“I caught Raymond checking me out real serious last night,” Basil said.
“How did that make you feel?”
“Damn good. It means I’m getting to him. It won’t be long now,” Basil said confidently. On their second outing at the gym, they had spent about a half hour going in and out of the steam room before slipping nude into the whirlpool, barely sharing a word. Every time Basil asked Raymond if everything was all right, he said yes. When Basil asked him if he was having a good time, Raymond said, “I am.” The doctor listened intently to these details, nodding from time to time.
“When I took off my jock—the black nylon number I wear when I want attention, you remember that one, right—Raymond’s eyes were glued to my every move, like he was in some type of trance. Yeah, all I have to do now is reel him in,” Basil said.
“And what are you going to do when you get him?” the doctor asked.
“I’m going to sex him down so hard he’ll forget about what’s-his-name in Seattle.”
“So you think that will help you solve some of your issues?”
“I don’t have any issues, Doc. I just come here because I get to say what the fuck I want and don’t have to worry about what you think. I can thank Raymond for that.”
“What do you mean?”
“How many times do I have to tell you that Raymond was the one who suggested I go to therapy? And this is cool. I get to say whatever is on my mind.”
“We haven’t talked about your father and uncle recently.”
“Don’t need to,” Basil said firmly.
“Are you ever going to tell your father what happened?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because he didn’t do it. It wasn’t his fault.”
“I think you’re avoiding something that has caused you great pain.”
“But that’s over. The past is the past. And my mofo uncle now knows I know. Just the thought of me bustin’ him has him scared as shit.”
“But you’ve never confronted your uncle. How does he know you remember what he did so clearly, and have you thought any more about writing him a letter?”
“I don’t need to confront him or write him some stupid-ass letter. The last time I saw him, when his ass was almost dying in the hospital, I looked at him like I could just as soon kill him as look at him. Trust me, he knew what my eyes were saying. He didn’t use a lot of words when he did what he did, and I don’t need words either,” Basil said passionately.
“When was the last time you talked to your father?”
“A couple of days ago. I call him at least once a week, at least I try to. But we never talk that long,” Basil said. There was a quiet sadness in his voice. It was deep, but softer than usual.
“How does that make you feel?”
“What?”
“The length of your conversations. Would you like them to be longer?”
“No need. I find out whassup … tell him what’s going on with me and bam, we’re through. I tell him I love him and he tells me he loves me and we say, talk to you later.”
“And do you love your father?”
“What kinda fool-ass question is that? Of course, I love my pops. He’s all I got.”
“And you’re certain he has no idea what happened?”
“No, and I’m going to leave it that way. And you know what, Doc? Today you don’t have to tell me time is up, ’cause I’m out of here. I got shit to do,” Basil said as he leaped from the chair and headed for the door in a move reminiscent of his football playing days.
The doctor didn’t even have a chance to nod before Basil was gone.