I sat on the yellow couch.
Arnie sat in his yellow chair.
“I hear that you are no longer working with Wendy,” he said in a way that let me know he had heard much more.
I nodded.
“Things got a little too personal?” he asked, but nicely.
I nodded again, because it was the easiest thing to do.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Wendy is a young therapist. She’s still learning.”
“Is she okay?”
“Wendy?” he said, which was weird, because who else could I have possibly meant? “She’s fine. But it’s not your job to worry about her. Wendy’s not your responsibility. She was supposed to be helping you, not the other way around. She’s filled me in a little, regarding your treatment and progress, but maybe you’d like to tell me yourself.”
“Tell you what exactly?”
“Where you left off with Wendy. What sort of things you were working on. Your interactions with her, you could describe those. How your grief counseling was progressing.”
“Do you want to hear my life goal?” I said.
“Excuse me?”
“My life goal. Wendy said it was important to have those. Do you want to know what mine is?”
“Sure,” Arnie said, bridging his hands over his knee.
“I want to have a drink at a pub with a woman my age—a woman who could one day be my wife. I believe that at the age of thirty-nine, I am ready to go on my first date—or I want to believe that, anyway. It’s been a hard thing to believe in the past—especially when my mom was around. Do you think that this life goal is obtainable for me, even though I have never before gone on a date, nor am I well practiced at consuming alcohol recreationally with women?”
“Absolutely,” Arnie said without the slightest hesitation. “It is a good, obtainable, age-appropriate, healthy, and extremely all-around positive life goal, which I encourage you to complete. How can I help you achieve this?”
I was excited to know that Arnie would help me woo The Girlbrarian—so much that I was just about to tell him all about my secret crush when the door burst open.
“What the fuck, hey?” Max said as he entered the room.
“Welcome back to the word fortress, Max,” Arnie said. “I’m so glad to see you here.”
Max pointed at me and said, “I’ve come to rescue you. We need to get the fuck out of here right fucking now!”
“What?” I said. Max looked agitated and determined. I had never been rescued before, and I have to admit—even though I didn’t yet understand what exactly I was being rescued from—that Max’s ardent concern was flattering.
“Now, Max,” Arnie said. “We talked about what happened. You don’t have to participate in the study if you don’t—”
Max grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet. “Fucking trust me. Arnie is a liar. He’s not even fucking human! He wants to lock us away in a room, take us far fucking far away, and film us. We need to get the fuck out of here. Right fucking now!”
“Allow me to explain, Bartholomew,” Arnie said. “Max is perhaps being a bit unreasonable here.”
“Fuck you, Arnie! Fuck your word fortress. Fuck the color yellow. I won’t be your fucking lab rat. Pretending to care about us. You should be a-fucking-shamed of yourself. If you even fucking feel emotions! I trusted you! Told you everything! Even about Alice! Fuck all of this!”
Max grabbed my wrist, pulled hard, and I stumbled after him.
“Bartholomew, you aren’t even going to entertain my side of the story? Max is obviously agitated, and maybe he isn’t the best person to trust at this point.”
“Fuck you, Arnie! Fuck you!” Max pulled me out of the yellow room, down the steps, through the alley, and onto Walnut Street.
Arnie hurried after us, saying, “This is unfair. Don’t I even get a chance to explain? Bartholomew, I can help you. You don’t even know what happened yet. I can help you achieve your life goal.”
Max just kept saying, “Fuck you, Arnie. Fuck you, Arnie. Fuck you, Arnie,” over and over again, like it was a magical chant that could protect us while we escaped.
“Bartholomew,” Arnie said. He grabbed my shoulder, spun me around, and looked into my eyes. “Don’t you think you owe it to me to just listen? Don’t you owe it to yourself?”
“He’s a fucking liar!” Max yelled, grabbed my arm, and pulled me down Walnut Street. “Can’t fucking trust him! No fucking way!”
Since he was The Girlbrarian’s brother, and I had already had such a terrible time with Wendy and therapy in general, I decided to go with Max, thinking I could talk to Arnie later if need be, and that Max was much more likely to help me accomplish my life goal of having a beer with his sister, because they were kin.
“Sorry,” I said to Arnie.
“Well, then. You know where to find me, Bartholomew. When you come to your senses,” Arnie said, and then he finally stopped following us. “You need help. Help that Max can’t possibly provide.”
“Fuck you, Arnie!” Max yelled back over his shoulder.
I wondered how Arnie knew what I needed, when we had met only once before and had hardly even talked. Mostly we listened to Max talk. Arnie didn’t really know me at all.
I had a funny thought—since Mom died, besides you, Richard Gere, no one really knows me. No one on the entire planet. Even Father McNamee doesn’t know as much about me as you do. And there really isn’t anyone else.