Broski sat awkwardly in the waiting room perusing an antiquated issue of RedBook with one eye while observing the overcurious receptionist behind the desk with the other. Upon
his arrival, she'd handed him a clipboard and pen and instructed him to complete the form, completely. When he returned the form with numerous blank areas, she'd looked it over with poorly disguised contempt,
then handed it back.
"It's not complete."
"It is as far as I'm concerned", the corporal replied, tossing the clipboard back at her.
And though she'd only sustained a glancing blow, reflexively ducking behind her desk, Broski began to sense some hostility. A buzz came from her intercom and she reached for it slowly, wary of antagonizing
the crass soldier across the room. She mumbled something into the box, then turned a strained, slightly swollen smile toward the corporal.
"The Counselor will see you now."
Broski pushed himself up from the synthetic-leather couch and ambled past the nervous receptionist into Billoway's office. The gaunt, dark haired psychoanalyst sat attentively behind an enormous wooden desk,
fingers steepled at his chin.
"How are you doing today, Corporal?"
Broski eyed him cautiously, unsure how much information the shrink might glean from even the most innocuous reply. "Good", he muttered tentatively.
Billoway raised an eyebrow and nodded, scribbling in a small notebook that seemed to have come from nowhere. "Very interesting", the counselor observed dryly, "very interesting, indeed."
He changed his posture dramatically, leaning forward with his elbows on the surface of the desk. "And how do you feel about feeling good today?"
The corporal, who was gently maneuvering himself into the only other furniture in the room, a bright yellow beanbag chair, looked up with mild surprise. "What do you mean, 'how do I feel a bout feeling
good'? What kind of question is that?"
Billoway scribbled furiously on his notepad for several seconds before responding. "If you insist on challenging every question I place before you, we won't get far", he advised, again leaning back
in his chair. "Perhaps we should try something different."
He opened a drawer and began rummaging through its contents. Several questionable items were placed atop the desk before the counselor let out a victorious "Ah-ha". He withdrew a nondescript folder,
pulled a picture from within, and held it up in front of Broski's face. "Well, what do you think?", Billoway prompted enthusiastically.
The corporal concentrated on the image before him, tilting his head to the side minutely, hoping for a better perspective. "It's a moose", he said doubtfully.
Billoway was clearly disappointed.
"What?!?", Broski exclaimed, the stress of the situation finally taking hold. "It's a bat! A cloud! Mankind's symbolic struggle against its own destructive nature?!?" He threw
his hands up in the air as he moved toward the exit. "I ain't no good at this ink blot crap!!"
Billoway scowled darkly, watching the corporal's animated departure, and slid his wife's
glamour photo back into the folder.
