apart properly and rip off a piece. “So I got a visit from my dad.” Happy Hands looks at me and smiles. “My stupid step-mom told him everything that I did to her.”
“With her” Happy Hands repeats. “By saying 'to her' you absolve her of any responsibility in the actions that took place. Look. I'm not going to discuss how I feel about what you did with your step-mother. That's none of my business.”
“You're growing up right before my eyes.”
“Thank you” he says before continuing. “But I do know that a lot of people here think that you're a fuck up...”
“...but for whatever reason will not accept that a lot of what you did involved others participating.” Happy Hands wrapped his Fruit Roll Up around his finger. “Take my wife for instance. She won't give me any so I jerk off.”
“Yes, in public” Happy Hands says. “What did you say to have teacher punch you?”
“I asked Mr. W. Scott why his daughter was here.” His eyes widen. “I know. It was stupid.”
“You ever hear of Epicureanism?” he asks me.
“Do I look like the kinda guy that would know what that means?” I ask. “It has something to do with skin, right?”
“You should look it up” he says.
“Or you could tell me.”
“What would be the fun in that?” Happy Hands says as he sucks the Fruit Roll Up from his finger.