We took an elevator to the sixth floor and marched briskly down a corridor until we reached an area that was locked off from the rest of the floor.
“They have him locked in like a criminal?” My voice rang with indignation.
“I don’t like it either, but it’s for his protection. The doctor feels he’s still capable of doing harm to himself, and so…” Her voice drifted off and she pressed the doorbell of the Child Adolescent Psychiatry unit.
A nurse buzzed us in and Elle led the way to a vast and sunny activity room where adolescents engaged in various forms of recreation. They all looked lethargic and spaced-out. I glanced at two girls who were playing ping-pong and it was the slowest-moving ping-pong game I’d ever seen.
Some kids played checkers and others worked on jigsaw puzzles, but quite a few of them stood around staring blankly. On the far side of the large room, there was an exercise class going on, but the participants were moving like zombies, and I doubted if any of them were working up a sweat.
“There’s Phoenix!” Elle pointed to a light-brown-skinned boy sitting in a chair and staring at an overhead TV screen.
We were at least thirty or forty feet away from him, and even from that distance and with only his profile on view, I easily recognized my son. Ten years had passed since I’d last set eyes on him, but I could have picked him out of any crowd.
With her lips stretched into a pained smile, Elle walked purposefully toward him.
I didn’t accompany her. I remained near the locked door, frozen in place with my heart racing as I gawked at Phoenix from afar. This wasn’t the way I’d imagined our first meaningful encounter since he was a toddler, and I wasn’t prepared for the range of emotions that swirled throughout me, creating an internal storm.
I felt a tremendous amount of anger toward Elle for keeping my son and me apart, and I was disgusted with myself for rolling over instead of fighting her in court. But, beyond those negative feelings, I was stricken by a rush of love that powered through me so vigorously, I became physically weakened by the sheer force of it.
I watched Elle lean over, circle her arms around Phoenix, and kiss him on the cheek. She said something that caused him to pull away from her embrace as he jerked his neck in my direction.
I waved at him and tossed him a smile that was as cheerful as I could manage under such emotional circumstances.
Elle beckoned me and I crossed the room, moving toward my long-lost son.
“Phoenix, this is Malik, your biological father.” Elle spoke in a voice that was as soft as a whisper as she struggled to maintain her composure.
It was a monumental moment, yet the tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife.
“Hey,” Phoenix said without making eye contact with me.
“How are you feeling, Phoenix?” I asked with forced joviality.
He did a slight eye roll and I could imagine him thinking, ‘How do you think I feel, dummy?’
“Not feeling so good, huh?” I said, answering the question myself.
“I just want to get out of here,” he mumbled. “My counselor thought it was a good idea for me to work out my issues with you, so…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but I gave his arm a squeeze, letting him know that I understood.
I took a seat in the empty chair on his right. “I understand that you attend an exclusive school where the students and instructors only speak French,” I said, trying to strike up a conversation.
“Oui,” he uttered in a vaguely hostile tone that let me know he wasn’t in the mood for small talk with me.
I had imagined that Phoenix and I would have a natural bond, but apparently he was going to make me work hard to establish a connection. Deciding not to bombard him with questions, I sat quietly, pretending to focus on the World War II movie he had been watching when we’d first arrived.
During the uncomfortable silence, I found myself stealing glances and marveling at his physical characteristics. He looked like a mixture of several of my family members. His top lip was shaped exactly like my mother’s, and oddly, Phoenix displayed a few of my father’s mannerisms without ever meeting the man. I saw a little bit of my uncles on both my mother’s and father’s side.
But despite the array of genetic traits that he had inherited from various family members, he favored me the most. It was obvious that I had “spit the boy out.”
I could tell that Elle coddled him. It was apparent by the way she kept stroking his close-cut hair, despite how many times he leaned away from her motherly touch.
I regarded his haircut and was surprised that he wasn’t wearing a high-top fade with sponge twists on top, the trendy style that many young guys wore today. Phoenix was sporting a buzz-cut, giving him an even more youthful and innocent-looking appearance than the average thirteen-year-old boy.
I was perplexed as to why Elle had portrayed him as a worldly sophisticate, a young man who was wise beyond his years. He seemed like a typical middle-schooler who should have been more comfortable riding a skateboard than consorting with drug dealers and purchasing their poisonous product.
What kind of heartless degenerate would sell hard drugs to an innocent child? I was fixated on that question and could feel my fists balling with the urge to beat the crap out of the scumbag whose actions could have cost Phoenix his life.
The three of us sat without speaking, each of us pretending to be absorbed in the war movie that played on TV.
“Mom?” Phoenix said, breaking the silence. “I gotta get out of here. This place is like a high-security prison. They don’t let us have anything. No outside food or any kind of treats are allowed. I just want a freakin’ pizza, mom! They consider something as innocent as a paper clip to be contraband. When are they gonna let me go home?”
“That depends,” Elle answered.
“Depends on what?”
“On whether or not your doctor thinks you can manage your normal routines without self-medicating.”
“I’m not an addict! It was a one-time event.”
“A one-time attempt at suicide is not something to take lightly,” Elle explained, stroking his arm soothingly.
“But I’m okay, now. Mom, can I please go home?”
“It’s not my choice, Phoenix. I can’t demand an early release for you simply because I want to.”
“Can you do something, Malik?” He finally looked me in the eyes.
“You need to focus on the treatment program they’re offering,” I said resolutely while wishing I could whisk him out of there and take him back to Arizona with me, but of course, I couldn’t.
Phoenix’s attention drifted back to the TV, making it clear that I was of no use to him.
My first instinct was to try to reason with him, but being an outsider, I decided it was best to give him his space.
“I could use some coffee. What about you?” I said to Elle.
“Yes, caffeine is exactly what I need.” She turned to Phoenix. “We’ll see you at the therapy session in a half hour.”
He shrugged indifferently, keeping his eyes glued to the TV screen.
• • •
Phoenix seemed like a totally different kid in the therapy session. He was animated and talkative, and extremely forthcoming. He easily articulated his feelings about discovering that Everett was not his father. He said that he felt betrayed and that it angered him when his mother wouldn’t give him information about his real father.
“I just wanted information about my heritage, and my parents acted like my curiosity was a crime. My mom finally told me that she kept my dad out of my life because he did drugs, and when I asked her if he was still on drugs, she didn’t have an answer for me. I told her I wanted to meet him, but she wouldn’t allow it. What I did…shooting heroin was a drastic measure and also stupid…I realize that now. But at the time I was hurt and angry and probably suffering from abandonment issues,” he said, glancing in my direction.
“I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” he continued
. “I wanted to show my mom how much pain her decision was causing me. I’m ashamed and I’m sorry, and I’ll never do it again. I want my life to go back to normal. I just want to go home.”
By the end of Phoenix’s heartfelt statement, he and Elle were both wiping tears from their eyes while I struggled with a lump in my throat that seemed like the size of a boulder.
“How do you feel about the recent events regarding your son?” the therapist asked me.
“Guilty. Like an absentee father. If it’s at all possible, I want to establish a relationship with Phoenix and try to make up for lost time. I don’t expect to replace Everett, but I’d like to have a role in Phoenix’s life. I haven’t used drugs in over ten years, and I’ve been a productive member of society for the same amount of time. If Phoenix could spend a week or so with me in Arizona during the summer, I think we could begin to build a bond.”
“Visitation is for the courts to decide, Mr. Copeland,” the therapist said.
“I’m thirteen, not three! I’m old enough to decide if I want a relationship with my parent,” Phoenix interjected.
“How do you feel about Phoenix visiting his birth father during the summer?” the therapist asked Elle.
Elle fiddled with the hem of her jacket and then cleared her throat. “His father and I have talked about it, and if having a relationship with Malik will be beneficial to Phoenix, then we’re on board with the idea.”
Phoenix directed a smile my way that was bashful and boyish, endearing him to me. I smiled back. I gave him a big grin that expressed my inability to conceal my joy.
I wondered what had happened to the sullen teenager that barely opened his mouth when we were in the activity room. I told myself that therapy had a way of bringing out a person’s true character, and I was now witnessing the real Phoenix, a normal kid who had tried to deal with complex problems and conflicting emotions that would have overwhelmed the average adult.
At the conclusion of the therapy session, Phoenix asked how soon he’d be discharged. Dr. Pitts shuffled some papers around on his desk and then looked at Phoenix. “I recommend a thirty-day treatment plan. If things go well, you’ll be able to leave here at the completion of the program.”
Disappointment was evident in the way that Phoenix’s shoulders slumped. I half expected him to break down and cry, but he pulled himself together and said, “Okay, Dr. Pitts. Cool.” He then produced a brave smile.
In that moment, I felt so proud of Phoenix. He was obviously disappointed, but he held it together.
After the therapy session, we returned to the activity room.
“How about a game of ping-pong,” I said to Phoenix.
“Are you any good?” he asked.
“I was the ping-pong champ back in college,” I bragged.
“That was what…forty years ago?” he teased.
“Not that long ago…I’m only forty-one.”
“Only!” Phoenix laughed as he ragged on my age.
“Okay, you asked for it. I was going to show you some mercy, but not anymore.”
“You’re the former ping-pong champ, but I’m the current title holder. Tell him, Mom.”
“He’s really good, Malik,” she concurred.
“Show me.” I picked up the paddle, prepared to go easy on my son. But he put me in my place in a matter of seconds, showing off skills that far surpassed mine.
“Who are you?” I asked jokingly.
“Your son,” he responded in a somber tone that melted my heart to such a degree, I put down the paddle and moved toward him.
Phoenix met me halfway. And in the midst of the activity room of an adolescent psychiatric unit, my son and I bonded as I held him in a tight bear hug.
CHAPTER 11
Sitting on the bed of my hotel room in downtown Philadelphia, I clenched my phone, dreading having to call Sasha and admit that I’d lied about having a work emergency. In all the years of our marriage, I’d never deceived her, and it was time to come clean.
I glanced at the clock. It was eleven at night here, but only eight in Arizona, which meant that Zoe was still wide awake. I didn’t want her to know about Phoenix just yet. I wasn’t trying to hide him, but Sasha and I needed to be on the same page when it came to how much information we shared with Zoe. Did we tell a nine-year-old about her daddy’s former drug habit and prison stint? It seemed like far too much negative information for a child to process.
I let out a sigh and tapped the screen of the phone. Sasha picked up on the first ring.
“Hey, babe,” I said in a gloomy tone that I would have preferred to disguise but was unable to.
“I’ve been so worried about you, Malik. Is everything all right?”
“It’s a long story. Is Zoe nearby?”
“Yes, should I put you on speaker?”
“No!” I blurted frantically. “I don’t want her to overhear our conversation. We need to speak privately.”
“Oh, all right. Hold on.” There was worry in her voice and I felt awful for causing her distress.
In the background I heard her tell Zoe that she had to step outside the cabin to speak with Daddy in private. Only a year ago Zoe would have been upset if she didn’t get to talk to me, but she was getting older and I didn’t hear a word of complaint out of her. In my mind’s eye, I could picture Zoe preoccupied with something on her iPad or peering intently at the screen of her phone as she texted back and forth with one of her friends.
“I’m back,” Sasha said. “What’s going on, Malik?”
“I didn’t leave over a work situation. The call was from my ex, Elle. She reached out to let me know that my son had attempted suicide…by overdosing on heroin.”
“Oh, no! Is he going to be all right?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Sasha, I’m sorry for lying to you, but I didn’t know how to tell you without involving Zoe. I didn’t want to upset her and ruin the vacation. I felt like I was between a rock and a hard place.”
“It’s okay, I understand.”
“Thanks, babe. I appreciate it.”
“Do you know why he tried to end his life?”
“Yes. I was included in his therapy session this evening, and he expressed himself quite articulately. According to Phoenix, he was desperate to find out the truth about his paternity, and the drug thing was a cry for help, not an actual desire to die.”
“Did you two get along okay?”
“Not at first. He practically ignored me initially, but after the therapy session, we had a special moment—a really powerful moment,” I said, my voice catching as a wave of emotion passed through me.
“What’s he like?”
“He’s a typical thirteen-year-old. Moody and incommunicative one moment and animated and talkative the next.”
“I see. So, where do we go from here?”
“Well, he wants to spend a week with us during the summer, if that’s okay with you. Are you comfortable with that idea?”
“Of course. How could you ask me such a question?”
“Just making sure. I don’t want to be presumptuous.”
“He’s your son, and I’m thrilled that you’re finally going to get to know him. And Zoe’s going to be so excited to find out she has a big brother.”
“After we tell her about Phoenix, we’re going to have to tell her my story also…the whole ugly truth about my past.”
“Zoe loves you and nothing you tell her will change that.”
“I know. But I wish she were a little older. Nine is so young for her to try and comprehend the meaning of drug addiction.”
“She’s not as unenlightened as you seem to think. She knows that your NA meetings are a big part of your life, and she’s aware that you had a drug problem before she was born.”
“I had no idea that she knew.”
“That was a little secret between Zoe and me,” Sasha said with a chuckle.
“Does she know that my drug o
f choice was heroin?”
“Yes. And as far as she’s concerned, it was a different lifetime and has nothing to do with who you are now.”
“Well, I don’t think we should tell her about Phoenix’s incident. She doesn’t need to know that, Sasha,” I said firmly. “It was a stupid mistake and I don’t want him judged by it.”
“I won’t say a word about it,” Sasha promised. “How long will you be in Philly?”
“I want to spend as much time with Phoenix as possible, so I probably won’t make it back to Arizona until the vacation is over.”
Sasha was briefly silent and I could feel her disappointment as my words sunk in.
“I’m sorry, Sasha. But…”
“It’s fine, Malik. You don’t have a choice. Your son needs you; you’re exactly where you need to be.”
I let out a sigh of relief, silently vowing to make this up to my wife. I couldn’t ask for a more understanding woman during this very difficult time.
• • •
“Hey, Bio-Dad,” Phoenix greeted cheerfully when I arrived for my first solo visit with him at the hospital. We embraced and stared at each other for a long moment, both keenly aware of how eerily similar we looked.
“The only difference between us is our build,” he commented as he observed me. “Am I going to magically grow muscles like yours one day?”
I laughed. “I used to be slim, too, but I put in a lot of hours at the gym, pumping iron. But that’s not something you need to be concerned with at your age.”
“Don’t worry; I’m not. I’m okay with the body I have. Besides, lifting weights seems boring, and I’m more cerebral,” he said, tapping his left temple.
“So I’ve heard. Your mother told me that until recently, you’d always been a straight-A student, always on the honor roll. Do you plan on hitting the books again and bringing your grades up?”
“Yeah, but I don’t need to hit the books to do it. All I have to do is start showing up for my classes again, and my grades will automatically improve.”
“What do you mean?” I eyed him suspiciously, thinking he was involved in some sort of computer hacking that enabled him to change his grades.
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