I didn't like this expectation that I had to talk to this guy. He was getting paid for this, he didn't really care. One fucked up kid was just like the next. All these case studies. Aughh, this sucked. I was gonna tell Joey I didn't want to come here anymore, that I was really fine.
"Let's talk about your father," he said. Always back to that. And always I didn't want to. What did he want me to say?
I sighed, fidgeted in the seat, looked out the window.
"It must be a little confusing having two fathers," he said. Two fathers. Joey and Albert. Well, they were different, I had to give them that. Joey was funny. That always kind of surprised me. Like when he got that stupid fedora hat from the closet when I was going to the 80's dance. He's all like, 'this is hip and cool,' That stupid hat. But it was funny. And his goofy smile made me feel good. My dad didn't have a goofy smile and he never joked, not really. He did say mean sarcastic things from time to time, and it was funny in a way. It was funny like comedians tearing down some politician or making fun of has been celebrities. It was funny but it was mean. Joey didn't have that meanness.
"Well, they're different," I said. This mild mannered little therapist guy with his sleepy eyes. But I knew how their brains ticked away and added up everything you said. I wondered what he had me diagnosed with.
"Different how?" he said. I sighed again. 50 goddamn minutes. I might as well say something.
"Well, Joey's funnier and my dad's all serious all the time,"
"What's something you like about your father?" he said. He was wearing this sweater vest over a white dress shirt, a more casual look. I swallowed hard. Thought about it. Something I liked about my father?
"I don't know. Things are predictable, I guess. Like, I mean, the house is always clean and supper is at the same time and, as far as schedules go, there aren't many surprises," This was something I preferred, maybe because I was used to it. I couldn't believe the mess Angie could make, all her toys and coloring books and crayons everywhere, like her room exploded over the living room. And dishes would pile up and Joey would leave them there sometimes, then do them for hours on Saturday or Sunday morning. And supper was always this guessing game, a last minute pizza or we'd go to some Chinese place or something. It wasn't bad, I wasn't saying that. It was even cool, sometimes. It just wasn't what I was used to.
But then there was the reverse of that, the predictable thing. Joey was predictable in that he never got all that upset. He'd yell, sometimes, but I'd get the feeling that he was yelling because he was "parenting" and not that he really meant it. Like with Angie and her mess, he'd yell at her to clean it up but then he'd turn away from her and I'd see the smile and the shake of his head. He wasn't really angry, he just wanted her to clean it up. But with my dad, he was unpredictable in that I never really knew what would piss him off. One thing would piss him off one day but not the next, and when he did get angry it was real anger. It was rage. It was this uncontrollable thing and it was frightening. When he was beating me I knew, I knew he was so far out of control that he couldn't stop.
"How about Joey?" he said. I was sort of jerked out of my thoughts.
"What about Joey?" I said.
"What's something you like about him?"
"I like that he doesn't get angry," I said it fast. I didn't want to go there. These therapists, man. They were tricky. I hated being tricked.
"Joey doesn't get angry but your dad does?" he said, the classic playing dumb question. Now he was making me angry.
"Yeah, of course. I don't live with my dad anymore because he gets so angry and he, he just gets out of control. So yeah, of course he gets angry," I thought that was a given.