Determination, p.25
Determination, page 25
“Of course, we’ve covered what we need to. Jamie, when do you think you’ll attend your first meeting?” Dr. Fisher asked, and I looked at the card in my hand. There would be a meeting later that night at the rehab center, and then another one in two days. I was sure they 206
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expected me to say I’d be at the one that night, but I needed to work up my nerve.
“I’m okay today, and I have a lot to do. I’ll go to the meeting on Thursday night,” I responded, looking over at my dad like a teenager asking for permission to go on a date. He nodded, and in that nod, I saw several things: agreement that he would bring me to my meeting on Thursday, resignation that the meetings were necessary, and fear that the meetings wouldn’t be enough. I wanted to reassure him, but no words came.
“Jamie, there is no right or wrong answer,” Christian said as he pushed away from the desk. “You need to do what works for you—not me, and not your dad. If you’re feeling overwhelmed right now, come in on Thursday night and we’ll talk.” His blue polo pulled a little from the top of his jeans as he stretched forward to shake my hand. “This is all about the journey, not the destination.”
I thought about that sentiment for a long time as my father drove us back to the house.
“Do you need help getting that essay in on time?” Dad asked when we walked up to the house about twenty minutes later. “You’ve got a little over an hour before it has to be in.” The tense look hadn’t left his face since the awkward conversation with Christian.
“No, I should be okay. I’ll run upstairs and get the laptop, then get started in the family room,” I said as I took my shoes off in the foyer. He nodded and hung up his jacket on a hook in the hall closet.
The silence stretched, filling the small space as I waited for him to say something about the session with Dr. Fisher. I even considered making a crack about her liking him, but in the end he just asked again if I needed help getting things done. I went up quickly to get my laptop and settled down on the couch to finalize the draft.
Half an hour later, my father sat across from me in the big leather chair with my laptop across his legs and his attention on the screen. The intensity with which he read showed his need to help me. As soon as I pressed the send button to turn in my essay, I’d sit down and talk to my dad about earlier. It wasn’t like him to brood about things, and we needed to get it out in the open.
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“I think this is good. You spell-checked it and ran it for style and grammar?” Dad asked as he handed the laptop back to me.
“I did. I’m just going to read it over one more time, and then I’ll send it,” I commented as I scrolled back to the top of the document.
“Then can we talk for a while?” I asked as the title came into view.
“Sure, Jamie, I’d like that.”
It took another twenty minutes for me to read the fifteen-page paper, so I barely had time to hit the submit button before the clock struck noon, but I made it. My palms sweated as I addressed the e-mail, and I reconsidered about ten times before attaching the essay, but eventually, I closed the deal and sent it off. My shoulders relaxed once the “whoosh” of the computer speaker told me the file was gone. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
“You did the right thing,” my father said from the chair across from me as I opened my eyes again. Some of the anxiety had left his face, helping me to relax.
“I know. When we first started talking about college, I wasn’t sure, but I need to get on with my life.” I hadn’t heard from Brian in almost two months even though we lived in the same city. Mike and Alex were the closest link I had to him, and my heart ached with the loss. I wanted to call him and tell him about finishing rehab or about school, but deep down, I didn’t want my momentum to stop when he didn’t care. Knowing he didn’t care hurt worse than anything else.
“I think you’re right, because it’s really selfish, what Brian is doing. When you love someone, you stand by them. I thought your mother loved me, but I was wrong. I’m sorry that you were wrong about Brian.” The sorrow in his expression brought tears to my eyes. I wasn’t wrong about Brian. He was wrong about me. I knew that Brian loved me, but after fighting for us for so long, he just gave up. With what I’d done, I couldn’t blame him, but I didn’t know how to win back his trust other than to get myself together.
“Thank you, but I don’t want to talk about Brian,” I whispered, trying to gather strength and close the gaping hole in my chest where Brian had walked out of my life. “You seem to be upset at Dr. Fisher’s choice of sponsor for me. I don’t want you to be—”
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“No, Jamie, that isn’t it. I just… I don’t know what to do for you.
It’s just like when you disappeared. I’m completely out of my element.
I want to help you, and I can’t. I don’t know how,” Dad said as he dropped his elbows to his knees and looked at the table. “I’m so used to figuring things out, but with you there’s no right answer.” His outburst left me momentarily speechless. For as long as I could remember, my dad always had all the answers. If something broke around the house, or he had a problem at work, he figured something out. I’d never seen him so frustrated, and I hated it.
“Dad, I’m working on it. I know I turned out to be a disappointment to you, but—”
“No, Jamie. You’re not a disappointment. You work so hard trying to be what you think I want you to be. All I want you to be is healthy and happy. I’ve already set up a trust for you, so whether you go to college or not, you’re still going to be taken care of. The trust has an administrator, in case you….” He faltered.
“In case I don’t get clean?” I supplied, and he nodded. “Dad, I can’t say that I’m not going to slip up, because I might. That thought scares me to death because it could kill me. But I want to go to college, and I want to make something of my life. You brought me up better than to just be unproductive forever.” Wringing his hands, my father stood up and walked into the kitchen. His shoulders weren’t as slumped as they had been coming into the house, but he didn’t look happy. I heard him pop open a can before he appeared again in the doorway.
“Jamie, tell me what happened after you left the center,” he said quietly as he swirled a freshly opened beer in his hand. I looked up, startled by his question. He was looking at his can, but the determination showed clearly in his face. In the two months I’d lived with him, he’d never asked me so directly. I pulled my feet up onto the couch and felt the world closing in on me. It took a minute before I could answer.
“It took me weeks to work up the nerve,” I started as I wrapped my arms around my knees. “They just kept telling us how God hated us and that he’d never let us do anything good with our lives until we repented our sin. Only… they could never adequately explain why it was a sin. Just like Mom, all they could tell us was that we were bad, Determination
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but never why. I knew in my heart that my love for Brian wasn’t a sin, but when I tried to explain, they shut me in the quiet room. I hated being in there. No clocks, no sound, nothing to show that time passed.
So, I stopped talking. When Brian turned eighteen and Mom couldn’t hurt him anymore, I decided it was time to go. I knew I’d never make it back to Alabama with no money, but I thought maybe I could get a job and start saving. God, I was so stupid. It never occurred to me that I wouldn’t be able to get a job without a place to live or a way to clean up. I was so optimistic until the delivery driver I’d conned to take me into San Diego dropped me off. I must have looked pathetic because he gave me a couple of bucks out of his own wallet.” I took a deep breath and thought about that first night. My father shrugged away from the doorframe leading to the kitchen and returned to his leather chair. He didn’t sit back in the chair as he had before, but perched on the edge, waiting for the rest of my story.
“That first night, I was so scared. I just wandered around the city all night. I knew if I sat down on a bench or under a tree that I’d fall asleep and something bad would happen to me. I’d get shot or knifed for what little I had on me. So I just kept walking. I did that for two nights in a row. That third day, I just… I couldn’t do it anymore. I was so tired, my eyes burned. I stunk from the heat of the city and no way to shower. All I wanted was my mom, no matter how she felt about me.
I felt like a lost eight-year-old boy. So I used my last dollar to call home. I remember crying when she answered. I’d never been so happy to hear her voice. Then she told me that if I didn’t want to let God help me that she didn’t want me to come home—and I shattered into tiny little pieces that I still haven’t quite gotten back together again. She threw me away like garbage, Dad, but I still miss her. How is that even possible?”
“It’s possible because she’s your mother. She was there for you your whole life. She was there for me, too, and I miss her. But she’s just not the same woman that I married, and she certainly isn’t the mother I thought she was. I hate what she did, Jamie. I wish I could take it back because I’d have picked you up wherever you were and taken care of you.” My father’s voice held so much remorse. I hated to go on, but I knew he wanted to hear it.
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“Anyway, that night I met this older guy. Well, actually ‘met’
isn’t exactly a good word for it. I thought the blankets in his little nest were garbage, and I tried to take one because I was freezing, and he screamed at me,” I said, remembering how George was only trying to protect his stuff.
“What do you mean he screamed at you?” My father asked, looking puzzled.
“He thought I was trying to steal from him, and on the streets when you have just a tiny bit, you protect it with everything you have.
See, if you lost your wallet, you’d just call the companies and have stuff replaced. It would be an inconvenience, but you’d survive. If George lost his blankets or what little food he had, he’d be dead.
Anyway, I just kind of lost it and sat on the ground crying like a baby.
After that, he took me under his wing and tried to show me how to survive. He taught me how to steal food from restaurants after people had finished eating, but before they cleared the plates. He showed me places to sleep where I was less likely to get rolled. He told me which shelters to avoid because pimps recruited there.” I kept my eyes on the table so I wouldn’t see my father’s horrified expression. Since I’d gone that far, though, I had to keep the momentum going or I’d never finish.
“I wouldn’t say that we became friends, but more like companions. Well, until the night he died. We were behind one of the delis waiting for them to toss out their extra bread and stuff when we heard a woman scream. George made me hide behind a big dumpster so they wouldn’t see me.” My breath came in gasps, like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room. I tried hard not to let the tears come, but gave in when I remembered his vacant eyes. “They killed him for trying to help that girl. They beat him to death, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I was too scared to come out. All I could do was watch as he lay dying in the shit and garbage in that alley. I couldn’t…
I couldn’t help him.” I felt overwhelmed all over again as I sat crying on the couch. Even though I was in my father’s house, and he would protect me, I couldn’t stop the feeling of helplessness.
Resting my head on my knees, I sat, wondering if I’d ever feel safe again.
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“What happened after George was killed?” my father asked, so softly I almost didn’t hear. I rubbed my eyes on my shirtsleeve like a child and looked up at him.
“After that, I met Steven, and my life went straight to hell.”
A FEW hours later, I sat in my room and tried not to think about the conversation I’d had with my father. Even though my stomach snarled beneath my T-shirt, I couldn’t bring myself to go downstairs and face him again, because I just didn’t want to talk about Steven. If I started talking, I might not be able to stop, and then he would know everything. My hands trembled, and for once I didn’t know if it was from the seizures or frayed nerves. I’d almost convinced myself to go down and microwave some pizza rolls when I heard the doorbell ring.
Dad never had visitors, and I didn’t get unexpected visitors. Moving quickly, I crept to the top of the stairs just as I heard Dad answer the door.
“Detectives, how can I help you?” my father asked in a strained but polite tone. I couldn’t see them standing just outside my line of vision, but I could certainly hear one of the detectives as he spoke loudly to my father.
“Mr. Mayfield, we are executing a search warrant of the premises.
Here is a copy for you and your attorney. If you could please stand back out of the way?” Detective Isaacs stepped in through the front door and pushed something into my dad’s chest. My father grabbed the papers and immediately reached into his pocket, drawing out his cell phone. He was on the phone with the lawyer when the other detective asked where I was. Panic rose in my throat like bile, and my heart galloped wildly in my chest. They were there to arrest me, I knew they were. I considered running, but where the hell would I go?
“He’s upstairs in his room. His attorney is on his way, so do not talk to him until Mr. Troska arrives, please,” my father relayed to the police in a stern voice. As I heard them move away from the front door, I took a deep breath and slowly made my way downstairs.
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“Hi, Jamie,” Detective Isaacs said as I reached the first floor. He met me at the bottom and shook my hand. “We are here to search your room and any other area of the house you may have access to. Can you show me where your room is?” It was a ploy to get me to talk to him—
I knew it without having to be told by my lawyer. What they didn’t understand was that I wanted to talk to them. I wanted to get all of this over with so I didn’t have to be scared all the time.
“It’s upstairs,” I said with a motion with my hand. He followed me up the stairs, and I led him to my room and stood out of the way while he looked around.
“If you tell me what you’re looking for, maybe I can help you,” I said quietly as he started to take my bed apart.
“It’s in the search warrant that I gave your dad, but—” He looked around quickly, presumably to see if we were alone. “—I’m looking for drugs.” Turning back to the bed, he threw the covers on the floor and pulled the mattress off the box springs. With a small pocket knife, he slit open the mattress and looked under the covering. Then he did the same with the box springs.
“I don’t have any drugs, so there isn’t anything to find,” I said in resignation and left him to his job. I walked back downstairs and stood next to my dad, who appeared to be on the phone with his own attorney asking about reimbursement for damages. My heart sank because I knew my dad would have to pay for whatever the police did to his house, even though there were no drugs or even rat poison to find.
The search took over two hours as they tore apart the kitchen, living room, dining room, family room, my room, Dad’s room, bathrooms, and the garage. Every conceivable space had been searched and rifled through by some ruthless cop. My lawyer arrived about an hour into the fiasco, but all he did was get in the way. The cops didn’t seem to want to ask me any questions—they just wanted to go through all my stuff. His only useful interaction was convincing the cops to just copy everything off my new laptop onto a USB drive for later analysis, rather than taking the whole laptop that I needed for school. I didn’t know if they thought I’d confessed in a Word document or something, but they took it all.
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In the aftermath, when only my father and I remained among the wreckage, I could finally breathe again. Picking up the overturned couch cushions, I put the furniture back together and sat down, surveying the damage. It appeared nothing was broken, but I’d have a job to do tomorrow putting stuff back in its place.
“I’ll call a cleaning service tomorrow,” my father said, almost as if he’d read my thoughts. I looked up quickly and shook my head. He didn’t see because he was picking up the coasters that had been strewn about the floor.
“No, I’ll put everything back together. It’s my fault they were here,” I said adamantly. “I’m not going to let you throw away even more money cleaning up my mess.” My hands shook violently as they moved with my bouncing knees. I felt like a huge tuning fork struck against a building. Everything vibrated, though I tried hard to stop it. I could feel a seizure coming, so I took slow, deep breaths and tried to hold on.
“Jamie…. Okay, son, if that’s what you want, I won’t argue.
We’ll go tomorrow after I get off work and buy a new bed for your room. You were probably uncomfortable on that old twin anyway. A queen shouldn’t be too big for that room. I’m, uh, going to go do something about dinner,” Dad said quietly and went into the kitchen.
Frightened tears leaked from the corners of my eyes.
I just wished they’d arrest me and get it over with.
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Seventeen
“MY NAME is Christian, and I’m an addict.”
The room replied with a fairly unenthusiastic “Hi, Christian” and then sat back to listen. It was my very first meeting, but I’d gotten to the rehab center about half an hour early to talk with Christian, who prepared me on how the meeting would go. It was nice to have someone to talk to who had actually faced what I was facing. While he continued to struggle with his addiction, he seemed to be successful and at peace. I didn’t really even need the success, but I’d love to feel the peace.
