Running With Scissors_ A Memoir - Augusten Burroughs [16]
“Whoa, look at this motherfucking thing,” Vickie said as she dragged the box out from under the stairs.
Natalie kicked it gently as if to check for signs of life.
I leaned forward and peered into the box. It resembled my father’s shortwave radio, except it had wires coming out of it. And two large dials. “It’s weird,” I said, intrigued.
“Help me carry it,” Vickie ordered, bending over.
Natalie and I both leaned over and took the other end. Although Natalie could easily have done it herself, I felt I had to help her, to be useful. We carried it back into the TV room and set it on the floor in front of the couch.
“Now what?” Natalie said.
I absently brushed at the front of my dress slacks.
“Okay now, you guys. We gotta set it up. So Augusten, you’re the patient and Natalie, you’re the nurse.”
“I’m not gonna be any cunt-licking nurse,” Natalie snapped.
“Well you sure-as-shit are not gonna be the doctor.”
“I’ll be the patient. He’ll be the nurse,” Natalie said.
I felt my face flush, both horrified and certain that I would be the nurse. “I’ll be the nurse,” I said, just wanting to get on with it. “I don’t care. Let’s just start.”
“Nursy,” Natalie teased.
“Should I take this off?” I said, meaning my navy blazer that I had worn because I was visiting a doctor’s house.
Vickie scowled. “That thing is so queer. You should just chuck it.”
“Why are you always so dressed up anyway?” Natalie said.
“I don’t know,” I said. I was instantly mortified and slipped the blazer off, tossing it carelessly onto the wing chair.
Natalie dove onto the sofa, stomach-first, then turned on her back. Her arm hung off the couch and the back of her hand touched the floor. “What’s wrong with me then?”
“Here,” Vickie said, lifting up the machine.
I picked up the other end and we hoisted it out of the box.
“What’s wrong with me?” Natalie, cried louder.
We set the machine on the floor and Vickie kicked the box out of the way. It knocked against the TV. “You’re psychotic,” she said.
Natalie grinned. “Okay, I can be psychotic. I’m a paranoid schizophrenic.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “Just like Dottie Schmitt.
Vickie made a face. “Oh, God. She’s disgusting. Did you know she’s so filthy that Agnes has to peel her bra off for her?”
Natalie gasped. “Where did you hear that?”
“It’s true, Agnes told me herself.”
“Who’s Dottie?” I said.
“And then Agnes has to scrub under her tits with a sponge to get rid of all the scum.” Vickie shrieked, grossing herself out.
They laughed.
“Who is she?” I said again.
“She’s one of Dad’s crazy patients,” Natalie said. “You’ll meet her.”
I will? I thought. Why?
This is when Poo Bear ran into the room, naked and shrieking. Poo was about six years old, the son of Vickie and Natalie’s older sister Anne. His small penis jiggled and his laughing mouth was ringed with purple jam.
“Hey, Poo,” Vickie cooed at her little nephew.
“Poo Bear,” Natalie said, sitting up. “What’s a doin’, pooin’?”
He paused in front of the TV and slapped his arms against his side. “I’m a can opener,” he said.
I could smell his feet from across the room.
“You’re a can opener?” Natalie said tenderly. “That is soooooo cute.”
“What’s that?” he said, pointing to the machine.
Vickie said,“That’s Dad’s old shock therapy machine. We’re fooling around with it. Wanna play?”
He smiled shyly and grabbed his little penis with his hand. “I dunno.”
“C’mon, Poo. You’ll have fun. You won’t get hurt, I promise,” Natalie said.
“Yeah, you watch us first, then you can play. Okay? Just watch,” Vickie said.
Natalie lay back on the sofa and closed her eyes. “Ready,” she said.
Vickie then kneeled in front of the sofa. Gently, she picked up a wire and arranged it around Natalie’s head. She placed the end of the wire against Natalie’s ear. She tucked another wire under Natalie’s neck. Then she pretended to plug the machine in by stuffing the cord under the sofa. Next she placed her hand on the dial. “Nurse,” she called.
“Okay,” I said.
“Come here,”
I kneeled down next to her. “What should I do?”
“The patient may scream,