Hate Is A Strong Word

"Honestly, Mr. B. It's eight thirty in the morning. They're gonna automatically put me in anger-management, 'cause it's way too early for me to play nice." I grumbled as I got into his car this morning.

"Oh come on. I know you wake up hours earlier on a normal school day." he said.

"Yeah, but come on. You're the one who INSISTED on watching a Star Wars marathon last night, claiming 'oh, you don't have to wake up early tomorrow' and 'oh, this is the best series ever!'" I remarked.

"Hey, I just said to watch the first two and that we could watch the next two EVENTUALLY. Who's idea was it to finish both trilogies?" he looked at me knowingly.

"Well, I'm just not the type of person who quits once the game just starts." I smiled and faced out the windshield. "Can we just get this over with?"

"You know, the sooner you get outta there, the sooner you have to go back to school." he informed me.

I stared at him wide-eyed for a second. "Shit, I'll be making up ailments for myself in that case!" I laughed. He started the car and pulled out of the drive-way.

I blasted The Offspring as we sped to the behavioral health clinic. Mr. B parked in a spot right in front of the door. Great, a get-away vehicle in the perfect position if I need to run out of here. Then again, maybe this isn't such a bad idea. I guess for Mr. B's sake, I should cooperate. Or maybe for my own, I shouldn't. God, I hate this.

"Good morning, Mr..." a blonde receptionist said from over the counter. Hello, beautiful!

"Oh, this is an appointment for a Deryk Silva." Mr. B introduced me, stressing my name as if it were a code word. I looked around, waiting for the men with straighjackets to attack me and begin probing my mind. So far, it seemed safe enough.

"Ok, we'll be seeing him any minute now. Please take a seat." She directed us to the waiting room that we clearly saw walking in. I plopped into a chair and Mr. B sat next to me.

"Alright, so this is how it's gonna work." he started next to me. "They're going to ask you a series of questions. All you've gotta do is answer them honestly. Don't hold back anything; just tell them what they need to know. Remember how I told you about my son, Chris?"

"Yeah." I replied. My soon-to-be brother?

"Well, we went through the same thing when I first got him. It's a process all kids from abusive households have to go through when they become children of the system." Something about that phrase made me uneasy. I nodded anyways, though. I'm always honest, afterall. That's what makes me such a jerk.

"Deryk Silva." came a deep voice from another door. A man in a three piece suit stood with a clip board. I don't know if it was an omen or just too much Star Wars last night, but Darth Vader's theme song started playing through my mind as I heard it.

"Right here." I said, standing up. Into the white-walled room I went.

******

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*******

I came out with a little white slip. I passed it to Debbie, the blonde receptionist.

"Alright, honey. Let me put this perscription in the computer and we'll give you you're first month's supply, ok?" she said. Ok, I realize that I had a fucked up childhood, but that doesn't mean I'm retarded. This lady's condescending tone just made me want to flip out on her. Then again, that would mean going right back into the interrogation room to find out what else is messed up in my mind, so I guess I'll pass on that feeling.

She returned in a second with a bottle and handed it to Mr. B, who had joined me while she was gone. "So what's the diagnosis?" he asked me.

"Depression. How qualified is this guy, again?" I asked. Debbie laughed.

"Oh come on, Sweetie. You might be funny, but you can't hide what's inside."

"Isn't that what they tell gay people to get them out of the closet?" I asked. Ok, this Debbie bitch was starting to get on my nerves. I liked it better when she just smiled and told me to sit down.

"You're such a little smart-ass." she smiled motherly towards me. I couldn't help but glare at her. This guy's a quack. Depressed people are suicidal, not homocidal!

I stood there while Mr. B signed the required papers and was never more relieved than when we finally left. "I wanna see a different specialist. One with a receptionist who treats me like a sixteen-year-old, preferably." I stated as I buckled my seat belt.

"I dunno. When I think about the side of you that I saw last week, depression does seem to suit you better than anything else I can think of." he replied thoughtfully.

"Whatever. Please tell me you were joking about going to school today, right?" I asked, realizing that the clock read eleven seventeen.

"Yeah. I took the whole day off. Wait, how much school have you missed?"

"What does it matter? I got that homework request. You can just pick it up after school or something." I replied. My entire body felt drained and I just felt like going to sleep now.

"That's true. Man, kid. At this rate, you might as well just finish off the semester at home!"

"Psh, I'd go insane! All day with just you? Please." I joked. He ruffled my hair again and turned on the radio.

"NO! Not mainstream crap!" I cried, covering my ears childishly.

"Come on. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger!" he replied, pulling my arm away from my head.

"This is no time to speak in cliches, my friend. It's a time to listen to worthy music. And to drive through Del Taco!" I said, pointing him to turn right.

"Whatever you say, bud."