Crazy Page 21

  It's a freakin' blizzard outside. I swear it has to be the snowiest year on record. The snow blows in my face and collects on my eyebrows and ices my cheeks so that they feel like these frozen knots on either side of my face. Snowdrifts are forming everywhere, against houses and garages and trees and mailboxes. The storm swirls around me, and the blustery cold feels good.

  I stuff my hands in my pockets and head down the street, grateful that at least I have on a decent pair of shoes—hiking boots—another gift from the Lynches' closet. I imagine there's some poor naked kid stashed in there who keeps having to hand out his clothes.

  AUNT BEE: You have to admit, they're awfully good to you and life is a lot easier now.

  So what? They're not my family. I have Dad and he has me. I don't want to be adopted.

  FBG WITH A MUSTACHE: But that's not up to you anymore.

  CRAZY GLUE: Anybody could adopt you.

  Yeah, anybody, and anything could happen to me. That's what's so scary. My life is just one big out-of-control ride, and all I can do is close my eyes and hold on while all these random acts of shit just keep flying at me. Out of the blue my mom has a stroke and dies. Out of the blue my dad goes crazy. Why? No reason. Shelby's mom gets sick and dies. What for? Pete's father gets addicted to drugs. Why Pete's father? What choice does Pete have in the matter? Or Haze and his parents' divorce battles—what kind of say does he have? All this crazy shit happens that's so totally out of our hands, and all we can do is duck and dodge all the crap as it comes flying at us.

  CRAZY GLUE: You're a bad dodger, goob, 'cause fate keeps hittin' the bull's-eye on you.

  I realize I've walked to the club and I keep walking through the almost-empty parking lot while the wind dumps snow on my head and down the back of my neck. I shiver from the cold and decide to see if the clubhouse is open.

  The main entrance is open and I step inside. The lobby is warm, the dark paneled wood and the fire in the fireplace inviting. "Jason, how you doin'?" Elliot, the guy who mans the front desk, says. "Cold enough for you? You're the first person here this morning. Did you come for a swim?"

  I don't know what I've come for except to get out of the cold, but then I see a phone sitting on the desk in front of Elliot. "Actually, I just came in to use your phone. Would it be all right if I used it? It's a local call."

  Elliot gives me the hairy eyeball. "Phones out of order at the Lynches ?"

  "No, I got some bad news and I needed to take a walk," I say, surprised by my own honesty. "I want to call my teacher and talk to her a second. Could I? I won't be long."

  Elliot looks left, then right. "Well, okay, if you keep it short," he says.

  I nod and pick up the receiver. "Oh, and do you have a phone book?" I set the receiver back down while Elliot reaches under the desk and pulls out the phone book. He dumps it on the desk. "Here you go."

  I look up the number and call Dr. Gomez, hoping she won't mind that I'm calling her on a Saturday. I just feel I need to talk to her and get her advice. She's a psychologist. Maybe she can tell me some way to keep my dad out of the nursing home, or whatever Sam had called the place they were sending him. Maybe she can tell me I don't have to be put up for adoption. I need her to tell me that. I need her reassurance. Fortunately, she's home and answers the phone right away.

  With Elliot pretending he isn't listening to everything I say, I tell Dr. Gomez what's happened. I tell her I feel like I have no control over my life at all.

  "I'm sorry, Jason," she says. "That's a lot of news that's hard to hear, isn't it?"

  "Yeah. Really hard." I blink my eyes, trying not to cry.

  "What you have to realize, though, is that as much as you'd like to help your father and maybe you still feel some guilt about his situation, you first have an obligation to yourself, to your own well-being. Even though you weren't included in their decision, it sounds like they've made the best choice for you and your father. He'll have a place to live with all the support services available for him."

  Now I'm crying and sniffing and wiping my nose on my jacket. This isn't what I wanted to hear. "So, I'm supposed to take it, then," I say. "The crap gets dumped on me ... and I'm supposed to just smile and go along with it." I sniff. "That's just life, right?"

  "Jason, you can't control the universe and everything that happens in it, but you can control your reaction to it. You can control you, and how you choose to live each day."

  "No, I can't. What if I'm put up for adoption and some abusive people get me and stuff me down in a basement and feed me on chicken wings or something?" I glance at Elliot, who looks like he's trying not to laugh. What's so funny, I'd like to know.

  "Come on, Jason," Dr. Gomez says. "That's not likely to happen. And even if it does, you still have a choice as to how you're going to take it, how you're going to feel about what's happening to you. Look at the prisoners of war, or Nelson Mandela—he spent thirty years in prison. He had no control over that except how he thought about his imprisonment, what he made of the situation, and that's what makes all the difference." Dr. Gomez pauses a moment, then adds, "Anyway, most likely you'll live in foster care until you're eighteen and then you'll be on your own, if you want. But you know, it's nice to have a family to come home to, a family for the holidays, people who love you no matter what. And you aren't losing your father any more than you've already lost him. You just wouldn't live with him anymore."

  "I have a family already," I say, badly in need of a tissue for my runny nose. "I have that with my dad, and with the group. Pete and Haze and Shelby are my family. I don't need anybody else for the holidays."

  CRAZY GLUE: Yeah, you tell her!

  "Now see there? That's the good that's come out of your particular set of circumstances," Dr. Gomez says. "You have these special friends and they have you. Together you've created something good out of some pretty rotten things that have happened in your lives. You have to look at life that way, see the good in it, the good that can come out of a tragedy, and let go of the rest. Don't hang on to your life as a tragedy you have no control over, Jason. Don't act the victim, or you'll become one. And don't shut the Lynches, or anybody, out," Dr. Gomez says. "You never know who may come into your life."

  "Yeah," I say, wiping my nose on my coat, feeling only slightly better. "That's what I'm afraid of."

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  I GET THIS WILD IDEA while I'm trudging back through the blizzard to the Lynches' house. I'm thinking about my dad coming home and wondering who's going to keep him from burning out the pots on the stove and who's going to make sure he eats and takes his meds and doesn't run off, or hurt himself. I'm also thinking about what Dr. Gomez said. She's right—I don't want to hang on to my life as a tragedy—but how do I get some control in my life? If all I can do is control myself and my reaction to things, well, my reaction to this plan for my dad is that it's total bullshit. All this court-appointed stuff—well, why can't I be his court-appointed son and visit him every day?

  FBG WITH A MUSTACHE: Is there such a thing?

  I stop in my tracks. The snowflakes swirl around me. Maybe there's no such thing, but why couldn't I convince a judge to give me permission to see Dad every day? These are extenuating circumstances. Any judge in his right mind can see that Dad needs care more than once a month. He needs his son. He needs me. Yes! I start walking again. I'll go to court. Why not? Gomez says don't be a victim. Okay, then, I won't be.

  When I get back to the house, I find out that Sam is gone and my dad's release has been postponed until tomorrow because of the snow. Even my afternoon with Haze, Pete, and Shelby is canceled, so I spend the day learning how to play chess with Cap, and the next morning I tell Sam my great idea. We're on our way to my house to meet Dad and his guardian. I'm excited and nervous about seeing him again. I wonder if he's changed any and if it's for better or for worse. I know I'll feel better if I can just get Sam to go along with me on my plan.

  He shakes his head as if what I've suggested is impossible. "You've g
ot school and other obligations, Ja-son. You can't drop everything, ruin your whole life for your father. He'll be all right, you'll see."

  "I don't want a life without my dad. Don't you get that? I'll go to school. I'll even live with the Lynches. All I want is to be able to visit every day and spend some time with him—and without you there watching over me. I mean, this whole system is whacked. You think my dad's going to hurt me? I'm grown up now. I don't know why I can't just go over and see him. My friends can go visit him whenever they want, but I can't. That's insane! Don't you see how insane that is?"

  Sam frowns. "But it's for your protection, Jason."

  "No, it's not. That's such a load of crap!" I slap my thigh. "We don't need supervision. It's not like he's an abusive parent who might beat me. This is an exception. Isn't that sometimes why people go to court? To make an exception to the rule? That's all I want to do."

  Sam's face, usually set like a brick with his jaw clenched and jaw muscles bulging, softens.

  "It might take a couple of weeks to get a hearing for this, Jason. In that time you'll probably see that your father is doing just fine."

  "But this is an emergency," I say, seeing my chance. "Can't you push this? I looked it up on the Internet. You could push this if you wanted. It's just until they find a home for him."

  Sam moves his head side to side as though trying to decide which way to go with this.

  CRAZY GLUE: Come on, Sam—be a sport.

  "Please, Sam. A son should be able to care for his dad. Come on. My friends, or anybody else even, could drop by and visit him anytime, but I can't. How is that fair? Please, Sam."

  "Yeah, all right." Sam grips the steering wheel tighter. "I'll see what I can do. No promises, though."

  "You'll push it, then? You'll get me a hearing right away, right?"

  "I'll do my best, Jason. That's all I can do," Sam says.

  "Yeah," I say. "That's all I'm trying to do, too. Thanks." I smile at him; then I turn to look out my window. I notice the sun is shining. There's not a cloud in the sky.

  A few minutes later we roll up outside my house, and I see my dad sitting in the car in front of us.

  I jump out and rush over to the guardian's car to open the door for him.

  "Hey, Dad. How you doin'? It's so good to see you."

  I take his hand and help him out, and he stands on the sidewalk and looks at me.

  I give him a hug, but it doesn't seem to register.

  "Jason, the Furies are just infuriating today," he says. He covers his ears with his hands. "Do you know Atropos, here? She's come to determine my fate."

  CRAZY GLUE: It's like he just saw you five minutes ago instead of two weeks ago.

  An old woman with pinkish purple hair comes around to our side of the car and holds out her hand.

  "Hi, I'm Clara Brown, your father's guardian. You must be the son."

  I shake her hand, feeling all choked up for some reason. I look at my dad. He's staring at the house as though trying to figure out why it looks so familiar. I take his arm and lead him up the steps. I pull the key out of my pocket and unlock the door.

  The inside of the house feels even colder than the weather outside. It's dank and moldy smelling. We all enter, and Clara wanders from room to room. I try to look at the house through her eyes and I'm embarrassed. I know my mom would be ashamed at how far we've let the house go. But we had no choice. I watch Clara taking note of the paint peeling off the walls and the cracks in the ceiling, and the fallen plaster upstairs, and no furniture in some of the rooms.

  "Oh my, this is a problem, now, isn't it?" she says, after she's made the tour of the house and returns to the living room. "Well, hopefully it won't be for long. Can we do something about the cold in here? Your father could catch pneumonia." She rubs her arms and shivers.

  CRAZY GLUE: Yeah, if she wants to pay for it.

  "I've kept the heat down to save money," I say. I go to the thermostat and turn it up.

  "This is not a good situation here," she says.

  "It's going to take quite a bit of work to fix this place up. It will probably have to be sold 'as is,' and the new owners will then fix it," Sam says.

  I turn to Sam. "What? Now you're selling our house out from under us? What gives you the right to do that? My dad owns this house."

  "I have no right, Jason, but Clara, as your father's conservator, does. We're just thinking of your future. Would you rather it continue to deteriorate so you get even less money for it?"

  "You know," I say, fuming, "maybe you should stop thinking of my future so much, because every time you do, you just dish up another load of crap for me to swallow. We're not selling the house!"

  Dad turns around and faces the two of us. "Houses are strangers to me," he says.

  I go stand beside my dad. "See? How's he supposed to live here on his own? He needs food. He won't shop for himself. I need to go shopping and get him some food and..."

  "Oh, I've got food in the car," Clara says, her voice all cheery. "I went shopping before I picked your father up at the hospital. Come on—we'll go get it."

  CRAZY GLUE: Well that solves everything.

  The four of us tramp back outside and Sam, Clara, and I head for the car. Dad heads across the street toward the river.

  "See! See!" I say. "This is what's going to happen." I run after Dad and lead him back toward the others. "He's just going to wander off when I'm not here."

  "It's so long," Dad says, his eyes still on the river. "And you know who lives in the water, don't you?"

  "Look, Jerry," Clara says to me, "we're all doing the best we can here, all right?" She lifts her pink head above the open trunk of the car to look at me. "In an ideal world your father would be all better, your house would be warm and wonderful, and the two of you would live together, but the reality isn't quite so rosy." She lifts a grocery sack out of her trunk and Sam lifts out another one. "We've just got to each do our part to make the best of a difficult situation. All right?"

  "My name is Jason, not Jerry," I reply.

  CRAZY GLUE: Dude. You're acting like such a turd.

  AUNT BEE: He's scared.

  FBG WITH A MUSTACHE: Living by himself will never work. They have to see that.

  After we unload the groceries and tidy up a bit downstairs, Clara and Sam say it's time for us to leave.

  "But I need to wash sheets and make the beds—or at least my dad's bed—and I need to fix him his lunch. He won't eat unless I fix it." I look at him rummaging through a stack of papers he found on top of his desk. He's wearing a fresh set of aluminum foil ear covers. "Will you, Dad? Are you going to make yourself some food? Will you take your medicine so you'll get better?"

  Dad stares at the three of us standing at the front door. "Have you seen my violin?"

  "Goodbye, Mr. Papadopoulos," Clara says. "We'll see you later. You take care now, won't you?"

  "Jason, say goodbye to your father. We need to go, too, now," Sam says.

  I look at Sam and shake my head. I can't understand how they can just turn their backs on my dad. Can't they see that he's in no shape to be left alone? Doesn't anybody care?

  FBG WITH A MUSTACHE: You do.

  I wade through the books Dad's just dumped on the floor and I grab his arm. He stops pulling the books off the shelf and blinks at me. "Dad, I've got to go now. But I'll be back. Turn on the radio so you won't have to listen to the Furies, okay? Please eat something, and take good care of yourself, and I'll..." I stop and turn back to Sam and Clara. "You know how many pots he's burned out on the stove? He'll set this place on fire. We can't just leave him. Come on!"

  Sam steps over the books and takes my arm. "Time to go, Jason. I promise. I do. I promise I'll get you in to see the judge, but now it's time to go."

  "Hey, have you seen my violin?" Dad asks.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  A WEEK LATER, on Friday morning at nine o'clock, I'm sitting in the courtroom with Sam, Clara, Captain Lynch, Dr. Gomez, Haze, Pete, and S
helby. All of them have agreed to come and speak for me.

  Sam stunned me when he told me just before we entered the courtroom that my grades might be the deciding factor. "This judge takes education very seriously, and I've just had a look at your recent records." Sam shakes his head. "They don't look good."

  CRAZY GLUE: You had to go and write 'Cap'n' on that exam.

  The courtroom is small. There are a few benches in the room, a table where I suppose lawyers might sit with their clients, or whatever they're called, and then a raised platform in the front of the room where the judge is sitting at his table staring at notes about my case. He's got a gavel on his right. His assistant, or whoever it is I see taking notes, is sitting to the judge's left, and a man in a policeman's uniform stands by the entrance. It's just like on television, only this is for real. This is for my dad.

  The judge tells us all that this is an informal hearing, no jury, no lawyers, no witness box, just us. We don't even have to stand up to speak, so we can all relax.

  CRAZY GLUE: Got that, goob? Relax!

  He leans over his notes and studies them for several minutes, ignoring us as if we aren't even here.

  CRAZY GLUE: He's looking at your grades. He's probably trying to read that history test with no beginning and no ending.

  SEXY LADY: Just the middles.

  FBG WITH A MUSTACHE: You don't feel so clever now, do you?

  I jiggle my knees up and down until Sam, sitting on my left, sets his hand on them to stop me. I can't help it. I'm so nervous and jittery. Let's get this show on the road already.

  Finally the judge looks over his glasses straight at me. "So, you want to change your visitation hours, do you?"

  I stand up halfway and nod. "Yes, sir." I sit back down.

  He leans forward, setting his elbows on the table. "Jason, do you understand why your current visitation rights have been set at once a month?"

  Again I stand up halfway to speak and Sam pulls me back down in my seat. "Yes, sir," I say, blushing. "I'm supposed to get on with my life. It's to give me a chance to lead a normal life, and to—uh—to do well in school and stuff like that."