"THE INTERVIEW", inspired by The Jetsons, written by Wee Mad Arthur.I wonder if he knows what he saw.The psych cleared her throat and shot an accusing glance at George. They'd spent the last twenty minutes going over the previous night's events, and George had done his best to do all the talking. Out of the psych's sight, his hand was grasping Elroy's firmly, squeezing it hard whenever the kid had begun the sentences George feared the most. So far it had worked. But he could sense her growing frustration."Mr. Jetson, please let Elroy tell me what happened, in his own words."Just stick to what I told you.Elroy coughed and looked pleadingly up at his father, but George was staring straight ahead, his face emotionless. "Well, miss," Elroy began, "as dad was saying, I got home from school at about, uhm, at about 2 in the afternoon."Squeeze. And then you heard a noise."At first, I thought no one else was home. Dad is usually there when I get home, but not yesterday. So I, ehm, I went to the kitchen to make a sandwich. You see, dad had forgotten to pack my lunch that day. He usually makes me a few sandwiches, and he knows I d..." "Elroy, please just tell me what happened yesterday." The boy flinched, remembering what his father had threatened him with if he messed up this part. "Yes, uh-hh-h... Well, I went into the kitchen to make a sandwich. That's when I heard them." "Them?", the psych said, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, miss. Dad and the other man. They were in the bedroom, but the door was closed. I could hear their breathing, though. It sounded like they were working hard or something. Dad kept saying 'Harder! Harder!' so I thought maybe they were fixing the walk-in closet like mom had asked dad to all those times."Squeeze. And that's exactly what we were doing.Elroy winced from the sharp pain. The psych shifted her glance from the boy to his father. "Mr. Jetson," she sneered, "I think I'd like you to leave the room while Elroy finishes his story. Your presence seems to make him uneasy." She motioned him towards the door.Squeeze."Eehhh, I'd like him to stay, miss! Please!" Elroy shifted his head to look at his father, but George was still staring straight ahead. Elroy could feel his hand getting numb. He clenched his teeth and stared at the floor, like the accused waiting for the jury's verdict. The psych sighed. "Very well, Elroy. Continue your story."Fixing the closet. That's all it was.Elroy swallowed and coughed again. "So, I... I wanted to go help them. I've worked with stuff like that in wood shop class, and I... So I opened the door, and... Uhm..."Squeeze."And dad and the man were on the, err, they were on the b-" Elroy let out a yelp. Tears were streaming down his face. He could no longer feel his fingers, just the pain. The constant, unbearable pain. "They were on the floor. Oh, god... What were you doing, dad?" He couldn't take it anymore. He tore his hand away from George's crushing grasp, got out of the chair and started weeping silently. Rubbing the crushed hand did little to ease the pain, but at least blood was flowing through it again. George shifted his glance to the psych. They stared at one another for what seemed like minutes, each of them silently hating the other. George sighed deeply.Bitch."I hope you're happy now," he jeered, "Now that you have something juicy to report to my wife. Hah! My wife..." He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. "Not only did she take the house in the divorce, now she gets the children too? Fuckin' lawyers! And you shrinks! Bah, what do you know?" He stood up and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Elroy was still standing in the middle of the room, sobbing uncontrollably. The psych silently shook her head. "Well, Elroy," she said, "I think it'll be a while before you see your dad again. I'll call your mom and have her pick you up."
TOTAL WRECK - crazy-eyed hound is covered in cobwebs, has a vespiary on back, graffiti on side and savage thirst for boat fuel. Frankly, I'm in over my head. He's in room 115 at Motel 6, yours free. 555-2851
Yes, it's the perfect form for surviving a car crash. But it's also the perfect form for so much more, like surviving the trauma of reading any news headline in 2016.
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