Episode 19: Exodus
Dr. Martinez raised an eyebrow. "Billy, what's wrong? You seem agitated." I’m standing in this guy’s office. Tribal masks on one wall shamanic and witchcraft-doctor paraphernalia on the other. He’s a nut case. Yet they call me crazy.
DARK RECESSES
Billy
6/19/20263 min read
Episode 19: Exodus
I’m tired of this place. I’ve been here for months. A prisoner locked up for being poor and unfortunate. I’ve tried being on my best behavior hoping that Dr. Martinez would see what a good boy I am and let me out. I’m done with bullshit. I’m meeting Dr. Martinez in a short while for another therapy session. Fuck him.
I walk into Dr. Martinez's office.
Dr. Martinez says, "Good morning, Billy. How are you today?"
"Good morning doctor."
Dr. Martinez raised an eyebrow.
"Billy, what's wrong? You seem agitated."
I’m standing in this guy’s office. Tribal masks on one wall shamanic and witchcraft-doctor paraphernalia on the other. He’s a nut case. Yet they call me crazy.
"I'm done with this place. Done with your therapy. Done with all the bullshit. I want out."
For a moment Dr. Martinez said nothing.
Then he smiled.
"Billy, this is the first time I've seen you angry at me."
I stared at him.
"You beat up poor Logan. Now you're fighting with your doctor. You’re usually so compliant, a model patient."
"So what?"
"So maybe you're finally waking up."
I frowned.
"What?"
"You've spent months trying to be a good boy."
The words hit harder than I expected.
"You sit where you're told. Say what you're supposed to say. Do what everyone expects."
Dr. Martinez leaned back in his chair.
"I've been waiting for you to show some backbone."
"You're not a prisoner, Billy. You're a patient."
Dr. Martinez continued.
"You've spent your whole life hiding."
"From responsibility."
"From the demons."
“From yourself.”
"The sewer was a hiding place." Blah, blah, blah.
He shrugged.
"At some point you have to decide whether you're going to grow up and take some responsibility."
Silence filled the room.
In my head I’m thinking, “What an asshole.”
Then Dr. Martinez opened a desk drawer with a grinding noise, folders shuffling, and a clinking of bottles. I think he’s going to pull out a bottle of vodka but no he pulls out a folder and says, “I prepared your discharge papers three weeks ago."
I said, "You did what?"
"I've been waiting until I was sure you were ready."
He taps the folder and slid the papers across the desk.
"You turned 18 last week."
"Congratulations."
"You're an adult now and you’re free."
Then he handed me an envelope.
"Fifty dollars."
"And a bus voucher."
I opened it.
"St. Louis, Missouri?"
Dr. Martinez shrugged.
"The state doesn't want to see you again."
"St. Louis is as far as they're willing to pay to make that happen."
I laughed.
For once, the state and I agreed on something.
Neither of us wanted to see the other again.
I walked out carrying everything I owned in a duffel bag. Three tee shirts, two pairs of pants, fifty dollars, a bus voucher, a pack of cigarettes, and a bag of meds. The best day of my life. I practically floated out of the hospital. The sun was bright, the air sweet, birds chirping. Now I was free. No worries, no doctors, no more bullshit. Just endless freedom. The future stretched out before me like the open highway. I couldn’t stop smiling. I knew exactly where I was going. Hollywood. Head west young man. West to the land of opportunity.
Demons? I don’t see or feel them. I suppose they are laughing at me, or maybe they are excited like sharks when there’s blood in the water. I don’t care. I’m laughing at them. I suppose they can haunt the hospital if they wish. I no longer need their company. Adios bastards.
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