# Dragon in the Dishwater, Ch 2

Author: comidacomida
Tags: Angst, Character Development, Dragon, Highschool, Human, Plot Development, Psychological, Teenager, Trouble, broken home, deep storyline, sociological

Dragon in the Dishwater  
Chapter 2  
Copyright 2006 comidacomida  
  
Once his mother opened the front door Eric pushed right on by, heading  
straight up the stairs towards his room. His cheeks were still red from the  
session, hands still clenched. The young man mechanically reached the top of  
the staircase and turned down the hall going directly to his room. Without a word  
he marched down through his door ignoring the dismissing call from his mother  
downstairs. With a resounding slam he closed his room off to the other parts of  
the house. He knew for certain there would be no way he could get to sleep  
anytime soon; Eric hated therapists and the night had reinforced why.

It wasn't ten minutes later that he was vocally cursing at his videogame  
console. Eric hurled a pillow at his closet door with all his might as his F-16  
plummeted to the ground in a conflagration; almost a month and he still had yet  
to get past the mission. He flopped backward onto his bed and slammed both  
closed fists into the mattresses in a backhand motion. Eric closed his eyes in  
dread when he heard the knock on his door and, true to form, his mother barged  
on in... but Eric knew what this discussion would be about.

"You could have at least tried," his mother began, moving to sit next to him  
on the bed, "you fought Doctor Marlow every single step of the way."

"Was it obvious I didn't want to be there?" asked Eric, standing back up  
and stepping away from his bed, his mother looking at him with an expression of  
concern and displeasure.

"Yes." she replied, her gaze not wavering as she met his.

"Well good." he responded, turning around before taking a seat at his  
desk, "Now that I've met Doctor Marlow we don't have to worry about repeating  
the little charade."

"What do you mean, 'charade'?" she questioned him. He could hear her  
stand up and could tell by the change of pitch in her voice that between concern  
and anger the anger was winning out. Eric didn't mind... it usually meant that  
she'd leave that much faster.

"We both know that you brought me along because you were trying to  
prove to yourself that you're a good mother... like bringing me along would make  
any difference in therapy." he let out a half-hearted condescending "Ha."  
"I brought you along because Doctor Marlow wanted to meet you, Eric.  
We talk about you all the time during my sessions." she responded, standing  
right behind him.

Eric didn't respond. Instead, the young man took out one of his pencils  
and opened his calculus book. His mother began pacing behind him before she  
spoke again, "He wanted to have a chance to meet you so he could see you for  
himself."

"You mean... so he could start a file on me and charge you more than he  
already is?" Eric responded, working through one of the problems half way down  
the page.

"If it would help... yes." his mother retorted.

"Help what?" he asked, knowing that she was leading him on, but not  
particularly caring at that point, eager to be rid of the drama and guilt trip she was  
bringing into his room, "He's your shrink... and it's obvious he isn't doing a very  
good job."

"Eric, honey..." his mother spoke up, resting a hand on his shoulder, "don't  
tell me you don't realize that you have a problem." Eric shrugged her arm off at  
that, not willing to dignify it with a response.

His mother let out a deep sigh and continued her pacing, "You're in your  
room all the time... you spend almost as many hours doing homework as you do  
sleeping... and you don't socialize... not with me... not with friends... you don't  
even have a pet, Eric. It's not healthy."

"I'm fine, mom... you're the only one who sees a problem." he retorted,  
fingers beginning to clench around the pencil.

"Honey... it didn't used to be like this..." she responded, taking a seat on  
the bed again, "don't tell me that you're over your father leaving us... because I  
can tell you aren't."

Eric couldn't help himself-the book closed in front of him and he placed  
his pencil down on the desk. It was all he could do to turn the chair slowly,  
purposefully around so he could look at his mother. His fists clenched and he  
gritted his teeth, "He left you... not me."

"He left us, Eric, honey..." she responded simply, fluidly, as if it were the  
easiest thing in the world for her to say. The young man's frustration skidded,  
and veered off the road. He kept his fists clenched as he tried to focus on his  
anger... but the simplicity and matter-of-factness with which his mother spoke  
derailed him... and he hated that she pushed the advantage.

"Eric... your father chose a different life. He chose one that didn't involve  
either of us." she stood up again and moved closer to him, standing by where he  
sat in his chair.

"If you-" he paused, trying to collect his thoughts as his hands began to  
shake, "Dad would have-" he covered the crackle in his voice with a cough,  
"he-"

"He abandoned us, Eric... it wasn't anything you did, and it wasn't  
anything I did. It was something he chose for himself. He chose it, Eric. Don't  
blame yourself." she moved to slide an arm around his shoulder, resting her  
cheek against his head... and that was the end of Eric's tolerance; with a heave,  
he stood up from the chair, shoving his mother off of him.

"Leave me alone!" he screamed, "Just leave me the fuck alone! Why do  
you have to do this? It's always something!" he slammed his fist into the chair by  
his side, "Is your life so god damn miserable that you have to go and do  
something like this? Is it all about pretending to be the perfect, understanding  
mother so you can make my life all better? Well you can't! You can't, because  
with you around it only gets worse. Now get the hell out of my room!"

The silence that followed his exclamation was long and uncomfortable... it  
contrasted the storm of words he had thrown at his mother and, at that point, Eric  
didn't pause to survey the damage. He stood staring at her, his shoulders  
heaving with heavy breaths as his heart surged against his ribs as if trying to  
claw its way out. His gaze was a challenging one... whether he meant it or not,  
and he could see it in the way his mother sank away from him; she tried to be a  
leader but she always ended up rolling over in a confrontation.

"I know you don't mean that, Eric..." she whispered softly, her voice  
cracking in the frustrating way Eric had come to know as the guilt-trip-in-  
progress. He didn't fall for it.

"Get out... now. I don't want to hear it... and I don't want to talk about it.  
If you want to help, just go downstairs and fucking clean something." The words  
were spiteful and jabbing, but, at that time, there was nothing more from-the-  
heart that Eric could offer. Without another word, his mother left the room  
leaving the door slightly ajar as she departed. Eric let out a deep breath, the  
anger, frustration, fury, and indignation seeping out of him once she had gone.

He sank into the chair at his side and put his forehead down on the desk.  
The young man simply shook his head back and forth. He took in shaky  
breaths, working to calm himself and avoid letting his mother's interrogation get  
to him. For many moments Eric fought against the overwhelming sense of loss,  
mind stuck on the events of several years past. Homework now far from his  
thoughts, Eric stood back up and took the few steps required to get to his bed.

He threw himself onto it and buried his face in the pillow. He had four more  
months until he was eighteen-if his mother continued her antics it would be a  
very long four months.

  \* \* \* \* \* \*  
  
Eric dreamt that night. He had a dream about his family being whole-  
whole and healthy. It wasn't the first dream like it but something stood out...  
something different. The young man didn't realize right away that he was  
dreaming, but as the dream continued it slowly became clearer and clearer.  
His mother and father were on the sofa, held in one another's arms. Eric  
was on the floor, splayed out with his elbows spread wide, palms pressed  
together under his chin to keep his head propped up. They were watching a TV  
show together. It wasn't a specific program for, as dreams are wont to do, that  
detail was left out... it was simply a program... one they could all enjoy together  
as a family.

They were eating dinner; time had passed but, as is the norm for dreams,  
one event led right into another without a transition. The whole Bradish family  
was seated at a spotless table next to their clean kitchen. Eric's mother had set  
down a pork loin roast with potatoes... real potatoes, and not the instant mashed  
stuff. There were vegetables and side dishes and a salad with dressing; it was a  
real family dinner. That was the moment, however, when the reverie of times  
past began to slowly unravel.

It started with a wooden bowl falling onto the floor. It wasn't any big issue,  
but Eric realized that it simply didn't sound right. The sound echoed in his mind,  
replaying itself over and over again, modifying slightly each time until it  
juxtaposed over the sound of a door slamming. Eric sat alone at the table, the  
wonderful dinner forgotten; both of his parents had stormed out of the room due  
to an argument that hadn't taken place... or, perhaps, through which time had  
been fast forwarded.

As he sat alone at the table, Eric's dreaming mind slowly began to turn the  
dream over to his pre-waking thoughts. He began to see the small shreds in the  
dream... began to pick out the inconsistencies just like someone would before  
they awoke. He stood up from the table and went to the front door, arriving just a  
few seconds before a knock sounded. Numbly obeying the dream's storyline,  
Eric reached out, gripping the ice cold door knob, and slowly opened it.

"Well hi there, Eric. Remember me? It's Nina..." her face was all smiles  
and her bubbly expression spoke volumes about her outgoing love of life; Eric  
hated her.

"Why?" he asked her, his voice monotone as the same question rang over  
and over in his head. She continued on as if he hadn't said a word.

"Oh, you remember me, you big kidder." she ruffled his hair with one hand  
as if he were five years old, "I'm from your dad's office." she peeked her head  
inside, "Is he home?"

"Yes." responded Eric, with venom, "he's home... where he belongs.  
What are you doing here?"

Nina turned and regarded Eric, her smile a candy-coated poisonous  
expression of malice, her perfect ebony skin slowly molding and decaying into a  
putrid mockery of life, "Oh honey... we just need to talk business stuff... I'm  
gonna just go upstairs and steal him for a minute."

"Steal him..." Eric spoke to himself, and his own words awoke him, the  
faintest imagined scents of rotting flesh still lingering on his mind. He had his  
pillow in a death grip, and his teeth were clenched. "Steal him..." he repeated  
after a few seconds, "I hate you... I fucking hate you." He hurled the pillow  
across the room where it struck a bare section of wall, impacting hard enough to  
make an audible sound.

The muted thud could have been loud enough to awaken his mother...  
were she not taking sleep aids. Eric scowled up at the ceiling, staring at it in the  
dark as he laid on his bed, body tense, muscles tight, and brain awash with  
thoughts. The events of the dream played over and over in his mind and Eric  
found himself wiping errant wetness from his eyes. His father had left his mother  
for her... his father had left him... had abandoned his family for some slut at the  
office.

Eric had met her... once. She seemed so horribly perfect. The woman  
was like some life-like imitation of a child's doll... no blemishes... no faults... no  
flaws. She was too perfect... far more perfect than anyone had a right to be.  
The young man didn't quite get it at first. The late nights at work... the uneasy  
silence between his parents... it wasn't until the fight one night at dinner that Eric  
realized just how much his life was going to change. His father was more  
interested in the secretary than he was in his own family. Nina was perfect. She  
was too perfect... and his father was too smitten.

At the sound of a sudden crack, Eric's seething apathy quickly derailed.  
Sitting up, fully astute, Eric turned to his toy chest right as another crack echoed  
through his room. The sound broke the last vestiges of sleepy haze from his  
mind that his anger had not dispelled. Slipping quickly from bed, Eric grabbed  
hold of the mag light flashlight he kept near his bed. Twisting the metal tube  
around in his hand, the young man held it with easy readiness, brandishing it like  
a club as he slowly knelt down and opened the lid on the chest.

Another crack rang out from beneath the pillows... the same sound, he  
realized, that the wooden bowl had made in his dream when it had hit the floor.  
Not one to analyze how dreams could be affected by the events around a  
sleeper, Eric was far more interested in the sound itself. The young man peeled  
the pillows back and slowly unfolded a towel-and there it was.

Situated amidst the nest of blankets, pillows, and linens were the  
remnants of the crystal Eric had brought home. Flecks of the strange material  
clung here and there to the cloth but that was not the most significant change to  
take place to the geode. Eric stood numbly staring at an egg. He wasn't  
precisely sure what kind of egg or exactly how an egg was covered in a  
chrysalis... were that the case. All Eric knew was, where a large crystal had  
been, an egg of almost equal size was resting in its place.  
"

What the hell?"

  \* \* \* \* \* \*

Eric found no answers during his free time at school. While he spent his  
lunch in the library looking up literature on life processes the young man found  
nothing that could help him. A few idle questions after lecture in his biology class  
landed him no closer to knowledge. By the time the final bell rang, Eric was  
more than ready to go home. What he was having trouble with was deciding on  
whether to watch the egg or try the chisel again. Dissecting whatever's in that  
thing will get me some answers. he considered. As the thoughts went through  
his head, however, Eric realized that a chisel was one thing he was not about to  
use.

On the way home, Eric took time to consider what he knew-or at least  
what he thought he knew. He was certain that the egg had come from the  
chrysalis... how else it could have gotten in his toy box was anyone's guess. It  
could be reasoned that the crystal casing of the egg may have fallen away from  
the shell because of a change in temperature... his room was far warmer than  
the park had been in many months.

What Eric couldn't decide on, however, was just what the egg was or  
what kind of animal it could belong to. He was certain of one thing: if it actually  
hatched he would have plenty of time to figure out what to do with the creature.  
A hatchling couldn't possibly be that dangerous... right? Turning the corner and  
continuing on the way to his house, Eric almost tripped over his own feet. He  
skidded to a stop, looking at his house with two cars in the driveway. He  
recognized his mother's minivan... even this long after Eric's dad left his mother  
couldn't get away from the suburban housewife theme.

It took Eric longer to figure out the second car but, as he approached, the  
license plate finally rang a bell. He had seen the car last on his way out of the  
therapist's office while he was storming to the van. What caught his eye then,  
and what had triggered the recognition was the license plate: HERE4U. "Here  
for you..." Eric rolled his eyes, "Yea... the men in white coats are here for you...  
I'm here for you and your money... I'm here for you as long as it fits my  
appointment calendar..." He continued contemplating the license plate right up  
until he reached the front door.

Before Eric could pull out his key the front door opened before him. His  
mother stood in the entryway, her head cocked to the side slightly almost as if he  
had surprised her and not the other way around.

"Mom... what are you doing home?" he questioned her right away,  
pushing by and into the house. She closed the door behind him and turned to  
follow.

"Eric... Doctor Marlow is here." she noted.

"Yea... I saw his car... BMW... You can tell his favorite part of the job is  
helping people... he's not in it for the money or anything." Eric walked into the  
kitchen with his mother following. He sidestepped a stack of newspapers and  
opened the fridge. The young man rooted around for a soda while his mother  
stood quietly behind him and to the side. "So..." he asks, turning to regard her  
finally, "You took off early so you could have a home session with the good  
doctor? He's charging extra for a house call, right?"

"Eric..." his mother began, and the soda can stopped half way to his lips.  
He recognized that tone and he knew nothing good could come of it.  
Eric lowered the can and looked her level in the eye, "What?"

"Doctor Marlow is here to talk to you."

Eric closed his eyes, calmly setting the can down on the counter, "No  
thanks." he turned, walking past her as he made his way towards his room,  
"Think I'll pass."

His mother reached out and grabbed hold of his wrist, "Eric..." she spoke,  
her voice a little louder than usual, "You're going to speak with Doctor Marlow.  
He's waiting in the living room."

"It's your dime... let him solve your problems. I'm going to my room." he  
answered, not even looking back at her. He pulled his arm away... and she  
grabbed his other one.

"I'm not asking you to, Eric Nathaniel Bradish. You are going to talk to  
Doctor Marlow."

It had been a long time since Eric had heard his mother use her "mom  
voice"... and even longer since she pulled the "full name" trump card. While a  
thousand good come-backs circled around in his head, the young man was too  
numbed by his mother's sudden confrontational attitude to choose from them.  
She led him back into the kitchen by his arm, and gave him a little push towards  
the living room.

"I'm heading back to work, Eric... Doctor Marlow and I will talk at the  
session tonight. Whatever you two will talk about is up to you two and it's totally  
confidential... but if I hear that you didn't talk to him then I'm going up into your  
room and pulling that videogame thing out of there... and you won't get it back-"

"Mom-" Eric began.

"Ever." she retorted before he got more than one word out, "I want to be  
healthy... and I want you to want to be healthy too."

Eric wanted to hit something... he wanted to jump up and down and throw  
a fit. He wanted to cry and to scream and to have a ten-point-oh on the Richter  
Scale quality tantrum... but... he just couldn't. Shaking his head, Eric walked to  
the living room with the quiet resignation of a man on death row walking to the  
gas chamber, "Kill me now, God... just kill me now."

  \* \* \* \* \* \*

Eric sat tight lipped as Doctor Marlow observed him. The two had been  
facing one another for nearly five minutes without a word from either party. Once  
his mother had left, Eric felt strangely more comfortable, which he hadn't quite  
expected. Doctor Marlow just continued to sit in the easy chair Eric's mother  
usually used to knit... back when she knitted. The older man had a small, black,  
leather-bound writing pad on his lap and a pen held lazily in his hand.

"It's good to see you again Eric... I was afraid we got off on the wrong  
foot." Doctor Marlow noted, finally breaking the silence.

"Yea... we probably did." responded the young man, scowling at the  
haphazard greeting.

"Well..." noted the doctor, "Perhaps we could start with some of your  
impressions... review those and see how you came by them and give you the  
chance to find out of they're accurate or not... or was there something else you  
had in mind?"

"I figured you'd just ask me some questions, I'd give you answers, and  
you'd tell my mother I was going to grow up to be the next Unabomber." replied  
Eric flatly.

"Do you really think that is why I'm here?" questioned Doctor Marlow.

"You don't have a sense of humor, do you?" retorted Eric.

"Of course I do... but I also have a sense for someone who has a hard  
time talking and a harder finding an ear who will listen." the doctor leaned forward  
slightly, setting the pad of paper off to the side, "Eric... you don't want to talk to  
me, do you?"

Eric rolled his eyes, "Wow... you're even better than my mother said you  
were... not only are you a psychologist but you're psychic too."

"I don't have to be psychic to know what you're feeling, Eric. Taking one  
look at you: crossed arms, slouched in your seat, heel tapping on the ground,  
distant expression... it's easy enough to see you're uncomfortable." Doctor  
Marlow sat back in his chair once again, picking the pad of paper up while Eric  
took stock of his posture and did notice that he was slumped forward with his  
arms crossed tight enough across his chest to make his fingers tingle.

"I'm not uncomfortable." Eric countered, "I just don't need someone telling  
me how screwed up I am."

"Do you really think you're 'screwed up', Eric?" inquired the doctor.

The teen supplied Doctor Marlow with an eye-roll, "Why else would my  
mother try to get me to have a session with her shrink... twice?"

"Choosing to base your own self image on what others think of you is one  
way to answer my question, Eric... but you don't strike me as that kind of a  
young man." the doctor adjusted the glasses on his nose, "Do you think there's  
something wrong with you?"

"If I say 'no' will you leave me alone?" asked Eric, moving to cross his  
arms again but catching himself. He rested them on the arm rests again, putting  
his feet flat on the ground to avoid tapping his heels against the floor.

"Yes or no, any time you're done talking with me you're free to leave,  
Eric." responded the doctor, "You're not a prisoner and you can go any time. The  
only reason I'm here is because I know how hard it can be if you don't have  
anyone to talk to. I'm a neutral party you can talk to freely about anything and  
everythi-" Doctor Marlow slowed his speech as Eric stood up and walked off,  
"Nice talking to you, Eric."

Eric did not respond and simply headed upstairs taking the steps two at a  
time. He rounded the corner, power-walking straight down the hall to his room.  
Once there, he threw the door wide and, after a half-second's pause, gently and  
purposefully closed the door before grabbing either side of his head and holding  
his breath to avoid screaming. There wasn't anything particular he could put his  
finger on, but Doctor Marlow infuriated him.

_Just what I need... a shrink to drive me crazy._ he vented. Eric began  
mulling about the room. The young man focused on nothing in particular, simply  
going from object to object to get his mind off of the subject of Doctor Marlow and  
onto something else-anything else. He didn't have to look very hard. Stopping  
at the toy box, Eric noticed immediately that something was amiss. More  
specifically, the egg was missing.

Moving the three or four feet to the chest with more of a hop than a sprint,  
Eric looked into the container and saw... broken shells. The inside of the chest  
had a damp gloss to it... almost as if a thousand snails had left their tell-tale  
trails. He stood there for several seconds as his mind came to grips with the  
discovery. The chrysalis, which he had found at the park, contained an egg...  
and that egg had now hatched. Treading lightly, Eric circled in place, looking for  
any sign of what might have emerged.

He moved slowly to the bed, still looking for anything moving... something  
out of place. "Some kind of bird or reptile maybe... a bug?" he asked aloud. A  
shifting waver of movement near his right hand caught his attention. Jumping up  
and away from it, Eric was shocked and surprised. A section of his patterned  
bedspread rose up beside him, slowly losing its color and taking on a decidedly  
more olive-green hue. The pattern and color bled away like a chameleon  
changing between backdrops; there, right next to Eric, sitting on the bed perched  
up on its hind legs like some kind of reptilian bunny stood-

_A... dragon!_ Eric thought to himself, and everything began to spin. Unable  
to catch himself, Eric landed face first against the bed, sprung off of it, and  
landed on his back on the floor. "Ow..." he murmured flatly, and passed out.  
 

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