My Father's a Homo

Jason's Therapy

Mendel motioned to me to begin talking. I sighed, looking down, before looking up at him and beginning.

"Mr. Mendel, I get apoplexy thinking of my father. Y'see, I resemble him in far too many ways: his sad demeanour, the way he acts. At least his room's cleaner than mine. Is it... fatal? Do you see real similarities between us? He and Whizzer live like... well, I think it's clear." And then I began to ramble, my words running into one another. "So... what do I do? What do I say? How do I ask? What do I hope for? Is it my mind? And love isn't free in any capacity. If love isn't blind, then what do I see?"

"Whoa, stop!" yelled Mendel, jumping up. "Look around you! No one's screaming at you! So you feel alright for about ten minutes, if you feel alright for twenty minutes, feel alright for forty minutes - just drop the frown and smile! Feel alright for the rest of your life!"

I stood, looking at him, confused. "Is this therapy?" I asked. It was a genuine question.

He started coming over every Friday, at the same time. Mom and Whizzer got over whatever petty feud they had. That didn't stop Whizzer making jokes every time Mendel came over, however.

At quarter to five on the fifth week, I caught him humming a tune.

"What're you singing, Whizzer?" I asked him, genuinely curious.

"Just a little tune I made up," he replied, smirking. He began to sing it once again. "The psychiatrist returning, returning five sessions later."

We both had quite a laugh over that, stupid as it was.

Just before five, Mendel came over. Mom, Whizzer, Mendel and I sat down at the table together, waiting for Marvin to come and sit with us.

"What delightful delicacy did you whip up for us today, Trina?" enquired Mendel, giving Mom the doe-eyes. Whizzer and I made eye contact across the table, then looked away, muffling snickers. Mom gave us a disapproving glare before answering.

"It's a gourmet version of chicken marengo," she replied with a sweet smile.

Then, of course, in walked Marvin.

"Why is he always here?" he asked. He was met with silence as we all mentally rolled our eyes. Because of you, douchebag.

He sat down, and we ate, the only conversation between Mom and Mendel. As we finally lay down our forks, Mendel started to speak.

"Try to forget all things homely and snide. Nothing's as good as what you recall, so count what's good, then divide it. If you count, then you can figure out the world, you can add and subtract at will, cover up the past, even kill the pain very easily."

"Does this count as therapy?" I asked.

Mom nodded, smiling. Marvin grunted. Whizzer shrugged. Mendel replied, "Right, this is therapy."

I turned to Mom, Whizzer and Marvin. "Then scram!"

Mom and Whizzer laughed, and Marvin rolled his eyes, but they did indeed scram. Great, now I can put my "plan" into action.

I jumped up, sitting on the table, and patted the spot beside me. Mendel sat down there.

"Mr. Mendel," I began. "As regarding your intentions to my mother-" he began to stand up, but I grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "-Are they everything a woman would desire? Her hand is ready, all it needs is a ring. I could buy confetti... or sing? I'm embarrassed. Obviously, it's not my responsibility to ask you. But I wonder if it's... ever crossed your mind?"

He looked at the floor for a moment, before anxiously beginning to ramble.

"But what do I say? Where do I look? Why do I laugh? How do I even begin to answer?"

I decided that the best course of action would be to throw his own advice back at him. What do you expect, I'm ten, dude.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! Stop! Look around you, Mendel! A lot of nice furniture! Someone's bringing you dinner, brought you your lunch, washing your laundry! Washing your socks! Jesus Christ! Feel alright for the rest of your life!"

I had jumped down from the table at this point, and pulled him down too. We began to dance around and shout.

"Feel! All! Right!"

After a few minutes, we sat down, breathless and laughing. Mendel looked at me, a genuine smile on his face rather than his "psychiatrist grimace".

"Thank you, Jason," he smiled. "Thank you."

745 words