special visit, but something had held him back. “Anytime you feel the need for an extra visit, Jeff,” the doctor had told him, “any evening, any weekend, whenever there’s any emergency, just call me and I’ll do my best to make extra time.” Now as the train began to slow down at the end of the trip, he considered it again, but once more there was something repugnant in the idea. “I’m no baby you’ve got to clean up after.” He could still feel the way he had yanked the napkin away from his mother at the table. Rushing to Dr. Dudley for help on a Sunday afternoon would make him feel the same way.
But he couldn’t get out of that train and meekly take the first bus back to school either. Just before New Haven it began to rain, and by the time he was walking away from the station, the sky was nearly black. He felt just like that, a blackness flowing through him. He wished he had his bike and could ride the ten miles through the drubbing rain all the way to school. He needed action or he would explode. He felt choked on the blackness, as if it were not only in his veins but in his throat, clogged and sticky. A dog ran by him and he thought of the choke collar and that poor bastard hanging from that tree.
He reached his bus corner, saw a bus approaching, but suddenly he turned away from it, almost spun around and started to walk rapidly back toward the center of the city. He couldn’t face school, not yet. He had to go somewhere, see a movie maybe, anything to climb back up to where things felt ordinary again. Not happy, not cheerful and great, just ordinary and free of this rage and misery.
Tomorrow on his regular visit, Dr. Dudley would probably tell him that all this was valuable material. He was always talking about new material, useful material, as if he, Jeff, were being measured off like yards of cloth from a bolt of goods. The whole analysis so far was like that, a measuring, a ticking off, a prying and digging, and all of it a confessional to the priest seated behind your head. A priest that every once in a while showed you scientific models of male genitalia and female genitalia and talked up the wonders of nature’s intention and the instinctive joy and satisfaction waiting ahead for you.
God, those plastic models.
The sleety rain increased further; wet needles pricked at his face and he looked about him for shelter. Ahead of him was a sign blinking feebly in the light. Grymin’s Café—he hadn’t realized he had walked far enough to have reached it. Gremlin’s, the fellows called it, and it was more of an eatery than a café or bar. He might get something to eat, though he was in training. But one of the guys from school might be in there, ready to talk his ear off.
He was really spooked up, thinking there’d be somebody from school. He was spooked up all the time now, about a hundred things, and once the blackness hit him, it was a million things. He flung himself at the door.
There was nobody he knew. The place was empty except for a cop sitting on the first stool at the counter, just inside the entrance, and down at the far end a guy in chinos and a black sweater, thick with cable stitches. He took a stool about halfway between them, ordered a hamburger and a bottle of beer. He’ll ask for proof I’m eighteen, he thought, and said, “Make it a Coke instead.” At this, the cop looked over at him lazily, noticing him for the first time, and Jeff flushed. He was getting to be so uptight he was doing everything wrong. The cop wouldn’t have given him a glance if he had let the beer order stand; he was forever worrying too much, as if he expected to be found out for God knows what.
The hamburger came and he stared down at it; he wasn’t hungry after all. He drank the Coke slowly, and sat there.
“Anything wrong with it?” the man behind the counter asked, eying the hamburger.
“Any rush about my eating it?”
“You looking for a fight or something?”
Jeff shook his head and
But he couldn’t get out of that train and meekly take the first bus back to school either. Just before New Haven it began to rain, and by the time he was walking away from the station, the sky was nearly black. He felt just like that, a blackness flowing through him. He wished he had his bike and could ride the ten miles through the drubbing rain all the way to school. He needed action or he would explode. He felt choked on the blackness, as if it were not only in his veins but in his throat, clogged and sticky. A dog ran by him and he thought of the choke collar and that poor bastard hanging from that tree.
He reached his bus corner, saw a bus approaching, but suddenly he turned away from it, almost spun around and started to walk rapidly back toward the center of the city. He couldn’t face school, not yet. He had to go somewhere, see a movie maybe, anything to climb back up to where things felt ordinary again. Not happy, not cheerful and great, just ordinary and free of this rage and misery.
Tomorrow on his regular visit, Dr. Dudley would probably tell him that all this was valuable material. He was always talking about new material, useful material, as if he, Jeff, were being measured off like yards of cloth from a bolt of goods. The whole analysis so far was like that, a measuring, a ticking off, a prying and digging, and all of it a confessional to the priest seated behind your head. A priest that every once in a while showed you scientific models of male genitalia and female genitalia and talked up the wonders of nature’s intention and the instinctive joy and satisfaction waiting ahead for you.
God, those plastic models.
The sleety rain increased further; wet needles pricked at his face and he looked about him for shelter. Ahead of him was a sign blinking feebly in the light. Grymin’s Café—he hadn’t realized he had walked far enough to have reached it. Gremlin’s, the fellows called it, and it was more of an eatery than a café or bar. He might get something to eat, though he was in training. But one of the guys from school might be in there, ready to talk his ear off.
He was really spooked up, thinking there’d be somebody from school. He was spooked up all the time now, about a hundred things, and once the blackness hit him, it was a million things. He flung himself at the door.
There was nobody he knew. The place was empty except for a cop sitting on the first stool at the counter, just inside the entrance, and down at the far end a guy in chinos and a black sweater, thick with cable stitches. He took a stool about halfway between them, ordered a hamburger and a bottle of beer. He’ll ask for proof I’m eighteen, he thought, and said, “Make it a Coke instead.” At this, the cop looked over at him lazily, noticing him for the first time, and Jeff flushed. He was getting to be so uptight he was doing everything wrong. The cop wouldn’t have given him a glance if he had let the beer order stand; he was forever worrying too much, as if he expected to be found out for God knows what.
The hamburger came and he stared down at it; he wasn’t hungry after all. He drank the Coke slowly, and sat there.
“Anything wrong with it?” the man behind the counter asked, eying the hamburger.
“Any rush about my eating it?”
“You looking for a fight or something?”
Jeff shook his head and
Similar Books
