by Han Nolan
"Good enough," the judge says. He pauses and looks down at his notes a second before returning to me. "Tell me about your father, Jason."
CRAZY GLUE: Careful, not everything. Not about that time when you were six.
I scratch the side of my face. "Well, he's my dad, and he's always been there for me, and—but now he's sick and it's bad and they—the doctors—say, or think, that he won't get well enough to live on his own, so they're putting him in a residential center place—I mean—what I mean is he can't live on his own, but that's what he's doing right now." Now that I've started speaking and telling my dad's story, I feel angry at the hospital, and this gives me a surge of energy. I stand up all the way, and Sam doesn't pull me back down.
"They say he can't function on his own and that he'll never write any more books—he'll always be sick—but then they just dumped him. They released him from the hospital. He doesn't eat." I lift the papers in my hands, the notes that I took about his behavior to give to the judge. "He doesn't take his medicine—and maybe, maybe if he did, maybe he'd get better. He's got new meds now. And he's gotten better before. He just needs to take his medicine regularly and in time he could get better. Right?" I glance at Clara, who gives me a slight nod; then I return to the judge. "He could get better if he'd take his medicine. Maybe he could even be well enough so he wouldn't have to go to that residential place, but right now—I mean, he could burn out the pots the way he's done before, or wander off, which he's done, and never be found again, and—and I'm just worried about him all the time now that he's on his own. I can't sleep 'cause I'm so worried about him. So if I could just see him every day and make sure he's still there, and if I can get him to eat and take his medicine ... that's all I'm asking."
I look at the judge, who's staring at me with his glasses pushed down to the end of his nose. He's an old guy, like in his sixties or older, with silver hair and heavy-looking jowls.
Finally the judge speaks. "It says here in my notes that you've missed a lot of school this year and your grades have steadily dropped. Is that because of your father?"
LAUGH TRACK: Uh-oh!
I blow out my breath. I don't want to wreck my chances, but I know I have to tell the truth. "Yes. Yes, sir—Your Honor—it is, mostly, only I got stabbed and my mother died, so I missed some school, and that added to my dropping grades some."
"Yes," the judge says. "Yes, I'm sorry about your mother. But perhaps that's all the more reason for you to get some distance here. You may have forgotten what it's like to have a more—how should we say it—predictable life."
"No, sir, I know what it's like to have a normal life. I remember, and I have that now with the Lynches— my foster parents." I glance at Captain Lynch, and he lifts his head at me and smiles, encouraging me.
I return to the judge. "I know my grades aren't the greatest, okay? But, if I could have this time with my dad, you know, see him every day, I swear—I mean—I promise I'll pull my grades up and I'll go to summer school."
The judge leans back and scowls. He looks doubtful.
"Look, I'm not asking to be there full-time. I understand that I can't do it all on my own. That's why I've missed so much school, because before, you see, I had nobody else. It was just me and my dad, and I couldn't—I couldn't do it. But Clara, here, is his guardian—I mean, you appointed her, or somebody did, to be his guardian and to look after his money and stuff—and I have Sam, and the Lynches—my foster parents—and my friends—I have friends, Shelby, and Pete, and Haze—they're the best, and I have Dr. Gomez, she's my—the school psychologist." I turn and gesture to them, aware for the first time how much my circumstances have changed. Until now I've been resenting Sam's interfering and Clara's acting as Dad's guardian, and the Lynches' taking the place of my parents. I've been resisting it all, but now I'm looking at these people, every one of them here to help me and my dad, and I realize how much better my life has gotten because of them.
I look at the judge. "I have all these people now to help me, so it's different. It's all different. I'm not alone anymore. Before—before I was all alone."
I don't know what else to say, so I just stand with my arms locked straight in front of me, crossed at the wrists, and my hands in fists. I chew on the inside of my cheek and wait.
The judge doesn't look convinced.
He tells me to sit down, and then he asks for Clara's evaluation of my dad's situation.
I sit down and brace myself, expecting Clara to tell the judge that Dad is doing just fine on his own and that he doesn't need me.
She describes the condition of the house and Dad's mental instability. Then she says that she doesn't feel he's a danger to me or to himself, but that he does require extra care in terms of feeding and cleaning and other daily maintenance tasks and that I might be the only one able to get my dad to take his medication.
CRAZY GLUE: Thank you, pink-haired lady!
Then Dr. Gomez reports on our lunchtime meetings at school, and I'm starting to feel hopeful. The judge's face doesn't look quite so stern.
He stares out at Cap and asks him if he would be willing to supervise these extra visits with my dad if extra visitations were granted.
Before he can answer, I stand up again and interrupt. "Excuse me. But I'm almost fifteen years old. I would like to have unsupervised visits with my father. I thought that was understood."
The judge just kind of glares at me, so I sit down and Sam whispers, "Just wait."
Cap says, "I am willing, Your Honor, to see to it that Jason gets to his father's home and back safely. I am also willing to see to it that he doesn't neglect his schoolwork, and that it doesn't interfere with other activities that we might plan for him and the family. He has to keep his room neat and help out around the house. I'm willing to see to it that he attends to these things. As for accompanying him and supervising him while he's with his father, I don't feel that is necessary."
"And his adjustment in your home?" the judge asks.
Cap clears his throat. "Adjustment in a new home is always difficult," he says. "And while he's been with us such a short time, he has received some disturbing news, which, though it upset him greatly, I believe he has handled with maturity and wisdom. He's played by the rules, even when he hasn't liked them. He's good to his foster sister and respectful to me and my wife. He's a good boy, Your Honor."
Cap looks at me and winks, and I press my tongue against the roof of my mouth. I make a promise to myself to be much nicer to everybody after this.
Finally the judge asks for Sam's opinion about my visitation rights.
Sam says, "I've been put in charge of Jason's welfare, and so it is his welfare and not his father's that I am most concerned about here, as I believe we all are."
The judge nods and says, "Indeed."
CRAZY GLUE: There goes your case down the drain, goob.
I swallow and close my eyes, and wait for Sam to bring up my bad grades.
"And as with all my other cases, Jason's visitation has been scheduled for once a month. I think there would have to be pretty extenuating circumstances for you to order a change in this schedule. As you've stated, Jason's grades have slipped and he's missed quite a lot of school, this year in particular. I wasn't aware until this morning when I got a copy of his records exactly how dismal Jason's grades are."
I sink down in my seat. What is he doing?
CRAZY GLUE: He's crucifying you—and your dad.
"These grades are a real concern, of course." He glances at me. "Poor grades are a clear indication of your state of mind and how you are coping, Jason." He looks at the judge. "I think it would be good if Jason could prove to us over the next several months that he's serious about his desires to improve in school. Then we could look at changing his visitation."
I shake my head. I don't believe what I'm hearing. He's just stabbed me in the back. I lean forward and glare at Haze and Shelby and Pete, who are sitting to my right. All three of their faces have gone white.
I want to cry. I put my head in my hands. We don't have several months to test me. Dad needs me now.
AUNT BEE: Oh dear, I'm so sorry. This is too bad.
"Excuse me. Excuse me, Judge. I'm sorry, but I have to say something here."
I lift my head and see Shelby standing with her hands on her hips.
I sit back in my seat.
"And you are...?"
"Jason's friend, Shelby Majors, and I'm probably, no, I am the reason everyone is here today. I caused all this. I'm the one who reported Jason's father to Dr. Gomez, so I think I should have a right to say something."
Shelby's voice is loud—louder than it needs to be, and forceful, as usual.
The judge nods for her to continue.
"You're talking here like it's separate—Jason's welfare, his father's welfare, Jason's grades. But it isn't. They're all connected—don't you see, 'cause we're all connected. You can't separate it out the way you're trying to do. We've all"—Shelby turns to indicate me and Haze and Pete—"we've all had really crappy stuff happen to us the past year or two. My mother just died. She had ALS. And you all act like that's not supposed to affect me? Like our grades shouldn't be affected? Of course it affects us! What happens to our parents happens to us, too. We feel it, too, you know? So my grades are in the toilet and so are Haze's and Ja-son's, and the only reason Pete's aren't is because he's some genius—sorry, Pete, I know you like to keep that quiet." She looks at Pete, and so do I, only slightly surprised by this information. Pete's face is still white. Shelby turns back to the judge. "But even he's not one hundred percent. But somehow you think all you've got to do is put Jason in a nice foster home and his grades will improve. How is that possible, when he can't even sleep because he's so worried about his father? His father isn't safe, and until he is, until Jason can assure himself every day, by visiting him, that his father is okay, his stupid grades, as if they're the be all and end all of everything, won't get better." Shelby takes a breath.
I'm sitting, like the others, with my mouth hanging open.
She continues. "Jason needs to be with his dad. I mean not all the time, but you should see him. He's patient and gentle and loving, and he gets him—he understands his crazy father in a way no one else does. And like Jason said, he's not alone in this anymore. We'll be there, too. We're there for one another. So don't make him promise to keep up his grades and keep his room neat—man, give him a break. How's he supposed to care about that when his dad is in trouble? His dad needs him now, not months from now after you've tested him to see if he's really serious about bringing up his grades." She takes another breath. "Okay"—she looks around at all of us—"I guess I'm done."
She sits down and I reach across Cap and squeeze her hand. "Thanks," I whisper, wishing I could say more.
The judge's face is like a mask. He clears his throat and speaks to Sam. "Did you have anything more to say, Mr. Waldron?"
Sam smiles. "Miss Majors pretty much said it all, Your Honor. If she had given me the chance, I would have gone on to say that although it would be nice, we really don't have the time to test Jason to see if he can bring up his grades, given the seriousness of his father's circumstances. I believe Jason could help his father and with all the support he now has, I believe he can manage the extra visitations on his own quite well."
"Yes!" I whisper to myself, clenching my hands in fists, while the others reach over and pat me on the back.
The judge checks his watch, then looks at us. "We'll take a twenty-minute recess," he says, "and reconvene here at a quarter past ten." He pounds his gavel.
The policeman says, All rise."
Chapter Thirty-Eight
DURING THE RECESS, we stand out in the hallway drinking Mountain Dews and talking. I tell Sam I thought he had stabbed me in the back. "Yeah," my friends all agree. We gather around Sam and wait for him to reply.
"I had to show the judge that I knew what the objections might be. I wanted to put the objections and the possible solutions he might come up with before him first, so that then I could say why these wouldn't work under the current circumstances—that's all."
"Well, you could have told me beforehand," I say.
"And you could have told me how badly you were doing in school."
"It's not that bad." I take a sip of my Mountain Dew. "I'm not failing, and the semester's not over. I just have a lot of catching up to do. Do you think the judge is going to let me have the extra visitations?"
Sam shakes his head. "Hard to say with Judge Langston. He's fair, but he's not one to bend the rules, and he has a thing about grades. He uses them as a marker for everything. Sorry, Jason."
FBG WITH A MUSTACHE: Buck up, son. Look around you.
AUNT BEE: All these people, here just for you.
I look at everyone gathered around me with expressions of concern on their faces. It really is great that they're here—Dr. Gomez and Cap and Haze and Shelby and Pete and Sam and Clara. I smile. "Hey, thanks, everyone, for being here. Whatever happens, it means a lot to me that you came this morning to support me."
I get pats on the back, and everyone says how they're happy to help me.
Then Haze surprises us all by announcing that he wants to become a judge. "No kidding," he says when we all look at him like he's crazy. "I always thought I'd become a lawyer, like my old man, but this is what I want to do. Really. I'm inspired. I want to become a juvenile court judge. What do you think? Can you see it?" Haze straightens his back and walks somberly down the hallway. Shelby laughs so hard she spews her Mountain Dew on the floor, and with a minute left before we have to return to the courtroom, we all rush around grabbing paper towels from the bathroom to clean up the mess.
We're back in the courtroom a minute later and we're waiting for the judge's decision. I notice Shelby sitting with her legs crossed and jiggling her foot. Haze is rubbing his hands up and down his thighs as though trying to wipe the sweat from his hands. Dr. Gomez is tapping her fingers on the bench. Pete is sitting beside me with his eyes closed; it looks like he's praying or meditating. I hope that whatever he's doing, it works. Cap is sitting on my other side, looking very stiff and straight.
The judge lifts his head and says, "Jason Papadopoulos."
Everyone gets still and I stand. "Yes, sir—uh, Your Honor, sir."
"You have a job to do, and do you know what that job is?"
I don't know what to answer. Sam said he was big on grades and school, so I think maybe I should answer "school," but my honest answer is to take care of my dad.
CRAZY GLUE: Well, say something, goob.
"I—uh—I have many jobs, your sir—uh, Your Honor."
"I'm a judge; that's my job. Sam's a social worker; that's his job. You're a student; that's your job."
I bite down on my upper lip and nod.
"You've got to do the job that's set before you, and do it to the best of your ability."
"Yes, Your Honor," I say, feeling my heart sink.
"Education is the key to everything. You'd like for your father to get well, and there are doctors out there who are trying to help him get well, and pharmaceutical companies working on new medicines that may someday find a cure. These are educated people working to solve your father's problem." The judge jabs his index finger into the table over and over as he speaks. "Education is the key to becoming a productive and contributing member of our society. I do not take it lightly, nor should you."
"No, Your Honor, I don't."
"Going to school, studying, learning new material, advancing—this is your job. I cannot stress it enough." He eyes Shelby and points in her direction. "And when things are falling apart in your life, that does not give you permission to let it all go to hell." He returns to me. "If you have disaster in one part of your life, you make extra sure the rest of it is working. Otherwise you have to work twice as hard later to make up for the total mess you've put your life in. Your father's condition is, for the most part, out of your control. Your schoolwork isn't. Got it?"
>
I nod again, unable to speak with the lump in my throat. I blink several times and bite down harder on my lip. I refuse to cry in front of the judge.
"My concern, Jason, is that you have spent too much of your time as a caretaker for your father. This is not your job. You are the child. He is the parent."
I rub my face and stare at my feet. I let out my breath.
"I don't want to see you spending all your time with your father at the expense of your education, your friendships, and your relations with your foster parents."
I look up. "No, Your Honor."
"I want your assurance that if you receive daily visitation rights, these things will not suffer."
AUNT BEE: Hope at last.
"Oh, no, Your Honor, no they won't. I'll show you. I can do it."
I see a hint of a smile on the judge's face. "I'm glad to see that you have this support system in place for both you and your father, and I'm hoping you will continue to rely on them—not take it all on yourself—because if I get reports back that you have, I will revoke your visitation rights. Do you understand?"
"Yes! Yes, I do. I will. Yes! Yes!"
"You will be granted two hours maximum visitation a day."
I hear cheers behind me, and I blush and break out into the biggest smile. My heart is so full of gratitude, I feel like getting down on my knees and kissing the judge's feet.
The judge raises his hand for silence. "I want you to keep a record of your visits, and if you can't catch up with your schoolwork, I want to see that you've got a tutor working with you." The judge nods in Pete's direction. "Maybe your genius friend can help."
"Yes, Your Honor, I'll catch up. I will."
"I will be receiving regular reports from Mr. Waldron. Don't let me down, Jason." The judge bangs his gavel. Dismissed.
"Thank you!" I raise my fists in the air and fall to my knees. I did it! I got daily visitation rights. I did this! Finally, I have some control of my life back. I did it. I succeeded.
