Free Vernon God Little by Tanya Ronder, D. B. C. Pierre Page A

somebody who'd totally spin you out if you knew a single detail about them. If you weren't edgy when you came in, you would be after you met the fucken receptionist.
    'Bloop,' an intercom hoots behind her desk.
    'Didn't you get my email?' asks a man.
    'No, Doctor,' says the receptionist.
    'Please monitor the systems, there's no point upgrading our technology if you don't monitor the systems. I emailed you three minutes ago for the next patient.'
    'Yes, Doctor.' She taps at her keyboard, scowls at the monitor, then looks at me. 'The doctor will see you now.'

    My Nikes chirp over black and green linoleum, through a door, and into a room with supermarket lighting. Two armchairs sit by a window; an ole stereo rests beside one of them, with a notebook computer on top. At the back of the room stands a hospital bunk on wheels, with a towel over it. And there's Dr Goosens; round, soft, butt-heavy, and as smug as a Disney worm. He smiles sympathetically, and waves me to an armchair.
    'Cindy, bring the client's file, please.'
    Check my fucken face now. Cindy! It slays me. Now I'm just waiting for her to say, 'Groovy, Wayne,' and bounce through the door in a little tennis skirt or something. She doesn't though, not in the cold light of day. She trudges past in socks and sandals, and hands a file to Goosens. He thumbs through the pages and waits for her to leave the room.
    'Vernon Gregory Little, how are you today?'
    'Okay, I guess.' My Nikes tap each other.
    'Alrighty. What can you tell me about why you're here?'
    'The judge must think I'm crazy, or something.'
    'And are you?' He gets ready to chuckle, like it's obvious I ain't. It might help if the judge thought I was bananas, but looking at Ole Mother Goosens just makes me want to tell him how I really feel, which is that everybody backed me into a nasty corner with their crashy fucken powerdimes.

'I guess it ain't up to me to say,' I tell him. It doesn't seem enough though; he stares and waits for more. As I catch his eye, I feel the past wheeze up my throat in a raft of bitter words. 'See, first everybody dissed me because my buddy was Mexican, then because he was weird, but I stood by him, I thought friendship was a sacred thing - then it all went to hell, and now I'm being punished for it, they're twisting every regular little fact to fit my guilt …'
    Goosens raises a hand, and smiles gently. 'Alrighty, let's see what we can discover. Please continue to be candid - if you open yourself up to this process, in good faith, we won't have a problem at all. Now, tell me - how do you feelabout what's happened?'
    'Just wrecked. Wrecked dead away. And now everybody's calling me the psycho, I know they are.'
    'Why do you think they might be doing that?'
    'They need a skate-goat, they want to hang somebody high.'
    'A scapegoat? You feel something intangible caused the tragedy?'
    'Well, no, I mean - my friend Jesus ain't around, in person, to take any blame. He did all the shooting, I was just a witness, not even involved at all.' Goosens searches my face, and makes a note in his file.
    'Alrighty. What can you tell me about your family life?'
    'It's just regular.' Goosens holds his pen still, and looks at me. He knows he just found a major bug up my ass.
    'The file notes that you live with your mother. What can you tell me about that relationship?'
    'Uh, it's just - regular.' The whole subject drags a major tumor out of my ass, don't fucken ask me why. It just lies there on the floor, throbbing, glistening with gut-slime. Goosens even leans back in his chair, to avoid the heaving tang of my fucken family life.

    'No brothers?' he asks, wisely steering east. 'No uncles, or - other male influences in your familial network?'
    'Not really,' I say.
    'But you had - friends …?' My eyes drop to the floor. He sits quiet for a moment, then reaches over to rest a hand on my leg. 'Believe me, Jesus touched me too - the whole affair touched me deeply.
    If you're able, tell me what happened that