Big Bad

Big Bad

By Paul Siluch

The receptionist calls my name with a sneer in her voice. I slink out of the waiting room, staying low to try not to be noticed. I pad softly down the short hallway and into the office, nosing the door closed quietly behind me.

“Hello B.B.,” Dr. Morley says formally. He’s the therapist of the day. I’ve seen him a few times. My health plan covers two visits a month, but not many will see my kind anymore.

“Hang on a second. I’ll get a blanket for the couch.”

So I shed a little? That didn’t used to be such a big deal.

“Call me Lu, if you don’t mind,” I mutter. “Big Bad doesn’t go over so well, these days.”

“Lu, for Lupine, right. Your mother name you that?” he asks.

“Bitch.”

“We don’t call women that anymore, Lu. That’s a big part of your problem, you know. You need to use safe words, develop modern sensibilities. You need to rediscover your inner pup,” he lectures.

“Bitch – that’s what the whole pack called her,” I look at him, exasperated. “It didn’t used to be a bad word.”

“Well, welcome to the 21st century, Lu. That can get you fined in the workplace, or worse. Might explain why you have problems holding down a job.”

I shrug listlessly. I’ve heard it all too many times.

“You seem quiet…you’re not drinking again, are you?” Dr. Morley points to a table with a half-full crystal decanter, no doubt reserved for other patients. “Hair of the dog?” he says, smiling at his own wit.

“Very funny,” I reply. Everyone’s a comedian now. “I don’t know,” I say, looking around despondently. “I’m not sleeping well – the same nightmare about old ladies and men with axes. I can’t even go for a walk in the park anymore without people staring.”

“Do you think it’s a good idea to go walking alone in a public place, with children around, Lu? People might think you’re a…padophile.”

“I’m not one of those! For crying out loud, I’m vegan now – just the sight of man-meat makes me gag!”

“Human-flesh, please Lu.  No one calls it ‘man-meat’ anymore. And it’s racist, anyway. Women have just as much right to be eaten as men.”

“Sorry. Ever since the non-violence movement…well, it’s been hard on carnivores. I try to be sensitive, but sometimes it just slips out.”

“Maybe you should try immersing yourself more in ‘the other side’, Lu. Why don’t you march in the Prey Rights parade this weekend? People like it when a big burly wolf ‘comes out of the forest’.”

“Prey rights?! Are you kidding? I’d rather gnaw off my own paw. If my pup ever told me he was prey, I’d eat him myself,” I snarl back.

“Well, I can see you haven’t made much progress since the incident, have you Lu? Grandma’s running a successful bed-and-breakfast now, Red’s an interior designer, and Woody’s talking about becoming a plastic surgeon.”

I rub the ragged scar on my belly, my fingers tracing out the scar the axe left. Woody will never make it as a surgeon.

“You’ve got to move on with your life,” said Dr. Morley as he stood up to let me know the session was over. “So, see you in a week?”

I roll off the couch and land on all fours, looking up at his fleshy belly and long legs. My stomach growls, instinctively knowing he’d be tender and easy to catch. I lick my chops at the thought, but then hang my head.

Who am I kidding? This is 2022, not some fairy tale.