Anger Management
The following is based on a true story. Actually, it’s based on lots of them.
Tobi Pitts leaned forward in her seat, clasping her hands together with forearms resting on her knees. She looked at Howard with tired green eyes that were sunken into a patchwork of premature wrinkles and thin make-up. Her hair was a mass of bleached, neglected curls that hung to the sides like twists of tattered rope.
“I can’t make you say a word, Mr. Franks,” she said. “But the court did order you to come here, and I do think it’s in your best interest to talk about why that happened.”
Howard scanned the room. There were eight other men in the circle, some watching him, others with eyes to the floor. All of them silent, waiting. He looked back at Tobi and found her unblinking gaze still on him, patient as alabaster.
“I see,” he said. “My best interest.” And the room sank into silence again. Tobi remained fixed.
A man to Howard’s left, three seats down cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. He had the meticulous look of a newscaster, complete with handsome profile. His hair was a highly styled crown of silver-gray perfection. He regarded Howard with deep azure eyes resting behind glasses that sparkled as though hand polished by a personal assistant.
“Howard,” he said, in the practiced tone of an announcer, “Tom Watson here, and believe you me I feel for you. I didn‘t want to talk when I got here either. But once I got over that I learned a great deal. Tonight‘s my last night.”
Tom glanced over to Tobi to see if she was watching and was disappointed to find her still looking at Howard.
“Anyway. I don’t mind telling you I used to be a real jerk. I gave my wife so many beatings I couldn’t even begin to count them. In here I learned where it was coming from. Power man, and I am just flat addicted to it. It gave me a rush, a sick rush, to do what I did to her. I’ll bet you can identify with that a little.”
Howard studied the other men in the group. He noted some smirks and the look of disgust on the faces of others that seemed to deepen the more Tom spoke. Suddenly, without warning, he had to steady himself against a wrenching wave of grief that rose through his gut toward his chest.
“So I hope you open up a little, buddy. Remember, we’re all the same here,” Tom concluded. He then pointed at Howard with his hand formed into a mock pistol, winked and clicked his tongue.
“Forget him,” said a heavyset man. He had a cheerless face, shadows of stubble cast across the cheeks like a dark mood. “If you don’t talk they will keep you here longer, and they’ll use it against you in court.”
Howard pondered that for a moment and finally spoke again.
“They?” he asked, “Don’t you mean, her?” And he tilted his head in Tobi’s direction.
The large man grinned without diminishing the sadness in his eyes even a little. “It’s all the same.” he said.
“No, it’s not,” Tobi interjected. “Mr. Franks, I am a therapist, not a judge. I don’t tell the court anything you say in here. That’s held in confidence. All I do is report whether you have attended and whether you are cooperative. Whether you believe it or not, I am here to help you.”
“And what is cooperative, Ms Pitts?” Howard asked. “Am I uncooperative if I don’t spill my guts to you, perhaps put on a little dog and pony show?” he said, cocking a thumb back at Tom, who furrowed his brow and did his best to look indignant.
Tobi swallowed. Her fingers, once woven loosely together tightened and began a slight tremble. A rose hue painted itself across the skin of her face and her eyes hardened. Howard looked at the big man, whose expression now simply pled caution. And silence again filled the room. This time a silence as taut and bloodless as Tobi’s fingers.
Howard raised his hand and bowed his head pensively. The pain locked in his gut unleashed itself and twisted it’s way up through his chest like a mass of writhing snakes. He choked it all back down and spoke.
“Six weeks ago I was a happily married man. Sixteen years with the same woman, Kate, and two beautiful daughters. I had a good business, a decent enough business partner and everything to look forward to.” Howard lifted his head and made direct eye contact with Tobi.
“Then my father died. It was not unexpected, he’d be fighting cancer for three years. My wife convinced me that it wouldn’t be best to pull the kids out of school and fly them to Baltimore for the funeral. I agreed and went on my own.”
Howard didn’t know it, but at this point none of the other men were looking at the floor. Each of them leaned forward as they listened.
“When I got back I stopped on the way home to buy some flowers for Kate. Just something for carrying the weight while I was gone. But my credit card was declined. I called the bank and was informed that all my accounts were closed. All the money was gone.”
Tom interrupted. “Oh man, here come the excuses. I can see it already.”
“Shut up!” the big man boomed, and Tom shrank back in his chair.
Howard shook it off and continued. “I went home and nobody was there. I found the kids with her mother. And her, she was…” Howard raked his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath. “She was with my business partner. They had taken it all. The money, the business, all gone. Everything.”
“I caught up to them at his place. She came to the door wearing a silk robe I gave her last Christmas. I just stood there dumbfounded for, I dunno, what seemed like forever. When I could finally make myself speak all I could do was ask her why. Why had she done this? She told me it was because I was a loser. She told me she was a woman with needs and that I never, from the day we were married, met them. She told me the kids would be better off without me and that any more contact with her or them would have to be through a lawyer.”
“Then she told me something else.”
Howard closed his eyes and seemed to drift for a moment in the vacuum of the silent room. He opened them again and found the group transfixed, as though teetering toward his next words.
“She told me that she would kiss me goodbye but she didn’t think I’d like the taste of another mans sex on her lips.”
A single tear slid from Howard’s eye and tracked down his cheek.
“I lost it,” he said, clinching his hand into a fist and beating it against his knee. “I punched her in the face and broke her nose. Of course I went to jail and that’s how I ended up here, as your new assignment, Ms. Pitts. Another statistic of domestic violence.”
Tobi saw her opening and took it. She spoke in a soft, rehearsed whisper, beckoning Howard to consider her question.
“Are you saying she deserved a broken nose, Howard?”
Howard seemed to think for a moment and then replied.
“No, Ms. Pitts. I am saying she deserved the beating of a lifetime.” The entire room took on life as the men shifted around in their chairs. One of them muttered “F**king A right,” under his breath but it was heard by all.
Tobi started to speak but Howard cut her off. “I’m not done.” he said, His tone was final and unyielding. “You wanted me to talk and I am talking. You just listen.” He settled himself for a moment, and then said, “Please.”
Tobi gently bit her lower lip, then gave Howard a reluctant, almost unperceivable nod.
“You’d think this was the worst of it, but it’s not. After doing flips for weeks to try to see my daughters, last week I was allowed to talk to my oldest, Lisa, on the telephone. I was thinking the whole time that as bad as things were that I could live with it, that I could manage a way to move forward if I could just be with my children. I was so happy to have Lisa on the phone. I couldn’t wait to tell her how much I missed her and that I couldn’t wait to see her.”
“But you know what she said when I told her that? She said,” And then whatever composure Howard had failed, taking his will and strength with it. The tears poured forth like two rivers and his breathing came in great heaving hitches as he cupped his hands over his face and sobbed. He had to force out every word, one at a time, to finish his story.
“She said, ‘I can’t see you till your better Daddy. Mommy said you’re sick.’ ”
Paul Elam is the editor of A Voice for Men
This story can be read unedited at The Oddville Press Volume 1 Issue 2
Bio available at my website | More from Paul Elam
Stumble It!
August 7th, 2009 at 4:43 am
Sick, eh? There’s a lot of sick people in our Democracy. They seem to be running it.
August 8th, 2009 at 3:57 pm
And, had this been a woman who had had this done Lifetime would be doing a movie lionizing her for giving her husband the beating he DESERVED.