LITR 3731 Creative Writing 2006

Karen Heidrich

Applied Therapy

(excerpt from Section I - Stakeout at the Lizard Tail Lounge)

"It doesn't prove he's . . . you know."  Her throat constricted and she couldn't get the words out.

"Cheating.  You're right, but it proves he's a liar."  Jilli had her hand on the ignition.  "I'll take you home." 

“No.  I don't think I can take another night of not knowing."  She lowered the opera glasses.  "Can you turn the air conditioner back on?  I’m burning up.”

“You wore a turtleneck.” 

“You said to dress discreetly.” 

“That was a joke, Carlyle.”

She felt queasy.  "It wasn't funny." 

"It would be if it wasn't eighty-five degrees outside," Jilli said, rolling down her window.

The sign on the roof, a neon reptile with its tail pointed up between its legs, seemed to sway.  "If there's a special outfit for tailing your spouse, I didn't get the summer catalogue.”

“There’s an outfit for everything.”  Jilli said.

(excerpt from Section II - Five Stages of Grief)

“Normal is relative," the therapist said.

"Okay, how about healthy?"  Carlyle twisted the strap of her purse around her hand, hating every session.  They drew out the anger she worked so hard to get past.

"Do you know what the five stages of grief are?”  He bent forward, hiding the legal pad under his ample stomach and dangling his turquoise laden wrist over his knees. 

"School counselor, senior year.  My father died from a heart attack when I was seventeen.  You’re not the first doctor I’ve seen.”

“I’m not a doctor, sugar.  I’m a marriage counselor.”

“Maybe I should see a psychiatrist, if you think I need grief counseling, because I don’t see the connection between my father’s death and this divorce.”  And if he calls me sugar one more time he'll need a doctor, the kind that sutures stuff.

Section Three - Bargain

 Knowing the rumble of her ex-husband's truck, Carlyle Witherspoon looked up as Billy Wayne parked on the street in front of her aunt’s house.  "Un-freaking-believable," she muttered.  With her fists jammed on the leather tool belt like a gunslinger in a western movie, she marched out of the garage shadows. 

Billy Wayne stepped out and slapped his hand against his thigh, signaling his mangy-looking dog to jump out of the back of the truck.  Billy Wayne snapped the end of a coiled lead to the dog’s collar and they strutted into the yard.  “I brought you a present, sweetheart.” 

"Don't call me sweetheart."  She took comfort in the loaded pockets of her tool belt and the hammer hanging down the side.  Billy Wayne had never been violent, not during high school or their eight-year marriage. 

"You can't still be mad." 

"Oh, I'm not mad.  I'm cautious."  Her words had no affect on him, judging by his lazy grin. 

"I guess you have a right to feel that way."

It had taken a long time but his cocky charm had finally lost its old power.  "I haven't seen you in almost two years and I've only been here a few days.  You can't blame me for being suspicious." 

The dimpled passenger door of his truck popped open and a slim leg slithered out. 

Jeez, is there no end to the drama stumbling out of that truck?  "I see you brought the whole family along."  She gestured toward a blond, leaning out of the open door. 

Billy Wayne stopped the woman's progress with a look and turned his attention back to Carlyle.  “I thought, since you moved out to the sticks, you might like some company.” 

"You've got to be kidding," she said, looking from him to his latest girlfriend.

Billy Wayne gave Butch enough of the nylon lead to investigate the flowerbeds that edged the porch along the front of the cottage-style house.  “I thought you’d have a big yard out here and I need to leave Butch someplace for awhile."

“Not here.” 

"I tried to leave him with my folks--”

"Great idea."

"But they refused."  He reigned in the curious chow.  "Butch can sleep in the garage.”

"It's full of boxes," she said, gesturing toward the garage.  She threw her arm back so hard it could've slipped out of socket but she was trying to make a point. 

”Come on, sweetheart.  He won't be in the way."

"First of all, he’s already in the way because I had to stop when you drove up.  Second, when my vacation is over, I can’t stow him in my purse and take him to work with me.  And third, you know Butch and I hate each other.  You wasted your time driving down here.” 

Butch growled as a man walked away from the bank of mailboxes at the start of the cul-de-sac.  A beat up straw cowboy hat shadowed most of his face.  Wearing jeans and boots, he could've been cast in the same mold as Billy Wayne.

Butch followed the man with his beady-eyed gaze, growling quietly.  As the man made his way up the drive next door, he waved in her direction. 

"You know him?" Billy Wayne asked.

"Not yet."  She had no intention of explaining to her ex-husband that she wasn't interested in her neighbor.  Taking her therapist's advice, she'd given up men to practice self-love.  Or was it self-exploration?  Self-something. 

"So, aren't you going to invite me in to meet your aunt?"

"If you mean charm my aunt, you're out of luck.  She's in Greece.  I'm just watching the house," she said and sauntered up the porch steps.

"See, you can use Butch for protection.”

She faced him from the top step, surprised the dolt was actually trying to bargain with her.  “I don't need protecting."  Distracted by the cowboy next door, Carlyle missed Billy Wayne's girlfriend walk up.  She stood behind him with a bag of dog food.  There was a time when facing one of his girlfriends would’ve made Carlyle's chest ache, but she was surprisingly apathetic.  My therapist would be proud. 

Billy Wayne crooked a finger at the girl and she flung a half-empty bag of dog food at him.

The obvious disdain in her stare was enough to rival the dog’s temperament.  Whether she took attitude lessons from Butch or it was her own finely cultivated style, Carlyle hoped it was enough to keep Billy Wayne in line.  The girl sported a sizeable bump above the top of her low-rise jeans. 

He tossed the dog food on the porch.  “He likes the crunchy stuff.”

“Stop trying to give me things I don’t want.”  She kicked the bag back at him and it landed on his lizard skin boots. 

"He was your dog, too." 

"I divorced him."  Intimidation was not part of the bargaining process.  He would've known that if he hadn't refused to go to therapy. 

Butch continued to inspect the flowerbeds, sending a bee in her direction.  She swatted the insect away with more drama than was necessary in lieu of what she wanted to do to Billy Wayne.  At least she couldn’t be arrested for assaulting a bee.

He reached into his back pocket.  “I also brought these worm pills.  I don’t know if they’re any good.”

“Jeez, he has worms?”

 “I don't know.  He eats dirt.”

“He also licks his own butt.  Did you bring toilet paper?”

“Look, Carlyle, I really need you to do this.  She’s scared of the dog,” he said with a flick of his head in the other woman's direction.

'The dingo ate my baby,' flashed through her mind.  “Seriously, you’re being very mature about your situation.” 

“It's about time, right?"  He offered the leash to her. 

She smiled, wanting to be happy for him, but the situation made it difficult.  Taking the dog would send the wrong message.  Nine months later he might leave a basket on the porch with a note saying the girl's scared of the baby.

He shrugged, tied the leash to the porch, and thumped Butch on the chest with a manly show of affection.  “See ya,” he whispered and walked away. 

"You can't leave him here.”  Seeing her words didn't slow him down, she clawed at the knot in the leash.  Butch pulled it tighter, trying to follow Billy Wayne.  "You're not helping," she yelled at the dog.

Billy Wayne pushed his girlfriend into the truck and called out, “I’ll come back for him when I can.”  

Carlyle collapsed against the porch rail as he pulled away.  Novelty lights glowed from the belly of his truck.  A mature man did not drive a vehicle decorated like a float in a Thanksgiving Day parade. 

###

(scene 2, enter the cowboy from next door)

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