He was halfway down the driveway when I suddenly remembered. “Wait a minute, so when’s our appointment with Darlene Winchester?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s on Friday morning, at 10:00. That good for you?” he asked.
“Sure, I’ll be there,” I confirmed. “Maybe she’ll help us discuss a plan.”
On the appointed day, Dylan and I met with Ms. Winchester at Drug Court. Once again, we found ourselves seated around her desk in lamplight.
“How’s your health now?” Darlene asked him.
“Much better. I had a bad cold, but that cough medicine really helped, even if it did have a tiny bit of alcohol in it.”
Darlene smiled and nodded. She’d had to approve it beforehand.
“But before we get started here, I have a question for you,” Dylan continued.
“I’m wondering if you can let me have some time off from the AA meetings.”
“What? No, I don’t think so,” she said, looking puzzled. “What’s up?”
“Just for a week. There’s been some rumors about me going around,” he said. “People are talking and now I feel like I have to go to a meeting every single night, just to make sure people aren’t saying things about me behind my back. First, one person had a relapse, then another. It’s been a kind of chain reaction going on and now there’s this whole hotbed of gossip. It’s getting toxic!”
Darlene took it all in calmly, rolling her eyes. “Well, you know, that’s how people are; they love drama.”
At some point during the exchange, Dylan said that even his sponsor Arlo was among the gossipmongers, which Darlene found hard to believe.
“I know,” Dylan said. “I can’t even take it personally. They say things behind my back, but then the next minute, they love me. They’re supportive, too.”
“Well, you can’t worry about what people say,” Darlene told him. “Go to meetings at another time, another place. Go to the one on Saturday morning. That’s a good one, right? You have to go to the five per week required now. Just pick and choose which times and places are better for you. That’s it.”
I was fascinated by how well Darlene was able to fend off Dylan’s anxieties. The type of situations that were so tense between him and me seemed effortless for her. Of course, she wasn’t the mom. Plus, she had a circuit judge to back her up. Next, about two seconds later, I felt an uneasy tremor rising up inside about these vague allusions to relapses. And whose relapse, exactly? Was Dylan involved? But then why didn’t I hear about it?
But there wasn’t time to sort it all out. Or maybe I should have intervened: “Stop! Hey, what’s going on here? Please explain this to me.” Instead, the conversation charged ahead, as it always did with Dylan. Ever since he could walk and talk, I’ve been running to catch up. Within seconds, we were all embroiled in an animated conversation about how, since Dylan was going to earn his hardship license soon, could he come up with a plan so that he could eventually get a vehicle? Dylan took the floor, which he’s good at. He said it had been a long time since he’d had a vehicle; he admits that the two cars he’d owned in the past had been basically thrown away through his own careless behaviors. Now, though, he’d been toeing the line in Drug Court for ten months. He felt he was ready to own another vehicle and not repeat the same mistakes as before.
“I’ve learned since I’ve been sober that you just have to tough it out through the hard times. When you make a mistake, it can take years to make up for it. You can’t feel sorry for yourself; you can’t compare yourself to someone else who seems to be better off. But if you start doing what’s right for you, then things start going better, and you don’t care if you’re coming from behind. You’re on your way and that’s all that matters. I feel like I’m ready to move to the next level.”
For me, hearing these words was like a Mojave Desert hiker catching the soft trickle of spring water somewhere close. I latched on eagerly to these acknowledgments that now Dylan could talk about a mature change of perspective. The implication? I should trust him. He was on his way.
After recognition of what Dylan had accomplished during his time in Drug Court, we started discussing the particulars of a plan. I suggested that Dylan and I could split the amount for a down payment with him putting in money from his earnings. Then for the rest, he could take out a loan. I was willing to co-sign but not to pay his part of the monthly payment for the loan. Darlene stayed out of the particulars; she only cautioned him against taking on too much.
“Don’t take on a payment of more than $50 per week, or $200 a month,” she advised. That was, in fact, the amount he had talked about with me the last time we were on this topic. I also said that if he didn’t pay, I would want to renege on the deal, because he wouldn’t be holding up his end of the bargain. I didn’t want to get stuck with payments other than what I agreed upfront to pay. Dylan nodded readily in agreement. Having thought about this ever since he brought it up a week ago, we discussed the positives of this move: #1, he could build up his confidence in his ability to make payments, and #2, he could build up his credit. Dylan was obsessed with credit, that much I knew. Let’s just say living the simple life was not his credo.
So with all this money talk, I was taken off-guard when, toward the end of our appointment together, Ms. Winchester brought up a day when Dylan said how good he felt after I had told him that I just wanted him to be happy. He didn’t have to be rich or famous, just supporting himself and being responsible. It came out in this context—that, according to Darlene, Dylan did not want to disappoint me or let me down. I was moved by this (and almost surprised), because I didn’t think Dylan thought too much about my approval or not. Maybe because when the two of us were together, he was always fighting off too much closeness, too much parental control. I never thought Dylan would misinterpret my actions as a desire to control him or have power over him.
After finances, there were still a few practical matters to sort out. Dylan asked about particulars: how would he get around to make the inquiries, look at cars and go to banks? I agreed to help him with transportation. I said afternoons were good for me; mornings, he worked and so did I. He nodded. “Sounds like an agreement, sounds like a plan.” He told me he just wanted to test that out, “because sometimes I have a certain expectation but then when I call you, Mom, I find out you have a completely different expectation, so then we start getting irritated with each other.” No kidding. In the end, we both agreed we were glad we could have this three-way conversation with Darlene present because discussions about money were always tense.
The hour was gone in what seemed like minutes. Before we left, Darlene came around her desk for the ritual hug. She hugged Dylan and then me. She told us how much she enjoyed this job, and I thanked her for everything she was doing.
I was feeling good, too. But later, just for a moment, I felt a strange undercurrent: did Dylan already do something to let me down? Is that why this topic came up? Or was that just a general fear he was talking about? And during the night, about 3:00 a.m., I woke up and found myself thinking about that troublesome allusion to relapses. And why the reaction at AA? But if it was Dylan who had a relapse, then he would get sanctions. He would have to go back to jail for a time, I reasoned. Still, Darlene didn’t seem too worried. Not at all. Nobody said anything about jail. On the contrary, she was encouraging this deal about the plan to get a vehicle.
After getting up to check the time and drink some water, I went back to bed. Tossing and turning, I couldn’t seem to get back quickly to sleep or resolve this dilemma. Was it true Dylan was making great progress in his self-awareness? Or was I starting to see the tip of some treacherous iceberg out there ahead in the fog? If only I could have complete reassurance that his two steps forward would stand. Could I trust him? That was the question. When I woke up in those dark hours before dawn, I just didn’t know for sure. Maybe things would look clearer by morning.
CHAPTER 22: ONE STEP BACK
The next morning, Saturday, I opened the slidi
ng glass door onto the patio and stepped outside to test the air. To my surprise, I felt a refreshing coolness, enough to make me think about having breakfast under the tulip poplar. I noticed a strange quiet, too. The cicadas hadn’t even warmed up enough to start their pulsing, mid-summer music yet.
Later, coffee mug parked carefully on a book next to the radio, I looked at my purple wave petunias. They were doing amazingly well, considering the heat they’d been subjected to lately. A strange bird song floated in from close by—it sounded like a woodland bird, one that didn’t usually make an appearance in my yard. Not long after, I spotted a black and orange towhee flitting through the trees. He was a beautiful, long-tailed bird with a sliding up-note whistle, followed by a series of trills. The bird instantly reminded me of my mom. She had an ear for bird songs and almost always got them right. It was her voice that came into my ear now; her gaze came too, searching for the vanished towhee. I got up to fill the birdbath.
Back at my table under the tree, ruminations rumbled around in my head. I was inclined to be optimistic, even after only four hours of sleep. The topic: how to get Dylan driving again without being taken for a ride. Wait a minute, was it even time for him to be driving again? I could already hear both Mike and John shouting in unison from their separate domains: “NO, NO, NO! Have you lost your mind? No more vehicles!” But they weren’t here now, and they weren’t there with Dylan and Darlene at the meeting yesterday either. Nor were they called upon to be chauffeurs. Besides, they were both mavericks, so their opinions had to be taken with a lot of salt. I decided to draw up a list of pros and cons, to see which one was longer. That would surely yield objective results, wouldn’t it?
Cons:
• Previous traffic tickets and irresponsible driving history.
• DUI charges with increasing alcohol use.
• Previous poor planning with regard to car maintenance.
• Family plan is for him to wait until he finishes college to get another car.
• Dylan wants to build his credit, but credit economy can be a slippery slope. Better to save up before shelling out.
• If Dylan ends up not being able to make regular payments on a car, it will just reinforce his feelings of failure: “I can’t make it in this world.”
Pros:
• Dylan’s in a recovery program now. The other craziness happened BEFORE the recovery program, before Dylan even admitted he had a self-medication problem and that it was serious, life-threatening.
• If I say “No, because you screwed up before,” that could mean to him “I don’t think you should have any more chances to screw up.” And he’ll resent me forever.
• Most, if not all the other guys in Drug Court have access to vehicles—or are working toward that goal—if they are legally able to. The prevailing belief they buy into: guys without vehicles are total LOSERS.
• Since Dylan is in Drug Court now, which has an excellent accountability and support structure, this could be the time to take chances. Get him started on the path of planning and payments, so that he learns how to do it. If he can’t, it’s better to find that out sooner rather than later.
• Building credit can be useful for later life goals, like purchasing a house.
• If Dylan has his own transportation, no more phone calls to yours truly at weird, random times when he can’t get anyone else to give him a ride.
Having made the lists, I read through all the “Cons” and could see that it was extremely risky, not to say crazy, to help Dylan drive again anytime within this decade. If he were anyone else’s kid, I would say unequivocally, “No, he’s not mature enough; you’re wasting your money. Wait until he works his way closer to this goal.” For the record, I can be rational. However, I also believe that there does come a time in the course of human events when you have to let rationality step aside in favor of other, more compelling arguments.
So, contrary to sound judgment, I was leaning toward the “Pro” column, largely because of arguments 1, 2, and 4. Along these lines, something Dylan said at our latest meeting with Ms. Winchester stuck in my mind. At one point he said, “I’ve been afraid of success, and I’ve been afraid of failure. But that doesn’t leave me anywhere to go.” If Dylan was doing what he needed to do to succeed in the recovery program, then maybe he deserved the benefit of the doubt. He had to work within a structure now; there were consequences. This could be an open test of his ability to follow through toward a goal. So maybe it was worth the risk. Then, too, I had to admit: the last item on the “Pro” list did carry a certain convincing weight with me—probably more than it should have. Besides, I sure didn’t want him to drive MY car! So much for objectivity.
One hot July evening about four days later, I got hit with a curve ball. It all started with a phone call from Dylan: he needed a ride to the AA meeting and no one else was available. When I picked him up, he had a dark look on his face. He told me he was really angry with himself. Said he’d had a bad day, but he needed to go to AA anyway—no, especially now. “I have a lot of self-hatred,” he said; then a few moments later, “I can never be happy.” I wasn’t sure how to react, so I didn’t say much. “Well, maybe you’ll hear something tonight at AA that will help you,” I offered.
“That’s what I do every day, just look for one more thing to keep me going.”
Respecting his wishes, I dropped him off at the meeting but at a distance, so he could walk the rest of the way to the building. He said he’d be fine, he’d get a ride home.
Back at my place later, I put off my worries by setting off for the community garden to see how the melons were ripening. I checked the cantaloupes, but my special favorite in the garden was an heirloom “Moon and Stars” watermelon that I’d been keeping an eye on. “Wait until the small tendril near the melon stem dries up,” a farmer told me. “That’s the sign of ripeness.” Well, this evening was the time. I disengaged it from the stem and took the sleek melon into my hands, marveling at its weight. The light flurry of markings on its dark green skin really did look like stars at night.
At the same time, I couldn’t help but be disturbed by what my son had just said. Something was definitely going on, and it wasn’t good. Better to get this out in the open, I thought. After toting the prized melon back home, I decided to text Dylan later after the meeting to see if he wanted to have some watermelon with me. That way, we could talk. He didn’t answer right away, but later called me back. I asked how things had gone at AA; it seemed that the meeting had helped. I asked if he had talked there about his situation: “Yeah, a little.” At my house, he seemed in a better frame of mind. I showed him the watermelon I had just harvested. We admired its beauty, and I offered to cut us both a piece. “No thanks, Mom,” he replied. So I just sliced one for myself and waited to see what would happen next.
Seated at the table, he folded his arms in front of himself, looked stoic.
“I have something to tell you,” he said. I braced myself.
What came out wasn’t a smooth narrative. He’d had a relapse a while ago. Apparently, it had happened when he was with Jeremy, the guy at the tattoo parlor and a new guy in Drug Court. They had been drinking. “It just happened,” Dylan said. “We were hanging out, and then we just looked at each other and he said, ‘Let’s get high.’ We both wanted to, so that was it.” Dylan said he enjoyed the alcohol at first, but the aftermath was bad; he felt anxious and, of course, guilty. Dylan had already served a weekend in jail as a penalty for this transgression, which I hadn’t known about. So, my suspicions had been right, after all.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. Following that incident, Dylan said he relapsed AGAIN the past weekend, Saturday. It was with the same guy, Jeremy, only this time they’d gone to the casino across state lines because Jeremy knew how to make easy cash playing blackjack. There’d been drinks there, too, and who knows what else. Now Dylan was afraid the results were going to show up in the drug test, and he was going to have a worse penalty—and more shame.
Gut-level sickening news. I took a breath and kept my mouth shut. Clearly, he was trying to figure himself out. Why had he done this?
Dylan knew the consequences were going to be rough—probably a whole week in jail. I figured he was wondering why he had taken the chance, especially the second time. To me, it seemed that this Jeremy—whoever he was—represented his dark side, the shady addict side. Maybe now Dylan realized how close he might come to losing his diversion. I repeated things that Dylan had said about his situation a few years ago in Cleveland when things started slipping. That was after several good, clean months following his graduation from the program in Jamaica. I pointed out that he starting hanging out with the wrong people then, too. “Don’t hate yourself; hate the decision you made because it was harmful.”
Dylan was worried about what Darlene would think. He said he’d tried to tell her but hadn’t gotten hold of her yet.
“Yes, admit it before you get caught. You don’t want to be sneaky on top of everything else.”
“Yeah, I don’t want to be like Connor. He finally got kicked out of Drug Court because nobody believed him anymore,” Dylan said.
Ah, Connor, the ex-housemate with the steady gaze, recently caught lying. I thought about his mom, too, what she must be feeling. I had seen her in town, but we’d never spoken. After a pause, I asked Dylan if there were persons in AA that he could call for help if he felt he was going the wrong way.
“Yeah, I got some numbers tonight; they’re in my wallet.”
We talked about the strange timing of this dramatic slip-up, how it mirrored the risky behaviors of a year ago, last summer. And he still had two months to go before doing his first twelve months in Drug Court. Could he make it?
While we were talking, a call came in from his AA sponsor.
Suspended Sentence Page 20
