“Shrunk”

by Pepper Ckua

“I suppose Dobey’s gonna make you see the psych guy.”

“It’s mandatory. You know that. And it’ll probably be Steinberg again. That also seems mandatory, at least for me. “

“That’s because the rumor is that all the other docs, after more than two sessions with you, end up having to make their own shrink appointments. Steinberg’s the only one you don’t terrify. The Commissioner probably figures when it comes to defusing a possibly messed up cop, sending you to Steinberg’s gonna end up being cheaper; the shrinks you flip out are going to be doing less double-dipping into the psychology budget later.”

“‘Flip out?. Steinberg would frown at that phrase, which isn’t necessarily bad seeing how I...”

“No. At least it would get him talking, which beats him trying to get you talking, right? Stop smiling like that. You really think Steinberg gonna be that bad?”

“Nah, not really. He’s just screwed up, probably even more screwed up than me. I get the feeling I’m helping him get his head together much more than he’s doing mine.”

“See, then not only are you fulfilling a bureaucratic requirement, but you’re providing a service.”

“Using my personal trauma as an opportunity for some departmental added value thing?”

“I don’t know about term ‘added value’, but I think we’re talking about the same thing.”

“Yeah. We are.”

“So… do you ever tell Steinberg anything real?”

“What do you mean? Like how a guy’s car is a blatant extension of his id? Or when you…”

“You know what I mean. And your damn car has nothing to…”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I’d smack you on the shoulder right now, but I draw a line at hitting a crippled guy. Christ, you’re as bad as Steinberg with all these diversions and questions.”

“It’s just that I recognize that you’re role-playing. You’re playing the shrink, asking all the questions, hoping to get some possible fodder. At the same time, you’re also the traumatized cop, avoiding the answers with questions of your own. And babe, if I didn’t know better, I’d…”

“You’d what?”

“Nothing.”

“Stop trying to distract me. Answer my question. Do you ever tell him anything real?”

“About what? About my messed up childhood and my father issues? About how it feels to escape Tom-Tom and Kayo Cooney’s clutches, this time with one less broken bone than the last time I was in a guest in a dismal back room with two deceptively inept bad guys, a couple of canners who want to break me in two?”

He lightly knocked his arm cast with his bottle.

“And then to put the cherry on the top, doc, how all this affects my personal relationships and do I feel like I could be a danger to myself or anyone else? And, most importantly, can I still do my job, or do I need to be farmed out to a desk before I…?”

“Yeah, about that stuff.”

“Are you nuts?”

“That sounds like a question for Dr. Steinberg.”

“Shut up. You know what I mean.”

“Of course I know what you mean, dummy. You don’t think that shrinks have heard it a hundred times before? They’ve certainly gotten that soft shoe dance from me.”

“I’m assuming this ‘it’ never has nothing to with 6/8 time and a good sense of rhythm?”

“Bingo.”

“That this ‘it’ is the after effects of a baseball bat, a poor sense of timing and a snitch who decided he’d rather take his chances with someone else.”

He shrugged

“But you know that, already. And it leaves me with the challenge of figuring out what I need to say to get the hell out of that office with no more than the three mandatory forty-five minute sessions, homework aside.”

“You get homework, too? I thought I was the only guy he didn’t trust to pay attention in class.”

“You think you’re the only one who doesn’t have to write some shit down and show it to him later?”

“Last time, I nearly showed the shrink my real list, rather than my decoy one.” He shuddered. “Don’t laugh. That was close.”

He held up his empty bottle.

“Get you another one?”

“Sure. There are two more on the bottom shelf behind the mayo. Or maybe I’ll get it. I gotta use the can, anyway.”

Neither of them got up off the couch.

“Sometimes I think that all I need is here, right in this apartment, in the car, with you. That simply being able to take everything and shrink it right down to ‘me and thee’ will make it all okay.”

“You really believe that? That ‘me and thee’ is all we need?”

“Is this a rhetorical question or do you really want to know?”

“I really want to know. We’ve said it often enough over the years. ’Everything boils down to us. We’re the only people we can trust’.”

“For most things, yeah. For the important things, absolutely.”

“But not all things?”

“Why are you asking me this?”

“I dunno. I guess I could give you a bunch of reasons, and most of them would be true. But you know what? I don’t think it’s the worst thing for a guy to have a little extra back up. Everyone should have a few people around, people he can eke out a little shit to in order to keep sane. Or, at least, sane enough. “

“Eke shit?”

“Knock it off. You want pretty words and psychobabble, talk to one of Steinberg’s fellow shrinks.”

“So you don’t really want to be my everything? My feelings are hurt.”

“Knock it off, Andy Gibb. I’m just saying it can’t hurt to talk to someone if you think it would help. I hope you don’t feel like it would be like some kind of cheating on me, or that it’s an insult, you know…”

“So you want me to spill my guts to Steinberg?”

“Fuck, no. Stop looking at me like that. I know I wouldn’t, especially if I thought it might get me fired.”

“Are you talking about throwing bones to the shrinks to keep them off my trail? ‘Cause I think I’m already doing that. I feel like a professional bone-thrower.”

“Bones. Little bits of truth. Breadcrumbs to find your way home. Whatever works, whatever you want to call it.”

“Fuck.”

“Fuck is right. Dammit, I just want you to know that if something’s really killing you, that talking to someone, Steinberg, Huggy, that dippy chick at Tracer’s who seems to always say the right thing, that you’d do that, right?”

“What is this? Some after school special?”

“Shut up. This is me, your partner, the guy who loves you more than anything, wanting to make sure you’re gonna be okay. I want to know that you will do what you need to be safe. That’s part of ‘me and thee’.”

“You’re such an idiot.”

“You know I only take it from you.”

“Me calling you an idiot or other stuff?”

“Bingo again. Do you want me to go pick up something to eat? Chester’s has some noodle thing that I hear has been known to make grown men weep? It’s got meatballs the size of your fist.”

“Sounds good. I could use a good cry.”

“Babe?”

“We’ll talk. Maybe tonight…I think…Don’t look at me like that. I promise.”

“That bad?”

“Those guys were assholes. They made me wonder which I ‘d have rather had, stoic professionalism or unbridled enthusiasm, you know.”

“I know.”

“You do know. And that makes it worse. It makes it worse before it makes it better.”

“I know. We’ll talk.”

“I said we would, didn’t I?"

“And don’t keep Steinberg completely out of the loop. Okay?”

“Not completely. I’ll give him just enough to put him through his paces, just enough rope to hang himself.”

“Stop…”

“Sorry.”

“You know the guy’s just counting the days ‘til retirement.”

“I know. I also know he’s got a good chance of making it, whereas...”

“Shut up.”

“I promise, we’ll talk.”

“I’m counting on it.”

The end.