Running With Scissors_ A Memoir - Augusten Burroughs [46]
I said, “Good. I’m glad it doesn’t bother you. Because it’s a serious thing with us. He’s really insane over me.”
“And that’s what you want?’ she asked.
“Well, yeah,” I said.
“Then you have my full support in your relationship.”
I was stunned by her reaction. I’d been dreading the moment when I finally told her because I knew she’d somehow turn it into something that I was doing to her. I could almost hear the dishes smashing and the windows shaking in their frames from all the door-slamming. Instead, it turned out to be nothing. As if I told her that from now on, I wouldn’t be eating refined white flour anymore.
“Have you spoken to Dr. Finch about your relationship with Bookman?” she asked.
“Yeah, he knows,” I said.
“And what does he say?”
“Um, he’s, I don’t know. I guess he’s okay with it. Although it seemed like he felt that I could do better. But he’s not gonna try and stop it or anything. He said I should tell you and see what you thought.”
“Good,” she said, plucking a hair off her slacks. “I’m glad he was accepting and supportive.”
When I told Dr. Finch about me and Bookman, at first he seemed angry. I’d made an appointment with Hope to see him because I thought it was sort of a big deal and I shouldn’t just tell him when he was home, sitting in his underwear in front of the TV eating an old drumstick. When I walked into his office he said, “Well, young man. Take a seat and tell me what’s on your mind.”
It felt weird to be sitting on his psychotherapy couch, surrounded by all the boxes of psychotherapy tissues. I felt like a patient. “Bookman and I are boyfriends,” I blurted out.
“Boyfriends?” he repeated.
“Yeah. It started out as friends, but now we’re more than that. He’s in love with me and I love him, too.”
“And is this a sexual relationship?” he asked, sounding strangely professional.
I nodded.
He brought his hands up to his face and inhaled through his fingers. “I’ve got to tell you, young man, I went through this with my daughter Natalie.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s sort of similar.”
“While I don’t believe that it’s wrong for a younger person to be intimately involved with somebody older, I am concerned about your choice.”
Did he mean Bookman? His adopted son? “What do you mean?”
“Well,” he said heavily, “Bookman isn’t a stable man. He has a lot of problems that run very, very deep.”
But he was really good at giving head. “Yeah, but he seems okay,” I said.
“Well, I’m not saying that you can’t see him. Like you said, you’re already involved. And I know from past experience that if a young person sets his or her mind to something, there’s really nothing anybody can do to stop them. But I would like you to keep me abreast of this situation. I want you to tell me if you sense that things are taking a turn for the worse.”
I felt like I was buying a used Ford Pinto and the salesman was telling me that as long as I didn’t make any sudden stops in the parking lot, it probably wouldn’t explode. But to keep an eye out for smoke.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll be careful. But he really does seem okay now. Things are good between us.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. Then he turned around in his chair and reached for a bottle on his bookshelf. “Would you like a few of these?” he said.
“What are they?” I asked, seeing the white bottle.
“Let me see here,” he said, sliding his bifocals up his nose and examining the label. “I just got these in the mail, so I’m not sure . . . oh, yes. Okay, these are just a mild anti-anxiety medication. They might make you feel a little calmer.”
I shrugged. “Sure, I’ll take ’em.”
He passed me the bottle and I stuck it in my shirt pocket along with my cigarettes.
Now, my mother glanced up at me and smiled. For a moment she didn’t say anything, she just kept smiling, like she was proud of me or something. “You’re a very independent young man,” she said finally.