Page 33 - WTP Vol. V #4

jump, but drop and give him twenty. It got clearer with every wail to the point that it made Dieter wish for a binky, a teddy bear, or at least, the abil- ity to time leap and not drop the last of his meds down the drain, even though he realistically knew it would take a few doses to get him anywhere near right again.
“Calm down, Dieter, we are just trying to get to the root of your prenatal jealousy and possibly some issues pertaining to your auditory hallucinations. Besides, you know what Freud would say.”
It was Emily texting him: “D your mother called. I don’t know what to tell her. Please come home. I need you.”
“Too fucking much!” he had shouted, scrambling out of the circle and into the nearest adult-look- ing chair.
The blue light from the screen matched her tear for tear. He sat and forced himself to listen to
the screams. They were now coming from Em- ily’s box. They were proliferated with senseless gurgling and the occasional coo. Dieter tried to remember some form of a lullaby, but all he could recollect was some vague tune about cradles
Doctor Lee had jotted something down on a legal pad and leaned forward in his chair. “Dieter, what is the earliest childhood memory you can re-call?”
and lazy felines. He could barely remember the words, and it seemed to only further agitate them to the point of hacking coughs. He slammed his head against the steering wheel and cried, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m....sorry!” The screaming paused, while his ears started to ring.
“A box of Crayola knock-offs my mom gave me,” Dieter replied.
“I didn’t think God granted those types of wish- es!” It started to scream again.
“Do you remember wanting them, or were they just given to you?” Doctor Lee asked, rummaging through one of his desk drawers.
“To think it only took twenty minutes for your umbilical cord to kill you.” Somewhere Doctor Lee was laughing and smoking a very long cigar. “Di- eter, were you breastfed as child?” he had asked at their last session, offering him one—the man always made it a point to offer Dieter a cigar at the beginning of every session, but Dieter would always decline due to his allergy to assholes.
Doctor Lee pulled out a pack crayons and walked around his desk. “Take this home, and see if you can draw out the scenario. Try to make note of your feelings.”
“What type of question is that?” Dieter shouted between the pillow formations of the safety circle.
He went home that night and lowered each crayon into the jaws of a very temperamental garbage disposal. Dieter made sure to remember his feel- ings when it came time to shove the box in.
“Don’t get defensive, Dieter. It’s just a theory of mine.”
~
“Well, considering her boobs had a price tag I highly doubt it, doc.”
Dieter pulled over to the first observation spot and unbuckled Emily’s box. He took it out onto the pier. The relentless hum of the insects and gurgling swamp elevator music only heightened
Dieter sifted through his old memory cartridg- es, while staring down at his barbed-wire wrist tattoo.
“Did you want them?” “What?”
“What does it matter?” Dieter growled.
“Thanks, Doc. Will we be finger painting next week?” Dieter snapped.
(continued on next page)
24