Charles Muley, A Therapist's journal Page #8

INT:
SECURED HUMAN RESOURCES CENTER BUILDING. SECURITY SURVEILLANCE ROOM

With the copy of my entrance job ID card, I manage to enter without my superior’s permission. The card is deactivated when the employee leaves the company. I, however, still have 3 days of no contact before they cut me off. Inside, I prance through the computer panels. Logging in to the security system, I search my patients’ home addresses. From there, I begin my quest.

EXT:
KAMILA'S HOUSE FRONT DOOR

I walk into Estella's home. Her mother opens the door.

MOTHER:

“Yes, oh you’re her old therapist, I'm sorry to hear you were fired.”

CHARLES:

“I thought you would have a bitter reaction towards me. Especially since I have extreme measures.”

MOTHER:

“Come in.”

INT:
KAMILA'S HOUSE LIVING ROOM

The living room is warm, yellowish light gleaming about the roof and lamps. The fireplace was on illuminating mixed colors. I sit on their hay-colored couch. I see the kitchen from the living room. The kitchen cupboards are all tilled in with wood. HInges are shut clean with a keyhole. The corners of the kitchen island and counter are smoothened out. I can tell the father, whoever he is, had sandpaper used up.

CHARLES:

“Does your daughter take prescriptions for her problems?”

MOTHER:

“She takes a dose of fluoxetine pills.”

CHARLES:

“Make sure she is taking that. The reason I came here is this: You are part of my efforts to make amends.”

CHARLES:

“I have extreme ways of handling people. I was trying to get her to snap out of it. This gloomy state. I don't buy it. Neither should her parents.”

MOTHER:

“So you're here to say sorry. I’ll tell my husband you stopped by.”

INT:
KAMILA'S PARENTS IN THE LIVING ROOM. They agree on what just happened with the therapists. That night she and her husband discuss what happened.

FATHER:

“It’s none of his business. We’re not paying him anymore.”

MOTHER:

“I agree. This guy is being a real officious.”

INT:
ARMANDO'S REHABILITATION CENTER. MEETING ROOM

I visited Armando Reye’s rehab center. I arranged an appointment to see him.

CHARLES:

“I am here to help you as your therapist. Here along with your physical therapist.”

His PT sits next to us.

ARMANDO:

“I kno, I drove awfly reckless, I set this on me, I git it, man, Look here, you, My fault, yes, but you here, too be nice? I know what happened, they assigned me another psychotherapist. You were fired, man.”

CHARLES:

“Yes, well, I am here as your friend.”

ARMANDO:

“Nah, you ain't my friend. You can't show up here-”

CHARLES:

“Here to finish what I starte-”

ARMANADO:

“Why, really? Why u wanna be a therapist? It's a lame-ass job, why?”

CHARLES (V.O.)

I had to give him an answer. It was a legitimate question.

CHARLES:

“Umpqua Community College had a mass shooting on Oct, first, Thursday, 2015. A twenty-year-old shooter killed nine and wounded nine students.”

ARMANDO:

“What? Is that your memorized response to that? That seems fake.”

CHARLES (V.O.)

I get it, how is he going to be honest with me, if I am not honest with what I tell him? Or better, yet, to myself? When was the last time I really thought about that? I am not a nice guy. Why did I take an internship, 3 psychology classes, and writing classes? My whole family cheered me on for the commitment I had. Been working for 3 months now and I forgot my entire motivation. Guess if you really boil down to it, I had to because every day I go to the human resource center building and hear sob stories. Stories that are not about me. Every day, I feel worn out, can't sleep. I dream about how my life is a drain. Water taping the silver plastic of the sink. TAP, TAP, TAP. One thing after another, session, session, books, books. Then when I hear who much worse my clients are, it's a stream on a boat. Like floating in the sea on a small monohull yacht. Wind refreshing your face. I forget my life problems.

Alright, think of a euphemism for this statement of emotions. I'm a selfish prick would be the true answer.

CHARLES:

I finally just tell him, “It is morally just, and… it pays well,“

CHARLES (V.O.)

I think he just needs some kind of answer. Didn't think it matters what I say, just that it would make him feel better off.

EXT:
THE FRECKLED KID'S HOUSE, but the audience doesn't know it's the freckled kid's house until the VOICE OVER. THE HOME'S NEARBY COMMUNITY PARK

CHARLES (V.O.)

Here I am stalking my clients’ homes. All because I lost my job? What a pity.

EXT:
THE FRECKLED KID'S HOUSE. CONTINUED.

The freckled kid screams at her mother. Her husband is away from work. At a distance. To the park on the road facing the house, a black-coated man is fighting the cold. He looks at the windows of the child’s house. I watch the house afar, stationed on my park bench reading a website page on my phone.

CHARLES:

My comments alert the 2nd stalker’s attention, “That’s the Mr. Brown house. Their son, Wyatt. The freckled kid. He is a little boy, never learned to grow up mentally.”

2ND STALKER responds, adding clues,

“Tantrums, smashing things and such, yeah, I know. I am the ex-husband.” He faces me, asking, “How do you know Wyatt?”

CHARLES:

“I was his psychotherapist. It never went anywhere. I think I got fired before I got the chance.”

EX-HUSBAND

“I’ll tell you, there's no saving that kid. The marriage was recent. The kid’s still angry about it.”

CHARLES:

“Misses his father?”

EX-HUSBAND

“I never really wanted kids, so,“ He frowned in dismissive artlessness.

CHARLES:

“What do you do with a kid like that? Sure hope they don’t send him off homeless after eighteen.”

EX-HUSBAND

“Well, If that happens, I will take him in under my wing. Get him through school. Then it won’t matter because they won’t fight for custody then. My ex-wife keeps me informed about her present endeavors. I am left in the dark.”

CUT TO COURT BATTLE MONTAGE AS CHARLES DOES THE VOICE-OVER. Each line is about the respective shot of what is happening.

By the time the freckled kid would turn eighteen or at his 17 years, his father would fight for him. Wyatt’s bloodline. Although the new psychologists told Mrs. Brown her son was autistic, his real dad would fight for him. The real father contacted an attorney in the state he lived in. He visited him every afternoon and watched them in the window, while he stood at the park. At the family court, the judge allowed for the record to show documents of the father paying $700 every month for child support. He was cited for saying,

EX-HUSBAND

“Your honor, I want my kid to know I will support him, not her.”

CHARLES (V.O)

The mother claimed substance abuse. Wyatt’s father claimed civil negligence.

EX-HUSBAND

“I can’t have my autistic kid be homeless at 18, I can put him through school, I can give him a future.” the father defends,

Mrs. BROWN'S ATTORNEY cross-examines him, “Yet you are the same man who repeatedly has been seen selling marijuana and smoking. My client says she knows you would routinely step outside their home porch and smoke.“

IN MRS. BROWN’s turn to speak, she said, “Right now, he is my son, I have been paying several psychologists to cope with his behavior. By the time he is 18, he will be better.”

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