“Henderson Atwell,” a woman announced. She stood in an open doorway to a small office, a wane smile on her face, and a clipboard held protectively in front of her light blue cardigan.

“Yup, that’s me,” a beefy man said. He hoisted his large body from the waiting room chair. In three strides, he stood by the woman. She looked up at his pimply face, hair still damp with comb marks, and gestured for him to step inside.

“I’m Carolyn Woods. I’m taking over Ray’s students while he’s…recovering.”

Henderson rubbed the side of his neck and squeezed into a chair. He spun the end of his hoodie string, brought it to his mouth, and spit it out. “I sent him a card last week, but I haven’t heard from him.”

Carolyn pulled her skirt down and sat across from him. The clipboard rested on her lap.

“He’s still recovering from surgery. Shall we start? I’ve reviewed Ray’s notes. You were seeing him weekly.” She flipped the page. “The last session was before his accident?”

Henderson nodded. His head swiveled around the office as if he were trying to catch a familiar scent.

“You were doing really well,” she said. “A 3.0 in most of your core classes. A nice improvement from last semester. Still struggling a bit in American history, but close to an A in sociology.”

“I like that brain science stuff, it’s interesting. Makes a lot of sense.”

“How so?” Carolyn leaned forward, an open smile on her face.

Henderson shrugged and pulled at the strings of his hoodie, up and down, as if he were milking a cow. “I’m understanding myself by interacting and observing people.” He leaned forward in the small chair to meet her. “So, listen, I want to play again. Coach needs me back. Are you the one to let me?” His voice tinged in conspiracy.

“I,I… just got your case.” She sat bolt straight. “I see you started a part-time job. How’s that going?”

“Yeah, it was Ray’s idea, since I had time to fill without practice.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I do the dinner shift at a collections agency. I’m a top earner too. I’m persuasive.”

“Do you threaten people?” Carolyn hugged the clipboard.

“Naw,” he waved his hand. “The supervisor says it’s my voice. I’ve got a growl.”

Carolyn inhaled sharply and tugged at her braid resting on her shoulder. “A growl? That’s a good opening point to what we need to discuss, especially since Ray’s accident. The counseling staff is confused about the anger management program you’re following.”

“I’m not supposed to talk about it. Like Fight Club,” he laughed.

“Fight Club isn’t a real thing. This is the real world. I know you want to play football and keep your scholarship. You need to reign in your anger. The athletic department,” she flipped through the notes on the clipboard, “Henderson Atwell’s increasingly aggressive behavior at team practice and destructive tendencies during recent away games, has caused bodily injuries to both teammates and opposing team members. While severe disciplinary action is justified, we feel suspension and counseling is an appropriate first step.”

Henderson rolled his eyes, “Sorry,” he bobbed his head. “Positive body language leads to positive thinking.” He exhaled sharply, his hands in a prayer pose in front of his wide chest. “I’m a football player. The game is rough. I’m a big guy, three maybe four times your size. Coach psyches us up before games. He wants me to be a maniac out there.”

Carolyn looked back at the notes. “You broke your teammate’s jaw during practice,” she said in whisper.

“I said I was sorry. It was an accident.”

“He was on the bench, lacing his cleats when you hit him.”

“A little rough housing as my dad used to call it. Dude called me a fat chicken wing pit. I meant to push him off the bench and you know.”

Carolyn twisted the silky end of her braid, her arm across her chest. “Help me understand this program you found. We both want the same thing for you, to get back to the game.”

Henderson clapped his hands together. Carolyn jumped in her seat. He stood and walked to the office window, blocking the natural light with his body. He turned and leaned against the sill.

“Have you ever walked across campus or a busy street and you see some a-hole totally absorbed by their friggin’ phone? They suck up all the room on the sidewalk and bump into people. They don’t even look up. My favorite is the guy who stops in the middle of an intersection to thumb a text. And don’t, don’t even mention those sissy scooter rats everywhere.”

“I don’t understand.

Henderson drummed the window sill with the palms of his hand. “It’s a game to release my aggression, but controlled.”

Carolyn tilted her head.

“Karl, my anger manager calls it P.U.S.H therapy.”

“Push?” She made a note. “I’ve never heard of it.

“People Upheaving Societal Habits. It’s a lame acronym, the S should stand for stupid. But, it fits for how it works.”

“And how’s that?”

“Karl and I go out, a buddy system, and walk around. Exercise is good, releases endorphins. Ray talked a lot about learning to channel the endorphin rush I get on the field to enhance my playing, not my aggression.” He tapped his fist into his open palm.

“When we see someone being stupid in public, mostly on a phone, owning the world, I push into them. Sometimes it’s a nudge into things right in front of them. So clueless.”

“You physically push them?” She leaned forward in her seat.

“Yeah, kind of. More of a hip check. It’s funny too. They look up and apologize. It’s great. It releases my natural aggression and I get a ‘sorry’ out of it.” He laughed.

“How hard do you push people?”

“It depends on how much of an a-hole the person is. I mean, no kids of course. Karl draws the line at kids. No old people either. But they’re not the problem.”

“No, I suppose not. Is this to teach you how to be gentle in some way?”

“No, it’s just a release. It’s crazy how sweeping a bunch of scooter rats off the sidewalk feels. It’s a public service too. No one likes them. I almost got a cigarette burn last week from some chick with dragon nails clicking away on her feed with one hand and her cancer stick dangling by the side of her leg. She was standing in the middle of a door at a coffee shop. No one could get in or out. Anyhow, I came up from behind, bam.” He smacked his hand on the window sill. “Double mocha latte down her back, her phone skidded twenty feet. It was great. The look on her face, damn! And she apologized and offered to get me another coffee. What a rush that was.”

Carolyn held her hand at her throat. “Did the coffee burn her?”

“Heck yeah, that stuff is like lava.”

“You can’t do that! It’s assault.”

“Being inconsiderate is a social crime. If society allows bad behavior, it becomes normalized. I’m doing a favor for society. We all benefit when these outliers learn some social manners.”

“Who’s Karl? What are his credentials?” Carolyn crossed her legs and her arms.

“He’s a retired hockey player. He works with a lot of athletes, rugby players, wrestlers, women too. He helps everyone.”

Carolyn’s mouth formed a silent Oh. “This isn’t standard anger management therapy. Let’s talk about some recommended programs.” She stood and pulled a folder off her desk. Her hand shook as she handed Henderson a list of support groups.

He held his hand like a stop sign. “No thanks. I already got that list from Ray. I’m not interested in sitting in a circle talking about my feelings,” he said in a mocking tone. “It isn’t gonna work. Never has. Action and activity, channeling my natural impulses is what I need.”

“I agree it’s annoying when people are absorbed in their phones, but you’re hurting people, you know this, right?”

Henderson looked away from her and tapped his foot at the chair leg. “Ray was an accident. I didn’t know it was him that day on the jogging path. I was alone, without Karl. I didn’t have his coaching and got carried away. He hit the light post before I even recognized him.”

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