Shades of yellow, red and green foliage surrounded the Smile Center’s cozy backyard. The scent of pine and burning charcoal in the crisp, August air, made the atmosphere of the afternoon barbeque even more pleasant. The long grill stood packed with steaks, hotdogs, hamburgers, and Treen’s favorite, grilled catfish. Everyone danced and played volleyball in such a lively manner, it appeared they could party well into the night!
Amongst a shroud of roses and lilies, Treen and Samantha sat on the Flagstone patio overlooking the festivities. As usual, they sipped coffee, held their stuffed bellies, and swore never to eat so much again. Samantha glanced at her wristwatch. “Time for the last appointment. I go and sign him in.”
“Please call a tow truck to pull me up from this chair,” Treen moaned.
On the other side of the Smile Center, a white BMW pulled into the parking lot and stopped. With the engine still running, Russell Wellbay opened the rear door and slowly stepped out.
He slammed the door. He stared up at the square yellow smiley face painted high on the brick building and got whiff of barbecue smoke. He could hear loads of laughter from behind the facility. His frown quickly vanished when Jimi Hendrix ’s version of All Along The Watchtower, echoed through the air. Grooving his head to the distant beat, he followed the cobblestone path towards the entry.
Just outside the door, Russell noticed a silver plaque encrusted into the wall that read: Welcome to the Smile Center, Thank you for stopping by. The plaque had the same smiley-faced logo at center.
Russell knew his parents were watching him from the car. He also knew they weren’t driving away until he walked inside. “Alright, I’m going,” he grumbled, yanking the door open.
Inside the foyer, he stopped to scan the spacious and cool looking surroundings. “Man, it smells good in here.” He tucked his hands in his back pockets, then began his own tour.
Every colorful wall he passed was decorated with a painting, photograph, or ceramic creation. The hundreds of shelved books reminded him of the school library where he’d spent many afternoons in detention. If there’d been any more plants, or big windows, the place could be a greenhouse.
As he walked by the recreation room, he noticed some kids surrounding a huge plasma screen, cheering as they watched a Dumbo film. As Russell looked on, he muttered, ”Funny how Dumbo’s father never shows up...”
Russell saw the Information Office and walked over to peer through the glass. He studied the rear view of a shapely woman who battled the folders in the top drawer of a tall file cabinet. He quietly pushed the door back and admired her blue jean curves a bit longer before announcing his arrival.
“Hey, where’s this Treen girl I’m supposed to be talkin’ to?” he asked loudly, causing her to spin around and fling up a folder full of papers.
“You scare me to death,” she said, her hand pressed against her wavering chest. After the last sheet of paper had floated down between them, she asked, “Are you Russell Wellbay?”
“Sometimes.”
“I am Samantha,” she said giggling. She reached down to pick up one of the papers — a sign in sheet that she asked him to sit and fill out.
While Russell completed the paperwork, Samantha studied his appearance from behind her desk. Although he looked like he’d been rolling in the dirt, she could see that a good-looking boy lingered beneath the grime; he had high cheekbones and clear blue eyes like his father. The cigarette tucked behind his ear was partially shielded by his shaggy blond hair that looked surprisingly clean.
Russell dropped the pen on the desk and leaned back in his chair. He studied the captivating peach walls of Samantha’s office, which looked like the happy section of some museum.
“Those Jamaican paintings are cool,” he said, staring at the spectacular landscapes and crowded street markets that looked so real. Samantha sparkled. She was proud of the artwork and impressed that he knew where they’d come from.
“Wow, thank you. They are paintings of my village.”
“Maybe after I’m cured you can find me one,” he said politely. “Your own village?”
Russell grinned. “No, just a painting.”
Samantha laughed. “Oh yes, I do that for you.” She glanced at her watch; “Where is Treen?”
“It’s Saturday. She probably went home,” he said, standing, “I’ll come back some other time — ”
“No you won’t Russell Wellbay!” She stepped around the desk and grabbed his hand. “You come with me upstairs and wait for Treen there.”
After Samantha had taken Russell upstairs, she searched for Treen, who she found in the parking lot talking to Russell’s parents. As usual, Mr. Wellbay gestured wildly, while his wife just twirled her pearls. Samantha returned to her office without interrupting them.
Treen hated to be late for any kind of appointment. When the Wellbays finally drove away, she ran inside to meet Russell. She could see Samantha inside the Info Office, pointing at the ceiling, and realized that she’d already taken Russell up to her office.
Midway up the stairs, Treen stopped moving and took two whiffs: “I smell smoke,” she whispered, and it wasn’t the pleasant aroma of the barbeque.
The scent grew stronger as she ran up the remaining stairs. She jogged down the hallway and stopped near the open office door, which revealed exactly where the nasty smell had originated.
Russell was lying on the couch puffing a cigarette! Treen stood in the doorway and shook her head. Yet, even though his smoking was inconsiderate, she walked in and shut the door without a word. She knew there’d be plenty of time to discuss his bad habit.
Russell continued to blow smoke at the ceiling, ignoring her when she took off her blazer and moved towards her desk. With no ashtrays in the office, she watched to see where he’d been tapping his burning butt. To her astonishment, he took a drag, then flicked into his palm! Yes, it was gross, but at the same time, strangely considerate.
On the same hand that held the ashy mess, he licked his thumb and index finger, then used the moisture to pinch and extinguish the butt. As it sizzled out, the office began to smell even worse.
Russell finally ended his disgusting display by standing to discard the mess into his pants pocket. He wiped his hands on his denim jacket then plopped back down on the couch. After he’d wiggled himself comfortable, he cleared his throat.
Treen assumed he was ready to talk. She took two cans of Pavaloo Root Beer from the small red refrigerator beside her desk, then stepped over to the couch.
She offered the soda. He stared at the can. Then he sprang forward and snatched it from her hand. As he turned the can around to study the ingredients, Treen moved to sit across from him.
“Russell, I’m Treen Alee. How are you today?”
“I don’t know how I am,” he said in a low tone, still staring at the Pavaloo, “That’s what you’re here for, ain’t it?” he added, scanning the loaded bookshelves that surrounded the room.
Crack!
He’d opened the Pavaloo. He glared at the foam rushing out. “I’ll be seventeen next week. I ain’t about to tell no sixteen-year- old girl about my problems.” He loudly sipped the foam.
“So, you know how old I am?”
“Who doesn’t? There’s pictures and stuff about you all over that stupid school I go to. You own this Happy Center and you’re some super psychologist, right?”
“I’m a counselor. I have a long way to go before I’m a psychologist. She grinned. By the way, it’s called the Smile Center.”
“Sorry. Look, I really don’t wanna talk about my dad.”
“Well, talk about something else then. Who’s your best friend at Mallyview High?”
“I ain’t got a best friend. I don’t talk to anybody.”
She leaned forward. “Russell, I can help you, but you’ll have to talk to me. Besides, if you don’t, your parent’s may take you elsewhere — probably to someone much older.” He sat up quickly and put the Pavaloo on the table.
“I hate my dad. He doesn’t care about anything I want. He just wants me to learn about computers. All he talks about is these stupid robotic arms