319 Winesap Lane - 10. Chapter 10 - Erik's Visit With Dr. Finklemann

Erik’s POV

On Friday Geoff took me to the mental health clinic in downtown Warnton. The receptionist gave him a clipboard with a paper on it and we went over to the waiting area and sat down. He entered my name and social security number at the top, plus the date. Then he started asking me questions. I tried real hard to answer them, but some of them just didn’t apply. I wanted to go back to the Campbell’s and lay down on Jerry’s bed hoping he might be there to be with me, but I had to stay here and go through this thing.

After quite a while, a door opened and a man who looked older than Geoff came out and said, “Erik Robertson? Please come in.”

I stood up and looked at Geoff who simply smiled. He handed me the clipboard and held out his fist. I bumped it and went over to the old man. I said, “I’m Erik.”

“Happy to meet you, I am Dr. Finklemann,” he said as he held out his hand.

I shook it; remembering not to give him a dead fish grip. Mr. Arnold was always getting onto me when I shook someone’s hand with the dead fish grip. He said I was being girlie when I tried to shake a man’s hand like that. He was very much against boys acting girlie.

“Come inside and let’s get to work. If you don’t mind, I’ll take the clipboard.”

He let me precede him into his office, but I didn’t know where to sit because there were so many chairs, plus a couch like thing against the near wall.

“Sit wherever you feel comfortable,” he said.

There were two easy chairs over by the windows so I sat down in one of them. I wasn’t too surprised when he sat down in the other one. I turned to my left and saw Lake Ontario in the distance. It was such a calming sight I wanted Geoff to take me down to the shore so I could splash my hands in the water. I wondered if we could go down there next summer and maybe swim in the lake.

“Admiring the view?” Dr. Finklemann asked.

“Yeah; do you know if there is a swimming beach down there?

“Yes, there are a few. Your appointment was made because you had an adverse reaction to your new foster parent; please describe your situation with adult men,” he said.

“Well, everything has sort of changed,” I said. I thought of Geoff sitting out in the reception room waiting for me. In the past week, we had really gotten to know each other. Of course, he was gay, but I could tell he wasn’t interested in me sexually. I truly believe he wanted me to be his adopted son.

He took me to the optometrist office and got my eyes examined. I wasn’t too surprised that the optometrist advised I needed glasses, but what really got to me was when the optometrist said I needed to see an ophthalmologist because there seemed to be some damage to my retinas that she said needed to be looked at by someone who would know what they were seeing. Geoff asked her if it was something to be concerned with, as in should I be seen soon or could we wait a while. She said she was going to send in a referral to an eye clinic down near the hospital in Newark and they would contact us to setup an appointment. For some reason, I couldn’t put a finger on, I was genuinely worried something was seriously wrong with my eyes.

“Yes, change does tend to affect teenagers a lot; one day you’re infatuated with the girl in algebra and the next day you could care less if she ever existed. But, we are here to discuss your problem with adult men. Tell me, what kind of men do you have a problem with? Do you still have a problem with your foster father?”

“No, he’s very nice to me,” I said. Of course, he was nice to me, he wanted to be my adoptive father. You couldn’t get much closer than that.

“Very well, do you feel threatened by me?”

“No, you’re not the least bit threatening,” I said. He was too grandfatherly to be threatening.

“Do you have a problem with black men?”

“No.” I had very little experience with blacks, but I’d never had a problem with those that I met. If anything, they seemed not the least interested in me.

“Hispanics?”

“No.” I thought of the Mexican-American restaurant Mr. Arnold and Phyllis took me and their children to. There were waiters and a few waitresses who must have been Mexican immigrants, but I never felt threatened by them. Though there was the barber shop where Mr. Arnold always took me where there was a Latino barber and on a number of occasions I ended up having him cut my hair. On each of those occasions he would rub up against my arm and I could feel his erection, but for some reason I never felt threatened by what he was doing. I guess maybe my gayness was showing itself.

“White men?”

“Some.”

“Ah, some white men cause you trouble. What kind of white men do you have trouble with?”

“When I went to Warnton High School on Monday they put me in band even though I told them I didn’t want to be there. Mr. Alexander, the teacher, came up behind me and put his hand on my ass. Not in a sports friendly way, but he groped me. It felt like he was trying to feel my asshole. He was in my ass crack. I turned quickly and hit him in the solar plexus, which caused him to double over and drop to his knees; and, then he fell on his face. I was expelled and arrested for assaulting a teacher.”

“Oh, dear, that’s dreadful. Has this happened before?”

“Mr. Arnold—he’s the man who married my ex-uncle’s wife who was responsible for me—told the preacher at his church that I was gay and in front of the whole congregation the preacher pulled my pants and underwear down and while Mr. Arnold held me, the preacher whipped me with his belt until blood was running down my legs. I had to go to the emergency room.”

“Are you gay?”

“Well, yes.”

“Did you tell this Mr. Arnold you were gay.”

“No, he just assumed it because I didn’t want to play football or, even, soccer. All I wanted to do was play the clarinet. I’m good at it. Real good. Once a professional musician said I was a prodigy with the licorice stick. Mr. Arnold said the clarinet is a fag’s instrument.”

“That is quite troubling that that man would say such a thing when it was obvious you are very good. This Mr. Arnold sounds like a very despicable man indeed. Do you have any interaction with him anymore?”

“No, he’s the reason I’m living with a foster dad right now.”

“So, you don’t play sports, but you do play the clarinet. Why don’t you like to play sports?”

“Look at me. I’m little. Everybody is bigger than me. No, I play the clarinet and concentrate on being very good at it.”

“That is very admirable. But, you said you were whipped in a church simply because an adult man assumed you are gay would certainly cause you difficulties against adult men, but now you say you’re not so afraid of us unless we assault you. Is that about right?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Good; it is good that you’re able to see through your problem. Now, what do you want me to do for you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Now, that could be a problem. It is evident that you fear adult men who might sexually assault you and we must explore that facet of your personality. How old are you?”

“Fourteen.”

“Fourteen? You don’t look a day over twelve, maybe not even that.”

“Geoff, he’s my temporary foster dad, thinks I may have a hormone deficiency.”

“That is a possibility. It is also a possibility that is what attracts certain adult men to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are a very attractive young boy. Some might say that you’re cute. I suppose there might be men in this area who might want to take off your clothes and do despicable things to your body.”

“Like you?”

“No, my dear child, not me. I do not seek sexual satisfaction from children.”

“But, you said I was cute.”

“Unfortunately, my dear child, you are cute. I suspect there might be some girls out there who might be interested in getting to know you just for that reason.”

“But, you said there might be some men who might be interested in me, too.”

“Yes, I did say that because, unfortunately, that is true. There are always despicable men who desire young boys for sexual purposes. I would advise you to be on the lookout for men who may take an interest in you.”

“How do I do that? Do I have to keep looking behind my back or be careful how some man might try to touch me like Mr. Alexander? I don’t want to have to go around suspicious of every man I meet.”

“Just be aware of your surroundings.”

I thought about that. I remembered an eleven-year-old boy back in Maine who disappeared. He and his friend were out in a park on their bikes and a van forced them off the road. Unfortunately, his friend was pretty banged up, but he seemed to be okay. As the friend watched a man got out of the van and came around to where they were. The man told the friend his arm was broken and he would call an ambulance. The other boy was put in the van and it drove away. An ambulance never came, but the boy who had been left was discovered by a park policeman who called in the alert. Two weeks later, a man was out walking his dog on a cold misty morning in a rural area and discovered the naked, decomposing body of the boy who had been taken lying in a ditch. Erik remembered Mr. Arnold saying the boy was probably a fag and had gone with the man willingly.

“My lawyer said that I need to talk to you about the way I assaulted Mr. Alexander when he groped me. He said that he will need something called a depo-something to make his case against the school district for expelling me. He said it needs to say that I will not be a danger to other teachers.”

“That is a deposition. Yes, I will provide one to them whenever they ask. You are not a danger to teachers as long as they do not touch you in a sexual manner. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“Then I suppose we have come to that point in your appointment where we determine what further use I can be of you.”

“Is it wrong for me to want to have sex with the houseboy?”

“How old is this houseboy?”

“Eighteen.”

“He is too old for you; he could end up in prison for having sex with you because you are under fifteen.”

“So, I could have sex with him when I am fifteen.”

“If he is desirous of the arrangement. Why do you want to have sex with him?”

“He’s what you might call hung.”

“That certainly might be enticing to you, but you must wait until you’re at least fifteen. Anything else?”

“No, not that I can think of.”

“Very well, I shall await your attorney’s call to give my deposition.”

“Thank you, Dr. Finklemann.”

“Thank you for coming to see me, Erik. I wish all my patients could be as easy as you.”

I walked out of his office and as I was walking over to Geoff a kid grabbed my arm and said, “Hey, aren’t you the dude who belted Mr. Alexander? What are you doing out of jail?”

I spun around, wrenched my arm away from him, and assumed a defensive posture. Although most of my focus was on this boy, I was aware of Dr. Finklemann standing in his door, but in my peripheral vision there was only a fuzzy image of a man who might have been Geoff approaching me.

The boy looked at me in the strangest way and then said, “Hey, don’t get all Oriental martial arts on me. All I want to know was why you’re on the streets.”

“Tris! Get away from that boy,” Dr. Finklemann said.

“Fuck off, Granddad.”

“Tris! In my office this instant,” a woman said at the door of another office.

“Hey, why won’t anybody tell me why this guy isn’t in jail? He hits Mr. Alexander and now he’s walking the streets.”

“Tris, I’m not going to say this again, get into my office.”

The boy turned and walked over to the woman. He glanced back at me, but I didn’t know what to make of it. Why did he feel so provoked that I wasn’t in jail? Was it possible he was one of Mr. Alexander’s victims and still had feelings for the man? I relaxed my posture and turned to Geoff who, not too surprisingly, was quite close to me. I suppose if I had had to defend myself, he might have tried to step in between us. I would have to talk to him about the danger of doing that.

“You okay?” Geoff asked.

“Yeah, I’m cool,” I said.

“Ready to go home?”

“Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

When we got back to the Campbell’s Mrs. Campbell was just finishing preparing dinner while Jerry was doing his homework at the kitchen dinette. I slipped in on the other side of table and he looked up at me. I smiled.

“What?” Jerry asked.

“I was at the psychologist’s,” I said.

“So?”

“He said you were too old for me to have sex,” I whispered.

“Okay.”

“But, when I turn fifteen he said it would be okay.”

“Not gonna happen Erik.”

“Did you just see that?”

“See what?”

“A flash of light.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“There it is again. Are you sure you’re not seeing anything?”

“No, I’m not. Are you okay?”

“I’m going upstairs and lay down for a while,” I said. “Please let me know when it’s time for dinner.”

“Sure thing.”