Crystal Lies

by Melody Carlson

  “Sure, I’ll get him for you.”

  I nodded. “Tell him I’ll be outside.” And then I bolted for the door. One more minute in that place and I think I would’ve become physically ill. I couldn’t get away from the smell quickly enough. It felt like it had adhered itself to me, as if it were clinging to my clothing, seeping into my pores. I wanted to rush home and take a long, hot shower, to scrub and scrub until all traces of this foul place were gone. How could my son stand it? How had he been able to spend so much time here? How could anyone sleep among that kind of filth? Drugs, I reminded myself. The answer is drugs.

  I went over and stood next to his car. Even his piles of blankets and junk looked like neatness and order compared to what was inside that horrible duplex. I waited and waited, for nearly thirty minutes, and I was almost ready to go back inside when I finally saw the door open, and Jacob emerged. All he had on were his jeans. His feet and chest were bare, but he was pulling on a sweatshirt as he blinked up at the sunlight. Then he seemed to take a few moments to focus his eyes before he finally spotted me and staggered in my direction.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. His eyes looked just as glazed as the girl’s had been when she’d first answered the door.

  “What’s wrong?’ I parroted back to him.

  He leaned his head back and ran his fingers through his unwashed hair, then exhaled loudly. “What are you doing here, Mom?”

  “Looking for you, Jacob.” I pressed my lips together, searching for the right words to say everything that I was feeling. I really wanted to scream at him—to shout and yell and demand to know what on earth he was doing here. Instead I took another deep breath.

  “Well, you found me.”

  “Yes,” I said slowly. “But this doesn’t seem like a very good place to find you.”

  He rolled his eyes now. “Maybe not to you.”

  “Jacob.” I pointed toward the duplex. “This is obviously a drug house” “A drug house?” He laughed. “Really, Mom, what makes you think that?”

  I considered this. “Well, for one thing it’s a filthy pigsty.”

  I could tell by the spark in his eyes that he was sobering up now, and I could sense that I had insulted him. “Not everyone has your high standards for housekeeping, Mom. Not everyone is a neurotic neat freak.”

  “I am not a neurotic neat freak.” But even as I said those words, I knew it was true. Still, it was beside the point.

  “Look, Daniels been a little depressed lately, and I suppose he’s let the place go a—”

  “Let the place go?” I felt the slightest twinge of hysteria climbing into my voice now. “That place should be condemned by the health department. Not only that, but I’m sure there are drugs in there, Jacob.”

  He shook his head. “There you go with the drug thing again, Mom. Really, you’re acting kind of paranoid.”

  “I’m paranoid?”

  “Yeah.” He sat down on the hood of his car. “Did you see any drugs in there?”

  I thought about this. “Well, not exactly.”

  “So, maybe you imagined that you did?”

  “I didn’t imagine anything.”

  “But you’re absolutely certain it’s a drug house?”

  I shook my head. “I’m not certain of anything, Jacob, except that it’s filthy, nasty squalor and you shouldn’t be spending any time here.”

  “There you go again,” said Jacob,“making accusations and judgments. Just because some people aren’t rich like you and Dad—”

  “That has nothing to do with it—”

  “And just because someone’s not a total neat freak—”

  “A person could pick up a disease in there!”

  Jacob frowned. “Look, Mom, just because my friends don’t measure up to your high standards doesn’t give you the right to dis them. Aren’t you the one who’s always saying we shouldn’t judge others?”

  I felt confused now, like I wasn’t even sure what we were talking about anymore. But something about this scenario was familiar to me. Painfully familiar. It seemed to happen every time Jacob had gotten involved in drugs. It was as if he suddenly became the expert at throwing confusion everywhere. He could put up smoke screens and get people on the defensive before they even knew what had hit them. And I knew it was happening to me. The trouble was, I didn’t know what to do about it.

  “These are good people, Mom,” he continued in a patient voice, almost as if he were explaining this to a confused child. “They have problems, sure, but they are basically good people.”

  “Good people?” I repeated, falling right into his trap. “This is a drug house, Jacob. I know it. I can feel it. And you say they are good people?”

  He shook his head. “See, there you go, judging again. Remember what you used to tell me, Mom? Remember that leather wrist thing you got me with the initials on it—WWJD? What would Jesus do? Well, is this your kind of Jesus, Mom? Is he the kind of person who goes around judging and dissing people just because they’re different?” Jacob turned his head and spat on the ground. “Cuz if that’s your kind of Jesus, crap, I don’t want anything to do with him—or you!” Then he got off the hood of his car and went back into the house and slammed the door behind him.

  I just stood there looking at the shabby duplex and trying to figure out what to do next. Did I go back in there and drag him out? Hardly. Did I get on my cell phone and call his dad and insist that he come over here and help me? Right. I could just imagine what Geoffrey would say. Something like “He’s made his bed…,” or, worse yet, he could blame me for the problem. “What’s the matter, Glennis? Isn’t your little plan working? Aren’t you managing to rescue our son from the demons of drugs?”

  I considered calling Sherry, but then I’d never told her everything about Jacob’s problems. This would be a lot to spring on her all at once. Instead, I decided to just go home. Defeated, dejected, and depressed, I got into my Range Rover and drove back to the apartment complex.

  My apartment, in stark comparison to the duplex, was so spotlessly tidy that it might actually pass a white-glove test. Maybe Jacob was right.

  Maybe I was a neurotic neat freak. Maybe if I loosened up a bit, it would be better. Maybe Jacob would feel more at home here if everything wasn’t perfectly in its place.

  I kicked off my tennis shoes and left them in the living room, then went into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of orange juice. Then I left the used glass and empty orange juice carton on the counter and went to my room where I fell across my neatly made bed and sobbed.

  “I can’t fix this, God,” I prayed in total desperation. “I don’t know how. Please, help me.”

  Then I fell asleep.

  When I woke up, I could hear someone in the kitchen. Frightened that it was an intruder, since I felt certain Jacob wouldn’t be showing his face around here for some time, I crept around the corner in time to see Jacob tossing my empty orange juice carton into the trash.

  “What are you doing?” I demanded as I emerged from my hiding spot.

  “Just cleaning up.” He turned and grinned.

  “Cleaning up?” I leaned against the wall, folding my arms across my front. “But I thought you were against tidiness and neat freaks.”

  “Look, I’m sorry, Mom,” he said as he rinsed out my glass. “You caught me by surprise, and I probably said some stupid things.”

  “Well…” I studied my son, confused as to whether this was sincere or not.

  “But you need to know it’s not Daniel’s fault. I mean he’s cool. It’s just some of his friends that are messed up. And he tries to help them out by giving them a place to crash, you know. Like Amber, that girl you met today.”

  “Amber?”

  “Yeah. I mean if you knew what her home was like and the stuff her stepdad does to her, I mean you’d think Daniel was a hero for letting her hide out at his place sometimes.”

  “Her stepdad abuses her?”

  Jacob waved his hand. “It’s complicated
, Mom. And I shouldn’t even have told you that—”

  “But she should go to the authorities, Jacob. There are laws to protect—”

  “It’s not that simple, Mom.”

  Once again I felt that I was going down the wrong rabbit trail. “But, Jacob,” I tried,“what about drugs? Is there any drug use going on at that place? There was obviously a lot of alcohol consumption going on there. I didn’t imagine all those bottles. And you’re underage, Jacob. Daniel could get into serious trouble just for that.”

  “It’s not Daniel,” insisted Jacob. “It’s his friends. They bring their crud over and want to party, and they get a little carried away sometimes. But I talked to Daniel, and he said he’s going to try to get things under control again.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. He doesn’t like it either. He wants his life to settle down. And he got a job, too.”

  “Well, that’s something.”

  “And he thinks he can get me on there too.”

  “So you got fired?”

  “Well, yeah. The manager is such a jerk. If you don’t show up for work—just once—that’s it.”

  “But you think Daniel can get you a job?” I could hear the skepticism in my voice.

  “Yeah, he said they’re short-handed.” Jacob poured himself a glass of milk. “I’m supposed to go in tonight to meet the owner.”

  “What kind of job is it?”

  “Just a gas station.” He shrugged. “But better than nothing, right? And Daniel said the owner can work it out so I can take classes during winter term. He likes having students working for him.”

  I sighed, feeling a much-needed sense of relief. I just hoped it was the real thing. “Well, I guess that would be good.”

  “I’m going to take a shower and clean up before I go over there to talk to him.”

  I nodded. “Well, good luck.”

  “Sorry about that scene over at Daniel’s, Mom.” Jacob smiled that charming smile again, and I had a hard time believing this was the same young man who had crawled out of that filthy pit just a couple of hours ago.

  “It’s okay,” I assured him. “I just want to make sure you’re staying on track, Jacob. I want to do everything I can to help you.”

  “I know that, Mom.” He smiled again. “And I appreciate it.”

  “And I know you don’t understand it, but I wish you would stay away from Daniel’s place.”

  “Mom.” His voice had the tone of warning in it. “I told you it’s not Daniel’s fault. He’s okay. And we’re trying to get the band together.”

  I considered this. “But I didn’t see any music things, Jacob.”

  “It’s in the garage, Mom.” He rolled his eyes. “You want me to take you over there and show you?”

  “No, that’s not necessary. I just want you to be careful, okay?”

  “I’m not a baby, Mom. I know how to take care of myself.” He rinsed out his glass. “And just so you’ll know, I plan to jam again tonight. So don’t be worried if I come in late.”

  “Right.” I sighed and wondered exactly how a mother avoids worrying when her pushing-the-limits son comes home late.

  It was around ten o’clock when I broke out a new novel that Sherry had given me. “To take your mind off things,” she had said. But I was barely through the first lighthearted chapter before I heard sirens blaring outside. I went and looked out the kitchen window to first see several police cars screaming down the street. These were followed by a fire truck and two ambulances, and it looked serious. I wondered where they were headed. Who was in trouble tonight? As I usually do when I hear sirens, I imagined it was Jacob. Perhaps a car wreck or a drug squabble that resulted in a shooting, or maybe someone’s meth lab had blown up. Oh, my imagination could go all kinds of places at times like this. I must’ve paced back and forth for thirty minutes, then I decided to turn on the eleven o’clock news and see if they had anything on it. It turned out to be a three-car pileup on the interstate just a mile away. By the descriptions of the cars I could tell Jacob wasn’t in it. That is, unless, he was riding with someone else.

  It was after midnight by the time I went to bed, telling myself there was nothing I could do about any of this anyway. But instead of falling asleep, I lay there running all the horrifying possibilities of my son’s future through my head. I could still vividly see that horrible duplex and could imagine the awful things that went on in there. And the more I thought about it, the worse it became. After a couple of hours of my self-imposed torture, I finally had to get up and make myself a pot of herbal tea—a calming blend. And there I sat, at the narrow, plastic-topped breakfast bar, sipping my tea and waiting for the sun to come up.

  As luck would have it, Jacob got hired at the Red Devil. It was one of those discount gas stations—the kind that Geoffrey always warned against. “You get what you pay for, Glennis,” he’d told me once after I’d filled the Range Rover with cheap gas and it had started thumping and pinging. “Those cut-rate places are known for getting the last dregs off the tanker trucks.”

  The last dregs, I thought as I drove by the Red Devil just to see if Jacob was really at work like he was supposed to be. To my relief his car was parked around in back, and I spied him talking to an older guy who I had begun to suspect was Daniel. I still didn’t know Daniels last name. According to Jacob,“It doesn’t matter.” But that only made me more uneasy.

  I’d taken to driving around town as part of my daily routine. I would check on Jacob at the gas station. Then later in the evening, if Jacob failed to come home, which he’d started doing again, I would drive by the “duplex dump” to see if Jacob was there. I also kept track of the other cars that came and went from that place. I suspected that the old blue Ford van belonged to Daniel since it appeared at both the duplex dump and the gas station. But there was also a beat-up gold station wagon and a little red Honda parked there frequently. For some reason I felt the Honda belonged to Amber. Don’t ask me why.

  Jacob had been pumping gas for a couple of weeks. He still stayed out late, sometimes all night, but he seemed to have the uncanny ability of guessing when I was about ready to give up on him. And that’s when he’d show up with a smile on his face, sometimes even with flowers, and he’d say all the right words, and, presto, I would feel better. Of course, he was often “between paychecks” at those times and usually needed a “little cash” to get him by, fill his gas tank, things like that. I would tell myself that at least he was still working. Somehow I imagined that if he was working, everything was pretty much okay.

  Until the day I found a used syringe. I’d like to say it was quite by accident, but to be perfectly honest, I was snooping. I still cleaned Jacobs room for him. I did his laundry and made his bed. Somehow I believed that this would help him on his road to recovery. Or maybe it was just my penance for being a bad mom. Who can be sure?

  Whatever the case, I had taken to looking around a bit as I made Jacobs bed and hung up his clothes. I had discovered some odd things under his futon bed, like a cinnamon candle he had obviously filched from me, although I hadn’t noticed it was missing. I didn’t see any harm in this, although I wondered why it was under his bed. Worried that he might burn the place down, I got a nice big candle holder and put the rust-colored pillar on it and placed it on his dresser. I figured if he was going for ambiance, he should at least be safe about it.

  I’d also found a number of grimy spoons, but why should this seem strange since I’d also found dirty glasses and cereal bowls and the occasional slice of uneaten pizza. But I was curious about the mirror at first. It was just a piece of broken mirror, about eight inches in diameter, but I knew it hadn’t come from anything in the apartment. Still, I figured that Jacob must’ve wanted to look at himself in the privacy of his own room. And so I bought him an inexpensive mirror from Wal-Mart and hung it above his dresser. No big deal.

  But on this particular day, I noticed what appeared to be a roll of tissue in his wastebasket. Curious as to what i
t was, I picked it up and examined it. The tissue appeared unused and clean. Somewhat wasteful, I remember thinking, since I now knew the exact cost of a single roll of toilet paper, and this appeared to be at least half a roll. I gave the round wad a gentle squeeze and realized there was something inside that felt like a ballpoint pen. And being a mom, I slowly unwound the ball until I arrived at the center. But it took me a moment to realize what I was looking at.

  I carried the object to the kitchen to examine it in better light. And then it became obvious. Of course, it was a hypodermic syringe, probably the kind they used for insulin injections, the sharp-looking needle still intact. It was a wonder I hadn’t poked myself with it. As I stared at the bright orange plastic syringe lying there on the kitchen counter, my first response was to wrap it back up and hide it. It felt wrong and illegal and frightening, and I couldn’t imagine what I would do if someone walked in here and found me with it. Could I be arrested? Then I told myself to calm down and think clearly. Why was this in Jacob’s room?

  Suddenly I wondered if Jacob had used this needle. Yes, now it seems silly that it wasn’t more obvious to me, but that’s exactly what I thought back then. “Has my son used this on himself? Has he really filled it with some horrible substance, actually inserted it into his flesh, pushed the plunger, and”—well, it was just too horrifying to imagine the rest. Somehow I convinced myself that he had only been playing with the idea. Or maybe he had found the syringe somewhere and didn’t know how to get rid of it in a safe way. Even so, I felt as if my world was caving in, and I knew I would have to ask him—face to face.

  I considered confronting him at work as I did my daily rounds that afternoon. But I felt that wouldn’t be right. I waited for him to come home that night, and when he wasn’t in by midnight, I thought about making another surprise appearance at Daniel’s duplex dump, then reconsidered. Going during the day was one thing; at night was altogether different. Even so, I don’t think I slept more than an hour or two that night.