March of the False-heteros (Falsettos)

V. Jason Really Doesn't Want to See a Psychiatrist

(Video is from @ lonelysprout on YouTube)

V.

Jason

I am unprepared for the ambush I receive when my father brings me back to my mother's house on Sunday evening. I walk into the house I've always been familiar with. This is the one that reminds me of home- not the one that my father and Whizzer own. As I walk up the path, I am painfully aware of my father, who is right on my heels. I find that interesting indeed. Usually he would have just dropped me off and just watched and waited till I got inside before driving away. But this time, he follows me inside, so I know something is up, I'm just not exactly sure what. I'll find out eventually, that's for sure.

"Jason?" My mother asks, putting a hand on my shoulder. Here it comes. "I worry about you, I really do."

Worry? About me? Well that's a first. I shrug my shoulders, setting my bag down on the rug of the living room and sit down on the arm-rest of the couch.

"Darling," my mother shakes me only slightly to get my attention and I oblige, turning toward her. "Please, I think you should see a psychiatrist."

I am silent for a long time, letting that sink into my brain. She thinks I'm crazy. She thinks I'm crazy like her and she thinks I'm crazy like my father. A psychiatrist?! Is she nuts? I immediately slouch, waiting for the perfect moment to interject and tell her, 'no'.

"I'm not saying you're sick in the head, Jason," she says quickly and assuringly. "Playing chess by yourself isn't normal though, darling." She speaks softly as though I will go off at any second. I feel like shrinking away from her and I want to shut both her and my father out.

"What's normal?!" I snap at her. God, she's annoying.

"I wouldn't know," she whispers. "Can you not make a friend with someone? Anyone? Just talk on the phone with someone!"

I roll my eyes because I've never heard a more stupid idea in my life.

"But I can only imagine what you must be going through right now," she tells me. "You need to talk to someone. And if not your father or me, perhaps Mr. Mendel?" I shut my eyes and rub them fast. "Jason, will you go?" I peek at her.

"No!" I exclaim, pulling away from her almost in disgust. I turn to my father, in hope that he'll see what a bad idea this is. I don't need a fucking shrink. I can deal with this by myself just like I've felt with everything else by myself. Shrinks are for crazy people who can't deal with things by themselves. I'm strong enough to do that by myself, and surely he can see it? Surely he knows I'm not as weak as my mother and I'm certainly not as weak as him?

But my father is biting his lip and not looking at me, which is always a bad sign. Of course I wouldn't be able to get his support on this. I never do. That's what parents do. They make decisions and gang up on you, making it seem like you actually have a choice when you actually, in fact, don't. This is always how they've operated. They always make sure they have the full support of the other before popping something like this on me. It's their decision- not mine. Never mine.

"Jason, please see a psychiatrist?" My father asks, pinching the bridge of his nose again. "He's just a psychiatrist."

Just a psychiatrist. What does that mean? He's only being paid to judge me and say "and how does that make you feel?" about everything. Psychiatrists are just actors, trying to make other people feel better while trying to get through their own shit. I'm sure he'll be a great help. Just like he's helped you and mom. Yeah, I'm sure he'll be a great guy.

"No," I repeat, turning away from them. "I won't go."

"Listen, Jason. We're only trying to help. I'll pay the bill till you're old, I promise," my father tells me, quickly. I can see he's itching to get out of here.

"Well, it's not my fault that you failed as parents!" I stomp my foot, feeling like a little kid. And I deserve to feel like one because that's what they're treating me like. I'm not giving up on this without a fight. The more I dwell on it, the more I realize that there is one person's thoughts who I have not considered.

"He's very smart," My mother gives a final try at convincing me to see a psychiatrist. But since I've come this far, I'm not going to give up my freedom that quickly.

"If intelligence was the only criterion then I wouldn't really need a psychiatrist, would I?" I ask, slightly more angry. Why can't they just leave me alone to play chess by myself?

"You're seeing a psychiatrist, Jason," my father narrows his eyes at me, his face mirroring how I feel inside.

"I don't need a psychiatrist!" I tell him, with a tone of finality. Why won't either of them listen to me? I knew that they weren't going to listen to me, so I decide to turn to my last option- my only hope was the one who had wrecked my life in the first part. "I wanna speak with Whizzer." Immediately, all my parents' anger dissapear, and is immediately replaced with confusion.

"With... Whizzer?" My mother asks, tilting her head only slightly. "Jason, why do you want to speak wi-"

"With Whizzer," I confirm. "Please." I look at my father with pleading eyes and he rubs his face, tired, but he nods, catering to me.

"Oh my God," he sighs. He turns around and opens the door to my mom's house. I can see Whizzer in the car, the window rolled down. He's leaned against the car door with his sunglasses down, and I can see him bobbing his head slightly to whatever music is playing on the radio. "Whizzer!" My father shouts out the door toward him. Whizzer looks over at my father in the doorway, removing his sunglasses and waits for him to speak. "Get your ass in here, please!"

Does Whizzer know about this betrayal my family has put on me? Is he a part of the scam to get me to see a psychiatrist? The car door slams and he makes his way to the door, almost skipping down the sidewalk and jumping up the steps. I sit down on the couch and beckon him over so he's standing right in front of me. My father stands behind him and my mother stands by me, holding my shoulder, gently.

"Whizzer?" I ask him in all seriousness. He kneels down so he's at my height. That something that I've always appreciated. The thing I've always liked- Whizzer doesn't speak down to me. "Do you think I should go see a psychiatrist?" I ask, taking careful caution to consider his choice in the matter. His face crinkles up as he laughs and I blink as he finishes. His mouth opens as though he's about to say something, and I can tell he's thinking hard and on the spot. He's at a loss for words and I'm ready to take that as a 'no' until he finally speaks.

"I'm... Uh, not sure, Jason," he finally says, nodding at me. I don't know if it's my imagination, but I swear I hear a smack and I see Whizzer wince in pain. "Maybe you should, Jason," he corrects himself. My mother lets out a weird sort of retching noise behind me, but I ignore her, looking straight at Whizzer. "Absolutely, Jason. I think that's a good idea," he finally decides. Whizzer doesn't give me the answer I want, but I suppose, that since he's the most mentally sane out of all of us, I should take his advice. I am silent for a minute and I give myself a second to ponder this and add my own rules so I'll at least have some say in my life. I'll only agree on conditions.

"Okay," I nod, standing up. "I'll go." A look of relief crosses my father and mother's faces. It hates me to see them pleasured. If it weren't for Whizzer... "But I'll only listen to him if he comes here," I tell them my final request, not willing to change my mind. It's either my way, or there's no way I'm going to see a psychiatrist.

"You want him to come here?" My mother asks, confusion clear in her voice. "He might come to our house?" I don't know why but she sounds almost... Excited at the thought.

"They don't make house calls," my father rolls his eyes.

Oh well. They'll have to figure something out.

(I'm continuing the trend of posting early in honor of home-coming haha)