Sitting in the off color blue cloth cushions that line the Esquire theater’s production of “A Chorus Line” was a vast swath of upper-middle class white America. Young men of one persuasion sat and half-heartedly pondered the tales of their dancers lives while primarily focusing on the later evenings returns on their theater ticket investments from their female companions. Other young men ¾ heartedly pondered the tales of the evening while focusing on the later evening returns on their ticket investments with their male companions. Older women whole heartedly and reverently admired each of the dancers tales and while old men whole-heartedly admired the older women that accompanied them. But in the back of the auditorium, attired in a blue Oxford button down missing the 3rd button down and a tie that more closely resembled a Sharpee than a garment, a man wrestled with decisions like Jakob wrestled at the river Jabbok.

With dry sweat crusted to the bottom of his side burns and dried blood on his right forearm, Bobby Seegers sat with a $500 pawn shop ring in his pocket, a tremble in his legs, and 2 competing ponderings in his head. “What the hell am I doing here?” and “Tonight I’m going to ask Riley Moore to marry me.”

Chapter 1

Nestled within the Shenandoah Valley, north of what is termed “Northern Virginia” by locals, 70 miles from the nations capital, the town of Winchester, Virginia is a beautiful hamlet of tree-lined roads bordered by apple orchards and horse farms or at least farms that once held the noble equine. An area that was so geographically and naturally valued by certain people that it changed hands 72 times during the Civil War.

Bobby Seegers was not one of those people.

“Son of a bitch piece of shit” Were the first words he mumbled as he muscled the powder blue 1990 Chevy Pickup into the parking lot of the Best Western. The combination of the sweat beneath in his dark red ball cap and the persistent aching in his sinewy 6’6” frame reminded this former tight end that if he were to be asked/mandated to run wind sprints across Coach Jones’s field today, the final result would be standing before Jesus answering questions about the Waffle House waitress/Bibb County Airport incident from high school, and he just hadn’t done enough good yet to feel comfortable doing that.

As he sat down on the curb, his persistent pain was quickly coupled with the anxiety that occurs when you have $27 in your wallet, 500 dollars on a Discover card, and absolutely no idea how you were getting home. A tall broad shouldered blonde in a form fitting set of Levi’s walking with a young brunette with thick glasses and a strange gait served as a brief yet pleasant distraction as he contemplated what seemed to be a very complicated situation.

As he pushed himself to walk toward the pay phone to call Anne (some 70 miles away), a sudden wrenching sensation was followed by a loud thud and a concurrent blackness.


Chapter 2

Bobby regained his faculties on a cheaply made paisley print sofa surrounded by a middle aged (but aging well) woman with chestnut colored hair that had probably received some assistance from the local Walgreens, a large African American man of indiscriminant age. and a brown haired woman with stunning green eyes.

As he pulled himself to a sitting position, he peered through the streaked glass double doors to see the now bloody young woman (who had been walking with the blonde) lying on the asphalt being restrained by 2 young men and a middle aged woman.

“Are you OK?” were the first words he heard as he was handed a glass of water and an alcohol swab by the middle aged brunette. “Just open that and rub in on your forearm” was also requested before he can answer the first question.


“Yeah” Bobby replied as he rubbed the pain inducing pad on his forearm, now sweaty and containing several crimson lacerations.
“Well, are you going to sue us?” The large African American gentleman inquired.
“Did I just get my ass handed to me by a 120 lb girl in coke bottle glasses? “ he mumbled
“One way to look at it.” was empathically answered.
“That’s humiliation enough without legal involvement”. was the curt response.

As he took a sip of the tepid water, a thin man with graying and receding hair line and addressed the middle aged brunette. “Is that Rachel?”
“Yes.” The brunette answered.
“Did she just come back from Dr. Dowdy?” he asked.
“Uh-huh”. She grunted.
“Did he think her recent outburst was due to a seizure disorder rather than her extreme attempts to get coffee because she was sent with a new staff person who had never seen this type of behavior in their glorious three weeks of knowledge of Ms. Squash?” His voice dropping
“Yep” She played along.
“Did he start her on the Phenobarbital to treat the diagnosed seizure disorder that isn’t?” He popped along.
“You’re hot today.” She hissed.
“Would you please call the good doctor and tell him about this incident and that she has been more prone to outbursts since the start of the medication” the graying man requested.
“Can I also tell him that Phenobarbital has been shown to exacerbate aggressive tendencies in individuals with mental retardation and that the research has shown that since the Clinton administration, and that if he would spent a little more time with our folks and a little less time billing for 20 minutes while giving 7 minutes worth of service, this gentleman may not be sitting in this situation.” The brunette replied rapidly.
“Present the data, get squash off the barbital, and Natalie could you talk to Crystal about being a little more diplomatic in her discussions with the good doctor.”
“I will.” Green eyes responded.
“I like my idea better.”
“You always seem to Crystal.” The gray haired man replied glibly.

With the decrease in physical pain that accompanied the ingesting of 2 ibuprofen, the prevailing anxiety caused Bobby to call Anne who promptly reminded him that Nick (his imbibing compatriot from the evening before) lived in Berryville (a town 15 miles away), and Bobby quickly dialed his friend. With a quick assurance that he would be there, Bobby pushed end on his cell phone, took a sip of his water and began to watch the door like a lab puppy who knew it was almost time for his owner (and thus dinner) to come home, and then he felt pressure on his still aching right shoulder.





Chapter 3
In a knee jerk reaction, Bobby wheeled and drew back his left arm before locking eyes on a sinewy young shaggy brown haired man jump back and the two men stood staring at each other.

In a rapid monotone drawl Bobby said, “I would say something about speaking of Beezelbub and a cliché occurring but I’m 500 miles from home that albatross of a vehicle is going nowhere soon, and I just had my lunch money taken by a 15 year old girl.”

“I was going to ask what you were doing here but your little aside pretty well brought the viewers up to speed during this 2 part very special episode of Growing Pains.” The brown haired man replied, and the 2 men promptly burst out laughing and embraced.

Bobby asked, “Nick, what are you doing here?”
”I work here. This is the school I was telling stories about last night.” He replied.
And at once a glimmer of hope arose in Bobby’s darkened day.
“Come on, let’s get out of here. I’ll buy you ice cream.” Nick cracked.

As the two men barreled down the road in the Vanilla Toyota Station Wagon with the Appalachian Trail window sticker prominently displayed in the lower right hand corner, Nick began to pepper Bobby with questions ending with a question that would alter the course of Bobby’s life forever.

“Look, you don’t have any money. You’re boss just told she was leaving and she wouldn’t do the job you’re doing for the money you’re making, and you’re girlfriend just left you for a slightly portly piano player who has poor hygiene habits, and Burchville has openings for folks with your skills. Why don’t you stay here?”

For this, Bobby had no answer.


Chapter 4
After finishing out his final weeks at the senior citizens program where he had been working, quickly acquiring an apartment, and having his truck repaired several times, Bobby attended his orientation week of programming.

The first three days of orientation were the same as the first 3 days of orientation at a vast majority of mental health organizations. Middle aged women hanging on to youth that had already flought (if that is indeed the past tense of “fleeting”?) wearing moderately overpriced and extremely undersized pant suits provided an extremely rudimentary and oversimplified discussion of Autism (characterized by a deficit in social skills, communication difficulties, and repetitive and stereotypical movements), mental retardation, and mental illness while cautioning against the 8th deadly sin of utilizing the Emergency Room in any situation that doesn’t involve being at least ¾ of the way toward the bright light and a Mitch Albom novella.


The final 2 days were a little more enlightening to why this place may have such a high turnover rate. Bobby was trained in physical restraining techniques that had him questioning whether he was wanted more for his brawn than his brains and how he could create an amalgamation that would allow him to avoid his family’s history of back problems.

Being a dutiful employee, at the end of the 2 day training and with very little to do on his first Friday, Bobby took a few books and some photos over to his new office. While he was placing his copy of the DSM-IV on his particle board shelf, a rotund brown haired man in his mid thirties engulfing the door fram eand Bobby’s hand at the same time. “So you’re the other penis bearer around here, huh? I’m Rick. Rick Bowan, the other male therapist/behavior specialist here “nice to meet you.” In quick reply Bobby stated, “Well if that’s the typical greeting around here, I think this place is going to be a lot of fun. Although, if we are going to discuss sexual organs often, I think you might find your self-esteem dropping.” As both men laughed, Bobby felt an ease with his newfound compatriot and Rick extended an invitation to Loudon’s, a local bar with in walking distance of Bobby’s apartment
Chapter 5
Loudon’s was what someone from Zaggut’s might call the classic Ameri-Irish bar. Dark hardwood on the floor, the bar, tables, and halfway up the wall with muted televisions and loud patrons. Rick lead Adam to a round table in the front corner where people were laughing and drinking, and appeared to have been doing so for quite awhile.


“I’m telling you, it’s New Years.” A small balding man said. “You’re a moron. It’s absolutely St. Patrick’s day.” A portly blond man responded, and the final response came from a skinny dark haired man, “Halloween, I s the sluttiest holiday,” the way these women dress; they’re just asking for it. “And we have our candidate for most likely to face a rape charge” replied a small Filipino woman in the corner, Her response was quickly followed by an uproarious laughter and several long hard pulls on Bud Light bottles.

As Rick and Bobby approached the table, quick introductions were made to Ben (the blonde man), Joe (the balding fellow), and a woman simply referred to as Shipman. After a quick pull on the still wet beer, the question of what he thought was the sluttiest holiday was posed to Bobby, and he quickly retorted, “Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Nothing like free love to make 24 hours with cousin Joyce more tolerable,” and with that Bobby was part of the Burchville drinking circle.


After several beers, a Jack Daniels and coke, and a purple concoction referred to as a Woo-Woo, Bobby found his eyes (and his head, neck, shoulders, and part of his chest) turning toward a curvaceous black sweater and an even more eye catching pair of jeans before he realized it was the green eyed woman from the lobby.

“Fucking McDonald” were her first words as she slammed a notebook on the table. “He wants me to go Christmas shopping this weekend. He knows; oh; I’ll be back.”

“Know somebody that’s getting a lump of coal.” Bobby half mumbled to Michelle (the aforementioned Shipman.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just that Anthony, her boss, knows that Saturday is the only day Karen gets to spend with her son and he wants her to spend that time at the mall.” She replied

“Sorry about that.” She said as she sat down and lit a cigarette and popped open a Bass. “It’s just that he’s put off getting the money for. Never mind”

After several minutes of venting and colorful language, she turned toward a slow to sober Bobby and offered their first conversation. “I’m sorry. This is a horrible way to meet but the perfect introduction to Birchville. I’m Karen. We never formally met. How was orientation?”

“Good, but how did you know I was in orientation,” Bobby inquired. “Well, I make it a point to know the therapist and specialist who are going to be working in my dorms.


With that, Bobby felt a slight dread but alcohol induced curiosity about his new co-worker. 2 beers and one small Filipino in a garbage can later, Bobby was stumbling up the hill with a different interest in his new job.

Chapter 6
The typical day at Birchville begins where almost all jobs in residential services; in front of a large pile of paper with a pen in one hand and a 20 oz Mountain Dew bottle on a desk. After spending 6:30-8:30 reviewing daily logs with National Public Radio in the background, Bobby saw Hector- a 17 year old diagnosed with conduct disorder who promptly informed him that neither he nor anyone else at Burchville did anything (read: “shit”) for him and this was a waste of time, and Jonathan, who seemed determined to discover if Bobby smoked and how to obtain a few cigarettes from him. After dropping Jonathan off at class, Bobby returned to his office and was awaiting his next student when he heard a heavy footsteps, followed by a slamming door, 2 female voices following close behind.

“I want to see my therapist,” were the first words Bobby heard as he opened his office door and saw two brown haired women standing at a closet door. “Can I help?”, He inquired to the more slender of the voluptuous women. “I want to see my therapist,” was shouted from the behind the door.
“It’s Andy. He can be the best kid in the world sometimes. He’s so sensitive. He brought me flowers and sometimes writes poetry for Sara-all of it bad, but still. Then he gets it in his head that he wants to do stuff like this. Laughing all the time and running. He was giving the over-nights fits.” The thinner one replied.

“Who’s his therapist?” Bobby inquired.
“Another new guy; he lives in Alpha 5 so”. The woman replied.
“So I get to play the Feud” He replied. “I don’t want to reinforce this and teach him that by running away he gets what he wants, but I want to give an opportunity to make good choices and out of the situation. What’s in there anyway? “
“The boiler and some wrenches and hammers. “ she replied. “Last time he did this he almost knocked the pipe off. That water is 120 degrees.
“OK, while I hate doing this, it’s a safety issue. OK, I’ll go ahead and say something. Andy, this is Bobby. I’m your new therapist. I understand you want to see me.”
“Yeah” came from behind the door.
“Can you tell me what this is about?” he asked.
“They put me on restriction for disruption.”
“And you don’t feel like you earned it?” Bobby inquired.
“ No. Fuckers just don’t like me” was the retort.
“That sounds frustrating, and I’m new so I’m still learning things, but I can’t do much with you in here. We’re scheduled to meet now. Do you want to step into my office?”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” The freckled faced girl inquired.
“I hate doing it but yeah; if he barely missed breaking the pipe last time, we can’t risk water loss and him hurting himself
“OK” freckles replied.
“Come on out and we’ll step next door,”
As the door opened, a 5’10” 140 lb boy with a bowl haircut and a Redskins Jersey stepped out. As Bobby extended his hand, the young man shoved him over a chair and made a break for the door while at the same time a fireplug of a man stepped in from behind a door and wrapped the young man’s arms around him, turned him around, and quickly disappeared up the ramp.
“It’s nice to meet you Mr. Seegers. Freckles said, as she had the bigger girl followed up the ramp

After a quick lunch, Bobby saw Jim, a 14 year old with serious sexual issues and worse hair, checked on Andy who was in his room, and had a session with Mike, a young African American man who had come to the school after being in the car during a drive by and displaying some anger management issues towards law enforcement. At 5:00, as he was documenting his 4 sessions, a silhouette filled the door. “You’re a real liability to our health insurance rates. You know that.” Karen opened.
“I was actually deported from Canada Screwed up the health care, kept telling them their football field was too big and they told me my drawl was tantamount to treason.” Bobby retorted while extending his vowels to infinity.

“Are you OK? Andy does that to everyone. Just gets pissed every once in awhile. Gets it in head he wants to run away.” Karen asked.
“I’m fine. That’s twice. It’s getting insulting” Bobby replied. “Hey, I was thinking. Do you need help with Xmas shopping? It might be a good way to get to know the kids.”
Karen replied, “Sure. We can do that,”. For the first time since his split with Drew in August, Bobby felt a small flitter in his stomach.

Chapter 7

The sun was shining, the air was crisp, and Bobby was chiding himself for being a little too excited about this shopping excursion. 7 years older than his 26 years, Karen Von Schlipe had started working at Birchville shortly after graduating high school and worked her way up to the position of residential supervisor.

Being a residential supervisor requires one to wear several different hats along with red and blue tights. Called upon to hire, fire, counsel, and nurture staff as well as play Mrs. Garrett to unlovable kids who knew far to much about the Facts of Life. Tethered to a cell phone and trying to differentiate who was client and who was staff, she had managed to survive the physical and mental challenges of being a residential instructor, raised her son alone with the help of her friends from work, and earned her 37 thousand dollars a year by working 60 hours a week.

Bobby met Karen and Andy at a local Chic-fil-a and proceeded to the 7th Canto of the Christmas Inferno that is the local Wal Mart on a Saturday afternoon before Christmas. With a list several pages long and a pay voucher, the Andy and Karen went in one direction, and Bobby went the other in search of CDs and various yuletide goodies. After the first hour, a reunification lead and assessment left several items to be found and a whole lot of frustration.

“Let’s get a few more things. I have to finish this up today so I can wrap it up next Saturday.” Karen said.
Looking down at the crest fallen Eddie, Bobby inquired, “Are you sure? I would have no problem taking care of this tomorrow. The voucher seems pretty self explanatory, and if we keep Eddie here much longer, he may grow to hate Jesus because of Christmas shopping for the same reason this place makes me hate lycra and certain people reproducing.”
“That’s very nice, but I can handle it.” She replied.
“Are you sure? It’s really no..”
“I said I’ll take care of it.” Karen cut him off.”
Eddie and Bobby shared a disdainful look and began to plod on like pioneer bound for Oregon but secretly hoping an Indian would hack them up and end their misery.

As the three walked past a set of Tickle Me Milo dolls, Bobby asked Eddie, “Ed, I’m concerned. Children all over town want these toys, but what if they don’t work.”
As Eddie and Karen watched, Bobby began flipping the switches and the 8 foot high shelf began to tremble. When Eddie joined in and their Frankenstein from PBS began to shake the shelf and knock some of the fallen Milo soldiers to the floor, Karen ground her teeth and mumbled, “Are you crazy? This is going to get me banned from Wal Mart, and I have to come back here.”
“Not if we walk quickly and the three made a hasty exit from the torrent of stuffed animals and Walmart as a whole.

Back in the car, Karen scowled as Eddie and Bobby sat in silence. “I guess Ill need to finish shopping for the kids huh?” Bobby inquired while fighting back the smirk.
“Guess so.” Karen scowled. “I do like to take care of my responsibilities myself.”
Bobby replied while biting his lip, “I’m so sorry. That was a horrible thing to do. Atrocious. I’m a morally reprobate human being. I should be ashamed.” At this point Nicholas burst out laughing. “And in front of a child too. You should call my mother. Let her know what a bad person she raised. Her name is Kay. She’s southern so you should speak slowly. She will.” After a pause, “I know. I’m not funny.”

As the car pulled into the Chic-Fil-a, Bobby opened the door and had one foot out when Karen piped up, “You know your not funny, but now you have to finish up this list and now you have to help Andy and I wrap these things next Saturday. Otherwise you’re taking Christmas away from children with disabilities.”

“Well I guess I’m obligated. My sins are so numerous I don’t need to add one to the list.” He said as he slammed the door and felt a butterfly he hadn’t felt in a long time.