Tim Duncan sat patiently in the waiting room of San Antonio Paraphilia Rehabilitation. It had been five months since he had taken Patty to this place, but he remembered every detail like it was yesterday. The struggle, the vile words, those things had not bothered Tim too much. But when Patty had been strapped to the gurney and wheeled away to places unseen, his pleading eyes and betrayed expression boring a hole right into Tim’s soul, those things still haunted Tim’s dreams.
Tim reminded himself, as he had to multiple times a day, that taking Patty to rehab had been the last course of action. Friendship and understanding were all well and good, and Tim had done much to provide those things to his friend and teammate, but good intentions were no match for Patty’s insatiable fetish for towels.
The screams of the children at the charity swim event still echoed in Tim’s mind, and he shuddered. If he had not been there, would anybody have been able to stop Patty before he had caused even more damage? Tim had retreated so far into his thoughts that he jumped when a woman’s voice said, “Mr. Duncan? Somebody wants to see you.”
Tim looked up to see a nurse leading Patty by the hand, and he immediately got up from his undersized chair to greet his friend. “How are you feeling, Patty?”
Patty’s expression remained unchanged; there was no glimmer of recognition in his eyes, and he made no response. As soon as the nurse had stopped pulling on his hand, he had come to a stop where he stood. “Patty, don’t you remember me?” Tim asked, his joy turning to concern.
“The therapy did affect some changes on his personality,” the nurse said. “He was quite the rambunctious one when you brought him in. on the plus side, though, you can do this and he doesn’t react at all.” She brought a small towel out of her coat pocket and waved it in front of Patty’s face. “See? Totally cured. You can wrap him up in towels like a towel-mummy and there’s not so much as a hint of arousal.”
Tim waved his hands in front of Patty’s eyes, but Patty gave no hint that he was even perceiving the outside world. “When you say ‘therapy’, you don’t mean electroshock therapy, do you?”
“We don’t use that word here,” the nurse scolded. “But yes. In cases as severe as Patty’s, we are often left with no choice. You should be glad he didn’t get lobotomized.”
Tim looked down at his vegetative friend and shrugged. “Well, hopefully he can still shoot threes. Come on dude, let’s get out of here.” Taking Patty’s hand in his own, Tim led him out the door and into the marvelous San Antonio sunset.