Determination (32 page)

“I’m sorry,” my father said quietly. “I just… I don’t know how to help him, and… and it’s unnerving.”

“I know that. No one knew how to help me either. I had to help myself, just like Jamie is going to have to help himself. Dr. Fisher, you, me, we can all help and support him, but the choice to be clean is Jamie’s alone. If he doesn’t want it bad enough, it won’t happen, no matter what any of us do.” Christian reached into his back pocket and pulled out a business card. “Jamie, my home and cell numbers are on this card along with a list of meeting times for this center. If you want to go somewhere else, let me know, but I help facilitate some of the times here if you just want to get together and talk. Sometimes, it’s easier to talk to someone who has been there. You’ll know that no matter what you’ve done, I’ve probably done something just as bad.”

He winked at me, and I smiled back. If he was serious about what he’d told my dad, then blowing a dealer in an alley to score didn’t seem so bad.

We talked for a little while about what the meetings were like and what Christian’s role would be in my recovery. It sounded like he’d be kind of like a big brother. Even though he was probably twenty years older than me, I could still see him filling that role. He also talked a bit about becoming a Buddhist and how peaceful his life had become. I liked that and decided to look up Buddhism online after I’d turned in my essay.

“Dad, my essay’s due in two hours,” I reminded him, and he rose from the chair.

“Dr. Fisher, Jamie has to turn in his application essay to the college by noon. Are we finished here?” he asked, sounding all brusque and businesslike after being called out by Christian. I think the other man’s calm and his speech might have knocked the wind out of Dad’s sails.

“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.