[SESSION NUMBER 3]

"The old ways are most often the best ways." She muttered.

Gone this time was the boombox and classical music. Instead, Dr. Bliss set on the table ink blot cards and a list of students from PS 118. Painfully cliché as it was, word association and Rorschach tests had their use when it came to plumbing one's mental depths.

The door to Dr. Bliss' office opened slowly and in stepped Curly, her latest patient. Much like last week's session, the boy appeared to behave himself and entered the office without any parental escort or half-baked yet vain attempt to escape. Instead he just accepted his fate before plopping on the couch, much like one making themselves at home.

"Mornin' Doc."

"Hello Curly. How did your week go."

Well let's see." Curly began with a phoned-in smile. "Take away my expulsion, the knowledge that my summer plans amount to tedious and grueling serfdom under my dad's laundromat, COUPLED WITH the gaggle of chowder heads I call my classmates breathlessly counting down the waning days of the school year…I guess it went well."

"Ok." Dr. Bliss replied with an inquisitive hum. "I'm curious as to how you get to see this 'gaggle of chowder heads you call your classmates breathlessly counting down the waning days of the school year' given your expulsion-"

"Oh, you bet I see them." The lad continued in an icily vindictive voice. "Briefly from the corner of my eye I steal a glance as they gallivant through Hillwood; to the arcade, to the pool, to the Jolly Ollie man on their way to get a Mr. Fudgy bar…Oh how it sickens me. The real salt to the wound though is the smiles. Yes, that satisfied smirk reserved for tourists in the zoo as they gander upon lions and tigers with bent down, sunken in eyes, resigned to their fate of pacing back and forth in their enclosure."

"I was going to say Curly…you seem to hold a great deal of animosity towards your classmates. And I wanted to take this session to begin unpacking why that might be." Dr. Bliss began. "So, in that spirit, I wanted to do a typical therapy exercise…with a twist."

"And what might that be?"

"A word association test, but rather than list some assortment of nouns, verbs, and adjectives, I read off the members of your class and you give me a word or brief assessment of your initial impression."

"Sounds good."

"Sheena Jefferson."

"Hopelessly idealistic and preachy…but not as much of a wet blanket as others I know"

"Lila Sawyer."

"Seems innocent but I think there's more going on upstairs than she shows… like a repressed dark side."

"Brainy Addams."

"Kooky, a little mysterious. Oddly resilient for a nerd though the way he gets his clock cleaned on the regular."

"Iggy Ashton."

"Total Dweeb."

"Marcy Kornblum."

"Who?"

"Joey Stevenson."

Curly paused for a minute and stared quizzically before it dawned on him.

"Oh yeah, him. What's up with that kid's tooth?"

Dr. Bliss looks at the list of Curly's classmates before zeroing in on one name in particular.

"Rhonda Lloyd."

"Eh. She's ok."

Like the talons of a hawk squeezing its prey, a sense of disbelief crushes every fiber of Dr. Bliss; her pen jerks sharply on the notepad, leaving a stark line in its wake. Had there been a record playing in the background, it would have violently scratched. Had she been taking a sip of water, she would have spit it out and coughed violently to catch her breath. To make sure her charge was paying attention, Dr. Bliss repeats the name of the student in question.

"Rhonda. Wellington. Lloyd."

Curly looked up at his therapist after a pall of silence that seemed to last an epoch. The expectation of what she wanted suddenly dawns on him and he acts accordingly.

"Oh!...uh…I mean…(clears throat)…Oh Rhonda, Rhonda, Rhonda!" Curly began dramatically with a trilling of each 'r'. "How that arousing combination of vowels and syllables composing your name drips with carnal heat as honey from the beehive. Pretty kitty that you are; make me thy ball of yarn. Nay, thy scratching post! Nay still…(he histrionically reclines on Dr. Bliss' couch)… liken my heart to a barrel of grapes to tromp and press with abandon whilst making the sweet, sweet wine of that which we call…(he inhales sharply)… love…is that better?"

"Um…" Dr. Bliss began with an uncomfortable chuckle before returning to her notes. "…As much as I want more than anything to say 'no'…your history with the Lloyd girl is…well documented to say the least. So do forgive my…disbelief…"

"Believe it sister." Curly replied with certainty. "I have no romantic inclinations toward Rhonda Wellington Lloyd."

"None?"

"Not an interested bone in my body."

"And yet, everything written here…wanting to smell her hair?"

"An act."

"Bribing her into a relationship when her mother's coat got stained with candy apple?"

"A farce."

"A passionate lip-lock in the cafeteria where you were witnessed to have demanded (and keep in mind that I quote verbatim here) 'give Daddy some sugar'?"

"A presentation no more reeking of true romance than two actors playing a role."

"Curly this is all some very serious stuff." Dr. Bliss said in a tone of exasperation, disappointment, and confusion. "I get that you're at a point in your life where strange new feelings about girls seem to boil about your psyche and-"

"And Rhonda inspires no such sensations."

"Then why am I looking at these behavioral reports?"

"Ah." Curly said. "It all goes back to dear old Dad."

(Flashback)

CURLY: [When we last left Lawrence Gammelthorpe, he continued to flail about in the doldrums like some hapless Ice Age era mammal that got itself stuck in a tar pit. His late father-in-law Thaddeus had left him a less-than-prosperous ice cream parlor; but rather than put on his big-boy pants and make something of the cards life dealt him, he instead clung stubbornly to that hope of being a laundromat operator. Alas, to scrap what he had and use the funds start the business his heart desired would be tantamount to selling the cow for some magic beans. But then, one morning, like the sun rising from the East came the man who would change everything…]

["Excuse me Mr. Gammelthorpe."]

["Mr. Gammelthorpe was my father. You can call me Lawrence."]

["Ah, yes. Lawrence. I'm Buckley Lloyd. I believe we spoke on the phone earlier this week about my little princess' special day."]

"Well, that was nice of Mr. Lloyd to have your services for Rhonda's birthday."

"Birthday? Who said anything about birthday?" Curly asked. "She passed a test or something and he decided to kill the fatted calf over it."

"That's quite a bit for a test."

"Yeah, The Lloyds had enough money to burn a wet mule on a rainy day…(Dr. Bliss stared agape in confusion)...you know, rich enough to make the impossible come true."

"'Enough money to burn a wet mule on a rainy day'...Fascinatingly vivid selection of words." She said while jotting down Curly's comments verbatim. "And just so I know where we are in the grand scheme of things, this is-"

"Almost before summer break at the end of Third Grade…" Curly mumbled to himself as he counted off his fingers. "…Almost a year after Grandpa died."

"Mhm. Continue."

(Flashback)

Curly: [As the two men talked shop, I watched Rhonda as she aimlessly flitted about our little shop. Looking back on the whole thing, I recall feeling a divide between her and I; something I couldn't put my finger on until years later. It was no secret that the Lloyds were well off than most other families in the city but by and large you're all equals, right? Money, haves-and-have-nots, blue collar, white-collar, socioeconomics…these are things as a kid that mean little if anything to you. Then comes the day when that illusion is violently dispelled…and with a bewildered yelp from dad as Mr. Lloyd pulled out his checkbook, that day came for me.]

["NO WAY?! THE ENTIRE STOCK!?"]

["I'm a man of my word Larry Boy." He replied. "And I'm feeling really a-glow here over my daughter's academic fortune..(he picks her up and spins her in the air)…besides, I got relatives out of state as well as the whole class that are going to be at the party. Yes, little Theodore too."

["It's Thaddeus…sir." Curly said back to him]

["Eh, six of one. So I got to have ice cream for everyone right? And to make it official…"]

Curly: [For Mr. Lloyd, it was simply another transaction. For the rest of us, it was an earthquake; with one slip of paper, not only was the plug finally and mercifully pulled on Sherb's Soda Pop Shoppe once and for all, but the die was cast when it came to dad seeing his stupid dream of opening a dry cleaners finally getting off the ground. For MONTHS afterword, he kept acting like a geek who suddenly thinks he's BFFs with the Quarterback because they serendipitously bumped into each other at life's water fountain. And of course, because his daughter and I happened to be in the same class together-"].

"A friendship was expected to be forged." Dr. Bliss finished sadly.

"Like some gender-switched schoolyard Jane Austen novel." He said. "But remember that chasm I felt between us when she first came into the ice cream shop? It wasn't until she got her glasses briefly that I felt it being bridged. But myopia isn't the strongest thing to build a friendship off, so I tried to call it a day…but no, no, no, he wouldn't hear the end of it. So I got this plan, see..."

"Oh. Dear. God." Dr. Bliss sighed as she wearily cupped her face.

(Flashback)

Curly: [Having Aunt Wanda's journals as an arsenal of awkward yet unabashed lust proved to work well with being the school wildcard. Surprisingly, it was easy to dispel dear old dad's delusions over a possible friendship between me and the daughter of the man who made his dreams come true...I just wish it didn't take as long as it did.]

["Give. Daddy. Some. Sugar."]

[Lawrence Gammelthorpe looks at the disciplinary letter in his hand then at his son standing emotionlessly before him.]

["Give...Daddy...Some...Sugar..."]

[Curly had seen dad angry on enough occasions to know how hard he had messed up; and as Lawrence continued to flail his arms about, grip at his hair and flick his tongue out of the corner of his mouth like a hungry lizard and squeeze the disciplinary note in his hand, even the most socially obtuse person on earth could tell that his son messed up and messed up hard. Yet this time, something about seeing the boy almost revel in his emotionlessness over the situation caused Lawrence to deflate into the couch. The anger was still there, but instead the Gammelthorpe patriarch stammered a bit before delivering his ultimatum in a tone of tranquil fury. An act he hoped would cut through his son's detached apathy.]

["Thad...this...I...you know what, no. No more. You are to go nowhere near Buckley's daughter...and I hear you so much as breathe near her the wrong way, your time in the attic is gonna look like a trip to the Bahamas! Are we clear?]

"Wow...but yet, a month or so later, she still went along with being your girlfriend after that-"

"Well, what was the alternative? Having to come clean and cop up to ruining her mom's coat?"

"Unfortunately, point taken." Dr. Bliss thought to herself. But before she could open her mouth, Curly continued.

"Still though." Curly continued earnestly. "You'd assume that dad getting what he wanted was enough to keep him happy. How many years of moping, and humph-ing and pouting about that stupid ice cream parlor? How many years of cursing the heavens in self-pity; as if God was just sitting by some kind of switchboard and putting Mother Teresa on hold because Lawrence Frickin' Gammelthorpe had another crappy day at work? Oh sure, the sun just shines out of Buckley Lloyd's butt, yet MY grand attempts to drum up some business for the place end in him damn near having a massive coronary."

"And that would be your brief foray into politics no doubt?" Dr. Bliss says as she rifles through Curly's file.

"Yes. The third grade class president elections of PS 118."