Angel in Blue Jeans

by Richard L. Coles

  “But then Tony began to slip, he was cutting classes; he got kicked out of one. And then he came home drunk, not very, but drunk enough. Poppa hit the roof; Mamma went to her room in tears. Poppa kept going on and on about losing Vincent, and how could he, Tony, dare to come home in that state.

  “Eventually, everybody calmed down; it took days, and things were okay, for a while. Then it happened again, and Poppa took away Tony’s key, an’ said the doors were locked at ten-thirty, an’ if Tony came home later and drunk, he was not coming in.

  “Well, one night, Tone came back drunk, and broke in through the basement. That was it. Poppa threw Tony out, and threw all his clothes an’ stuff out on the driveway, in the rain, and told him to find somewhere else to live. Poor Mamma was crying and pleading with them both.

  “The clothes stayed there all that day and the next—they were soaked—Tony had gone. Eventually, one of his friends brought him in a van, and they took all the stuff away.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “We don’t know—we didn’t hear from him for weeks. It was awful in the house—Mamma always crying again, Poppa crabby as hell. Angelo, Roberta, and I, we just kept low and did what we had to.

  “Then Tone met me as I came out of work one day—he needed money, he said. ‘Like, for what?’ I asked him. ‘For rent.’ So I quizzed him a bit, an’ he told me he was rooming in this place, like, but he wouldn’t say where. So I asked if he was working, an’ he said he was, but he’d just lost his job. But, Dan, he was so vague, he wasn’t with it, somehow. So I gave him what I could, I don’t know—sixty bucks, I think, that time. Well, he tried that again a few weeks later, but I wasn’t going for that same story again, an’ didn’t give him anything.

  “Then, sometime in the summer, my friend Hannah told me she’d seen somebody that looked like Tone picking through garbage cans down behind Turgat’s Restaurant.”

  “No?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh Gina, that’s awful. Oh, I feel so bad for you all. And this morning, I brought it on you all again; I’m so sorry.”

  Gina put her hand out and rested it gently on Dana’s arm. “No, Dana. You did what was right, you brought him home. That’s where he needs to be. He needs our help, he needs our love. And that’s why I had to come here now, to thank you, Dana, to thank you. Thank you for bringing my family to the point where we have to make a choice—either to solidify, and help when one of us is in desperate need—or to disintegrate forever. Because that’s our choice now. Either our love for one another carries us through this crisis, or we’re doomed as a family.”

  “Gina, is it really that serious?”

  “You better believe it. I love Poppa, I love Mamma, but they’re all wrong on this with Tone. He needed help months ago, but they rejected him. I’m sure they made him worse.”

  “Do you think they need help themselves?”

  “I’m sure of it. They need lots of help, Dana, lots. Ever since we lost Vince, things have not been good between Mamma and Poppa, and this business with Tone has made it worse.”

  “Do you think Father Hennessey at your church could help?”

  “Nah, he’s too straight-laced and dogmatic—he doesn’t understand. No, it’s got to be someone Poppa respects, an’ Mamma too, of course.”

  “Mmm. About Tony, have you thought of talking to Jane Stennings? I’m sure she could help, or know where you could get help. She was into that sort of thing in the police force.”

  “I haven’t. Dan, I don’t really know Jane that well—an’ it’s a hard thing to talk about when it’s your own family. You know her much better.”

  “Yes, I do. But she and Graham and Trishy are away this weekend, and I have to go back to Kingston on Monday, before they get home.” She paused. “But maybe if I gave Jane a call in the week and broached the subject with her, and then you go talk with her after?”

  “Thanks, Dan.”

  They turned their heads as they heard a rustle of clothing and a floorboard creak. Caroline Munro appeared at the kitchen doorway in her house-robe. “I thought I’d heard voices!”

  “Hi, Mrs Munro.”

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hi, Gina. Haven’t seen you for a while. How’s the job going?”

  “Oh, fine, thanks, got a raise last week.”

  “That’s nice. How is your mother? Anne Baxter told me she’d hurt her wrist.”

  “She’s fine now, thanks. It gave her trouble for a couple of weeks, but she’s okay now.” Gina gave a quick smile. “I’d better be going, now. It’s been good to talk, Dan, thanks. See you, Mrs Munro.”

  “Bye, Gina. Say ‘hi’ to your mom for me.”

  “Sure.”

  Dana walked with Gina to the front door.

  “Thanks, Dan.” Gina gave another smile.

  “You be strong.” Dana watched as Gina ran across to her house, then closed the door.

  Her mother was sitting at the kitchen table. “Unusual for Gina to come over, especially this early?”

  “Yes, Mom. They’re having problems with Tony.”

  “I know, dear.”

  - 26 -

  Dana slid her bag under the seat in front and wrapped her legs around it. She preferred to sit about halfway down the bus, on the right-hand side. It was usually dark when she made this journey, whether she was coming home from Kingston or on her way back. She made a point of being near the head of the line-up, so she could get a window seat.

  This Thanksgiving Monday evening, her brother Iain and his girlfriend, Tracey, had dropped her at the bus terminal—they hadn’t hung about—no need to; these days, the journey had become a routine.

  The bus was starting to fill up. Sometimes it was half-empty, and Dana liked it when she had a double seat to herself. Not that she minded fellow passengers, but after a while it was a bit of a drag, trying to make polite conversation with an old lady, or a business man, or worse—having a young, fidgety kid in the next seat. Students, like herself, were the best, usually. But she did prefer, really, to be able to just watch the dark, shadowy scenery slip past, with occasional lights from farms or the villages—it gave her a chance to adjust from the home situation back to the military scene, or vice versa.

  She certainly needed time to adjust during this journey. She just had to come to grips with the Ferruccio situation, with Tony’s state.

  Idly, she watched the end of the line-up as the bodies shuffled toward the bus door. Suddenly, one body, one face, caught her attention.

  No, it couldn’t be. She felt a wave of stifling emotion, body-steeling tension, rush through her.

  It is. Oh God, it is. Woslewski. Lucasz Woslewski. No! Did he see me get on? Jeez, I hope not. What’s he up to? Actually, he looks quite neat, decent clothes.

  Her mind flew back to those dark days after the deaths of Bryce and Vince, of the discovery that Woslewski had been selling them liquor. She shuddered, and tried to close the images from her mind.

  He was on the bus, coming down the aisle, with not many seats left. She kept her head turned to the window, hoping he would pass by.

  He stopped. “Hi, er, do you mind if I sit here?”

  Trapped. She turned her head, feigning surprise. “Er, no,” she responded, weakly.

  For a few moments, he fumbled with his bag, cramming it into the overhead rack. He sat down. “Lucasz Woslewski.”

  “I know.” Her voice was soft, low, and uncertain. She was uncertain, barely controlling something; was it tears, or was it anger? She didn’t know.

  He took the lead. “Dana, this is quite a surprise.” He paused. “Dana, I want you to know that this is not the same Woslewski, the scumbag you remember. And before we go any further, I want to apologize to you for all the hurt and harm that I caused you and your family.”

  Dana raised her head.

  He continued. “I’m not asking you to forgive me. What I did is unforgivable. But I am responsible, and I am truly sorry for what I did. I have paid for it in many ways, bu
t never enough to make up for your loss.”

  Dana felt tears well up in her eyes, and sniffed. She nodded her head. This was almost too much for her to handle, coming so soon after realizing the trouble with Tony. What a reversal.

  The images of those dark times after the accident were rushing in again; over the years, she had succeeded in pushing them so far back into the depths of memory. But not far enough.

  “Dana, I’m sorry I’ve disturbed you again, but I had to tell you, as soon as I saw you at the head of the line. May I stay here and talk more with you, please?”

  She turned and looked at his face, his eyes. They were bright, alive, alert—not the dull, murky eyes of the drunk, the asshole she remembered from school. “Yes.”

  “Thank you.”

  The bus was swinging out of the terminal and up onto the Queensway as it headed west. Dana was quiet as she let the flashes of light from the traffic distract her.

  She was grappling with emotions. Here, sitting beside her, was the man who, through his actions, had indirectly caused the death of her brother. And he had just sat there and openly apologized—and it sounded genuine, for real.

  And yes, to listen to him, to look at him, he wasn’t the jerk, the half-drunken lummox that picked fights with anyone, given half a chance, those days in school. Could she bring herself to talk with him, to share a journey with him? Mind in turmoil, she agonized.

  The bus had cleared the suburbs now, and the countryside was mostly dark. She turned her head toward him. “So what are you doing now?”

  “I’m going back to Lifeline Lodge, the other side of Smith’s Falls.”

  “Lifeline Lodge? What’s that?”

  “We-ell, before I tell you that, may I tell you more about what has happened to me since you last saw me?”

  “Uh-huh.” She nodded.

  “I went to jail for what I did to your brother, and others. And that was what I needed, to start knocking some sense into me. I also needed to dry out. They put me through the detox centre. Did they ever lay it on the line. Tough? You better believe it. But I didn’t get the point, it didn’t really sink in, I was still hooked, see, and when I got out, I started drinking again.

  “I didn’t have a job, and one thing led to another, and I got caught breaking into some place. Before I knew it, I was back in the slammer. Dry again, and boy, did it ever start to get to me. Then the detox again. An’ that time it started to sink in—I began to see what they were doing, what they were talking about. And they had this guy, a counsellor, great guy who knew just how to talk to you—he wasn’t preaching, he’d got it just right—and he didn’t pull any punches, either. And when he talked, you knew he knew what you were going through, what you’d been through.

  “Well, it was through him I began to see the wrong, the damage, the hurt that I’d done to others, and to myself, and that I, me, myself, was responsible for all that—no one else, nothing else, not the system, but me, just me. An’ then he talked about the ways I could take responsibility back to myself, to change, to take proper control.

  “Dana, I did a lot of thinking during those days, and a lot of reading. I watched others and I watched myself—and I realized what a complete asshole I’d been, and how, through my actions, so many people’s lives had been screwed up, destroyed. And I’d got to do something about it.

  “Well, about then, I’d done my time, and I was a free man again. And that was when it really hit me, what this responsibility bit really meant. I’d been dry all the time I was inside, but that was artificial. Now I was on the outside—I could walk into a bar and buy a drink whenever I wanted. But I have not had a single alcoholic drink to this day. That first day outside, I watched a couple of guys roll out of a bar, get in a car, and weave away down the road, and it all became clear.”

  He turned to face Dana. “Now, that’s not to say I’ve not been tempted—for a while there, I was a real social misfit—I didn’t drink, and I’d been inside, twice. Hard to make conversation about what you do. An’ I was out of work, anyway.

  “So I joined an AA group, like the counsellor had suggested—and I’d found out later that he’d been an alky in a really bad way, and done a lot of damage, before he got himself straightened out—so I realized then why what he said seemed so straight and direct—he’d been through it all.

  “Anyway, this AA group was a great help. It was through one of the guys there that I heard about Lifeline Lodge, and that they were looking for some help out there. So I came out to the lodge, and ended up with a job.

  “It’s a great place—we deal mainly with teens with alcohol and drug problems, but some older people come as well. It’s in the backwoods, and everybody works to keep the place operating—it’s live-in, of course. We grow much of our own food, not the meat of course, and we keep a few cows and hens for milk and eggs. We’ve got a wood-shop and a tin-shop, so the kids can actually make things and sell them to help support the Lodge.

  “We have about a dozen counsellors, and probably about thirty residents at any one time. I’ve been there about two and a half years, now. I was appointed deputy director a month ago.”

  “Lucasz.” Dana cleared her throat. “Lucasz, that really is a great story, and I’m very impressed with what you’ve told me. And, Lucasz, thank you for what you said at the beginning, for your apology. I know it must have been hard.”

  “Thank you for accepting me as I am now.”

  They fell silent, as the lights of a crossroads blinked past. The drone of the bus seemed to grow louder as it pounded through the night. Dana’s thoughts wandered back over what she had just heard. How could she help Tony? She certainly didn’t want him to go through the same route that had brought Lucasz here to his senses. But what? How?

  “So, what are you doing these days?”

  “Me? Oh, I’m in the Army. At least, I’m a cadet at RMC in Kingston.”

  “You are? That’s great. I admire you. That’s a really tough challenge. How long’ve you been there?”

  “This is my fourth year, beginning last month.”

  “So you like it?”

  “Oh yes. It’s tough, but it’s a really good atmosphere, and great people, and I feel I’m learning worthwhile skills.”

  “What, shooting and killing and guns and stuff?”

  “Well, yeah, but that’s only a part of what it’s all about. It’s all about people, discipline, how to control yourself and other people, how to take command, and how to follow commands.”

  “I understand. Because we have to know about that in our work at the Lodge, too. Are you specializing in anything?”

  “Yeah, Psychology and History.”

  “Sounds great. Hey, I need to be getting off. We’re nearly at my turnoff.”

  “So how far is the Lodge? Do you have to walk?”

  Woslewski laughed. “No. It’s about 10 K west. One of the guys will be there at the bus stop with the van—I hope! They know I’m on this bus.”

  He continued, “Look Dana, I am glad we met tonight, and that we could talk. It truly has helped me greatly.” He pulled out his wallet, and slipped out a business card. “Look, please take my card. If ever there is anything I can do to help you, please, call me.”

  “Thanks, Lucasz. And thank you for all you’ve told me. Good luck.”

  “Bye.”

  He moved forward as the bus slowed to a halt for its brief station stop at the crossroads. Dana looked at the card in her hand. At the left was an open hand with its lifeline bolded; across the top was Lifeline Lodge, and below: “Lucasz Woslewski, Deputy Director”, with a phone number and a rural route number address.

  No new passengers came on board, and as the bus prepared to continue south toward Kingston, Dana could see Lucasz and his driver close the van doors and drive off to the west.

  She sank lower in her seat and leaned her head against the window, unfocussed eyes gazing into the darkness.

  - 27 -

  “There you go,” said Sheila Tovey, as she
helped Dana edge Kurt Hennigan’s wheelchair down the ramp that had been built at the side of the front steps of his Kingston house. “It’s a bit breezy off the lake today, but not bad for mid-October.”

  “Not to worry,” responded Mr Hennigan. “I need the fresh air, don’t we, Dana?”

  “Of course we do.” Dana chuckled. “Bye, Sheila. We’ll be back about four.”

  Sheila closed the door as Dana pushed the chair out of the driveway and onto the sidewalk.

  They continued on along the streets, down to the small park alongside the shore, near the hospital. Mr Hennigan liked to come here. They could sit and look out over the lake. On a good day, there would be many sailboats. Occasionally, a lake freighter would put into Kingston, but usually only a small one.

  “This harbour was such a busy place years ago,” said Mr Hennigan, as Dana set the brake on the wheelchair and sat herself on the bench. “And all we have today are three sailors out there.”

  “I would have expected more today, with a wind like this,” commented Dana.

  They sat and watched. Dana enjoyed these visits with Mr Hennigan. In her early days at RMC, he was still quite agile, and they had walked a great deal when she visited him. He told her much about the history of Kingston, of life as it was there in the ’20s and ’30s.

  But gradually, as the months went by, his legs weakened—and then he suffered a fall in his house. Much to his frustration and annoyance, he became dependent on a wheelchair. At first, Dana had found it very hard work, pushing the wheelchair, but she was determined not to rob Mr Hennigan of his ‘walks’.

  “You’re very quiet today, my dear. Something is troubling you.”

  “Actually, I do have a lot on my mind at the moment, and I really don’t know what to make of much of it.”

  “The military do work you hard at the college, don’t they?”

  “It’s not college stuff, Mr Hennigan, it’s … it’s … Oh, Mr Hennigan—Tony Ferruccio’s got himself all tangled up with alcohol, he’s in a terrible state … a disgusting state.”