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.”
“Shit.”
“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.”
“Excuse me?”
“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...”
“They do?”
“...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.”
“In public.”
“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.
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