“So, Jahlil, we both know why you’re here today.”
Jahlil, legs dangling off the edge of the too-short sofa in the therapist’s office, sighed and rolled his eyes. “I’m here because I punched a guy.”
The therapist, a woman in her mid-forties, peered over her glasses at her patient. “That’s not the only reason, as you know.”
Jahlil sighed again. “And because of a ‘history of self-destructive behaviors’,” he added, using the exact phrase that team management had used with him when they had told him that one of the conditions of his suspension was to attend mandatory therapy sessions.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really,” Jahlil replied, refusing to look anywhere but the ceiling. After a few seconds’ silence, he was suddenly struck by a desire to justify his actions. “I mean, the guy was in my face, so I punched him out, so it’s not like I’m just randomly walking around looking for people who to punch.”
The therapist nodded while taking notes. “We’re making progress,” she said in a voice that was obviously meant to encourage Jahlil to share even more of his feelings.
Jahlil’s eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t think we are, though. I mean, it’s not like my rationale for punching out a Celtics fan is some mystical unknowable enigma. It’s pretty straightforward. He was being a turd so I knocked him out. Emotions played very little part in the whole situation.”
There was more nodding on the therapist’s end. “Good, good. Let it all out.”
“I don’t really have anything to let out.” Jahlil thought about adding more to this statement but decided to be obstinate instead. Maybe that would get him out of here quicker.
“Maybe you can talk about your relationship with your parents growing up.”
Jahlil’s eyebrows un-scrunched themselves and travelled up his forehead. “If you’re trying to get me to say that my dad beat me or something, the worst he ever did was spank me for pushing a plate of food onto the floor. So if that’s where you’re trying to go with this conversation, which I think it is, then you’re not going to get very far. Sorry.”
“So you attribute your anger issues to your father’s harsh treatment of you as a child,” the therapist mused thoughtfully, her pen scribbling on paper.
“No, that’s not what I said,” Jahlil replied angrily. “Did I say anything like that? No. I’m pretty sure I only punch people because I’m tired of them saying mean things about me.” Jahlil clapped his hands over his mouth as he realized that he had just said something that could be construed as describing his emotions. “I take it back. I don’t care that they say mean things. I only retaliate when I’m physically threatened. It’s a purely animal response,” he said, trying to correct himself, but it was too late. The therapist was smiling now, her pen scribbling with more ferocity than ever before.
“You don’t like it when they say mean things, do you, Jahlil? It hurts your feelings, doesn’ it?”
Jahlil tried to come up with a detached answer to the question but, instead and against his will, found himself pondering it seriously. He was honestly tired of all the mockery. It wasn’t his fault the Sixers were garbage, and it hadn’t been his choice to play for a franchise that so blatantly disregarded winning. “I guess it sort of does, but that’s not even why I knocked that asshole out. He had it coming for shoving me like that. It wasn’t because he hurt my feelings.”
The therapist set her pen down. “It’s troubling that you continue to use such negative language when describing the victim of your assault, but your lax attitude towards the violent resolution of interpersonal disputes is even more troubling,” she said. “You must realize that violence is not the answer.”
“There’s like five different videos of the whole thing on YouTube!” Jahlil exclaimed. “I’m just walking away minding my own business when this dude comes out of nowhere all pissed practically begging to get his clock cleaned. I mean, I get why he was mad, I’d be mad too if I had to cheer for that fatty Jared Sullinger and listen to people talking in that horrible Boston accent all the time.”
“That’s probably enough for today,” the therapist said. “You can come back the same time next week and we’ll keep trying to work through this together.”
“Next week?” Jahlil repeated dumbly. “I thought all I had to do was go to one therapy session.”
“Well, you don’t have to come back against your will, but you will be forfeiting a significant amount of salary should you choose to discontinue these sessions.”
“Fine,” Jahlil mumbled, unwilling to part with any amount of his small rookie salary. “Next week.” By the time he walked out the door, he was already formulating plans to appear contrite and reformed in time for the next session.