The Road to Amistad

by Ken Dickson

  “It’s alright. We both made mistakes. I’m just thankful that we’re still on good terms and that I’m finally getting to really know you. I have to admit, you are the most emotionally balanced person I think I’ve ever met. It seems that nothing rattles you.”

  “That doesn’t come easy. People think that you can live in the present as I do by focusing on it, but in reality, you live in the present by attacking the things that pull you away from it and your reward is living in the present. After a while, it becomes second nature, but you must always be vigilant. Merry once told me to ‘observe but don’t react.’ That’s been incredible advice as I police my mind, defusing thoughts long before they have a chance to trigger emotions.”

  “That’s a rare skill. Speaking of Merry, have you ever considered working with him?”

  “Hell, no. I don’t know how anyone could work with basket cases like I was. That man has the patience of Job.”

  “Merry works for us now—BRI—exclusively with changed people who are slipping back into their old ways, filling their slates back up with negative thoughts. Sounds like something right up your alley. You should talk to him. I bet he could use your help.”

  “That does sound interesting and something I really care about.”

  “That’s Merry’s Holy Grail. He believes that if he can teach changed people with only a few issues to clean their slates again, he can teach people who aren’t changed to abandon negative thoughts as well, and they’ll end up like us. He thinks that this is the next level of behavioral evolution for humanity.”

  “If anyone can figure it out, he will.”

  “Yeah. I better check the time,” I said, standing to look at the clock near the steering wheel. “We’ve barely got a half-hour left. We should head back. Would you like to take the helm?”

  “Definitely.”

  I explained how to operate the boat and then took a seat on the port side and let her take the wheel. She had few questions and boldly took charge. Once we were underway, I relished the beautiful view of the canyon opening ahead of us. The lake was a flawless mirror, reflecting the rugged cliffs on its still surface. I turned to look behind us, and suddenly, Beth crossed the boat wake on a slalom ski, her dark, wet hair slicked back and her ski vest making her look larger than life. Once outside the wake, she cut hard, her shoulder inches from the lake and threw an enormous rooster tail of water into the air. She straightened for a time, leaned in and then, with her legs acting like shock absorbers, turned and cut swiftly across the boat wake.

  As she crossed the prop wash, she vanished, replaced by my two daughters bouncing on a giant inner tube, squinting from the spray off the front of the tube and tow rope. Hailey gave a thumbs-up, signaling to go faster. Kaitlin, her eyes wide with fear, yelled “NO” at the top of her lungs but inaudible over the din of the engine and signaled with a thumbs-down to slow down. The show continued. One moment, they laughed hysterically; and the next, they feared for their lives.

  It was difficult to remember, but I was beginning to embrace the flashbacks instead of hurting. It was a life I was proud of and would never forget. I took a deep breath, exhaled and then gazed at Jessie. She was standing for a better view of what lay ahead, looking over the windshield through sunglasses. Her hair was mostly dry now and whipped behind her like licks of fire. From then on, I forgot about my family and appreciated her natural beauty and the pleasure of her company. As we approached the marina, I took over, slowed the boat to no-wake speed and docked it near the gas pump.

  ***

  As we drove back toward Phoenix, I informed her that the boat ride was all that I’d planned. “Is there anything else that you’d like to do to seal a perfect day?”

  “I’d like to take you for that ride in my car that I promised when we met at YC’s and then go to a movie. After that, I’d like you to spend the night with me at my place.”

  That’s what we did. We cleaned up at her condo and then she took me for a ride in the Challenger, unafraid to demonstrate what 425 horsepower linked to a six-speed manual transmission could do. Since it was late in the afternoon on a Monday, the movie theater was deserted. We sat in the sweet spot in the center, ate popcorn from the same tub and shared a drink. I spent the night at her condo. Exhausted from the full day, we both fell asleep right away. In the morning, she fixed breakfast, kissed me goodbye and said, “Thanks for a great couple of days. Don’t forget about me.”

  That short time with her convinced me to accept things as they were. Jessie was special and deserved more and better attention than I’d been paying her. Things were going to be different from here on out—at least, that was my intention.

  Chapter 28

  A WOMAN’S TOUCH

  I loved everything about my trailer except for one thing: it was lonely. All the people who took me in during my time of need did more than just that. They accepted me like family. Conner entertained me with his beat-up 1920s upright grand piano that he purchased for $800. The Jackson family allowed me to play rhythm guitar in their band, much to everyone’s chagrin. Steve taught me about firearms, and Raj brought me up to speed on his “smart home” that he controlled with his cell phone. The Fujitas fed me delicious Japanese dishes, and Matt and I cheered as we watched sports on his giant flat screen TV. I missed the feeling of community, the chaos and unpredictability of moving from here to there, being with families, being with single people with quirky pets, marveling at organized homes and helping to organize disorganized ones.

  To fill the void, I invited my newfound friends to stop by any evening. When they did, they invariably left an old folding or camp chair, and I soon had quite an assortment of them around the fire pit. I’d stocked a decent pile of firewood from remnants of trees and brush that we’d cleared from Primera and had a fire roaring at a moment’s notice. We’d roast wieners, drink beer or soft drinks, talk about Primera and tell stories.

  From the occasional person stopping by, it grew to a small crowd of regulars. In no time, there was something going on almost every evening outside my trailer, and I was no longer lonely. If I got tired, I just walked into my trailer and went to sleep. No one minded, and they’d stay as long as they liked and then put out the fire before leaving.

  ***

  By July 2013, Primera was bustling with activity. Framing crews had framed the floors, walls and roofs of the homes. Roofing plywood, paper and tile were in place. Plumbing, electrical and HVAC were fitted. Months of work still lay ahead, but for me, the top priority of the moment was the annual Fourth of July Dickson Family Reunion. In the past, reunions had always taken place at my parents' large home in southern Utah, but with many of the grandkids married with children of their own, we’d outgrown that venue. My dad graciously rented a large home at Zion Ponderosa Ranch, just east of Zion National Park for the almost thirty family members attending. All of the kids and a few of the younger adults crammed into bunk beds in two large rooms, leaving plenty of room for the rest of us.

  The house was nestled among the pines in a residential area within walking distance of Zion Ponderosa Ranch, which boasted horseback riding, ATVs, canyoneering, paintball, jeep tours and a zip line. It’d been a long time since I’d taken any time off, and I enjoyed seeing all the children, catching up with the rest of the extended family and joining in the fun activities. I especially loved the time I spent with my daughters on ATVs, the zip line and horseback riding. I was thankful that my brother Dana, whom Beth has a lot of respect for, convinced Beth to allow them to come.

  I returned late on July seventh, dropping the kids at my former home along the way. When I turned onto my pad, I hit the brakes, for a moment wondering if I’d made a wrong turn. While I was gone, the entire pad had transformed. Beautiful pavers formed a new driveway large enough for several vehicles, and the rest of the pad was surfaced with crushed rock and surrounded by railroad ties. An expertly crafted fire pit of stacked stone replaced the hastily assembled crude original and a neat pile of cut
and split logs stood next to it. New, matching outdoor furniture replaced the hodgepodge of donated chairs. It seemed an impossible feat in the short time I was gone, especially with the holiday. Clearly, a lot of planning and manpower were involved.

  At the end of the pad stood the most impressive addition—a garden surrounded by a white, three-foot-high stucco wall. At its center stood a young mesquite tree surrounded by freshly planted flowers. By each cluster of flowers, a stick rose from the soil. A photo attached to the stick identified the flower: raspberry petunias, orange zinnias, white and purple pansies, yellow snapdragons, African daisies and more. I recognized the garden’s significance immediately—it was a smaller replica of the gardens at Gracewood. An envelope taped to the wall with my name in bold letters caught my attention. Excitedly, I removed it, tore it open and read the card inside. It said, “Got tired of waiting, needed something to do. Maybe next time you can help. Emma.” It was the last thing I expected, and it filled me with joy. After reading the note, I couldn’t help but bend forward and peer into the garden. I breathed a sigh of relief upon confirming that this garden, unlike the ones at Gracewood, had an automatic watering system.

  Chapter 29

  RESCUE MISSION

  I planned never to set foot in Gracewood again, but you know what they say about best-laid plans. On July 8, 2013, the day after I returned from the reunion, I received a phone call. The number looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Against my better judgment, I answered.

  “Well, Ken Dickson.” The voice was unmistakable. It was my former roommate from Gracewood.

  “Nick, what happened to you? Did you skip town or something? I’ve been trying to find you ever since you gave me that big-assed Christmas card.”

  “Uh, not exactly.” The line went quiet.

  “Nick, are you there?”

  “Yeah, sorry to disappoint you. I’m back in Gracewood, buddy.” After eight previous relapses, I guess that the odds were against him. I never found out what his drug of choice was, but I guessed cocaine based on how he acted when I first met him. Then, I remembered that phone number. It was the patient phone that I’d used myself while at Gracewood. There was no doubt where he was.

  “What the hell are you doing there?”

  “I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

  “That’s what you said the last time.”

  “Can you visit me? I need to talk to a normal person. I didn’t realize how much easier you made it for me when I was here before.”

  “I swore that I’d never set foot in that place again, but I’ll make an exception for you. Are visiting hours still from two to three?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, I’ll come by this afternoon.”

  “Great. How are you and Beth getting along?”

  “Not good. We’re separated. No idea where things are headed, but I’m keeping busy, so I’m okay.”

  “Jesus. Didn’t you listen to what I said?”

  He had told me that if we were going to stay together, we needed to pray together. As someone who hadn’t kept his own marriage together, I’m not sure what qualified him to give that advice, but it was good advice, nonetheless.

  “What can I say? I screwed up. I’ll talk to you more at two, okay?”

  “Thanks. I owe you one.”

  I dreaded going back to Gracewood, but once there, all I could think about was seeing Nick. I informed the security guard at the front desk that I was there to see him and signed in. Afterward, the guard escorted me through the blue double doors through which I’d been twice before: once when I was admitted, paralyzed and strapped to a gurney after arriving in an ambulance, and the second time when I was released, under my own power and holding Beth’s hand.

  After closing and locking the first doors behind us, the guard continued to the next set of double doors and unlocked them. When they swung open, I hesitated to take that final step back into my former prison. I finally gathered the nerve and crossed the threshold separating normal from insane and then winced when I heard the click of the lock behind me. Unfamiliar PAs glared at me as I stood, feeling out of place. I glanced into the main area, and thankfully, Nick was the only patient I recognized. It was a small relief to know that the other patients I remembered had moved on, hopefully to better lives.

  “Hey, man, you lost your ponytail.”

  Nick was sitting at a table staring out the window. His recently trimmed hair was a bit disheveled as if he’d just awoken. Upon hearing my voice, he turned, smiled, lifted his burly body out of the chair, and strode toward me. Although thinner, he was still as intimidating as ever.

  “You’re looking good!” I exclaimed. He flexed his tattooed biceps.

  “I’m almost back to fighting weight,” he joked and then wrapped me in a bear hug and lifted all one hundred eighty some pounds of me right off the floor, nearly popping out my eyes in the process. We slapped each other on the backs and then he set me down.

  We sat at the table he’d just left and reminisced about the old days—him arriving high as a kite and filling the PAs with fear; me taking him under my wing and watching him change before my eyes into a good man and a solid friend. We recollected playing basketball, having long-winded conversations and how, in only a few short days, they released him. My subsequent confinement was doubly hard without his company.

  As we talked, a short, heavyset Hispanic man caught my eye. He’d just entered the main area from the hallway leading to the men’s quarters, eyes emotionless slits, face covered in a scruffy beard, lips turned up in a half-grin and a shuffling gait I couldn’t mistake. In his hand, he carried a single apple. “I’ll be damned!”

  “What?” asked Nick.

  “I know that guy.”

  “Who? Carlos? He’s crazy as a loon. Just walks around with that apple all the time. Might be the same apple the whole damn time I’ve been in here for all I know.”

  “This guy is okay. Trust me.” I got up from the table and walked over to him. “Hey, Carlos. It’s Ken. Do you remember me?” Carlos stopped his shuffling and peered in my direction. Then, his eyes lit up, and the apple dropped to the floor without bouncing. Apparently, Nick was right about its age. He shuffled toward me double-time with a hand outstretched and shook my waiting hand. I pulled him close and gave him a bear hug. As I did, his stench overwhelmed me. “Man, you need a shower and some fresh clothes. Hey, why don’t you come join us?” I returned to the table, and he followed close behind me. Nick immediately scrunched his face as Carlos’s odor hit him full force. To spare him, I sat next to Nick and directed Carlos to sit opposite him.

  “Nick, Carlos. Carlos, Nick.”

  Nick nodded at Carlos, and Carlos peered at him, which only served to increase Nick’s discomfort.

  “And how do you two know each other?”

  “We were together at Pinecrest, another psych facility. I thought he was on his way to recovery back then, but I guess I was wrong. Say, would you mind doing me a favor?”

  “Like I said, I owe you one. Name it.”

  “After I leave, can you get an AMA form, sit down with Carlos and see if you can fill it out? I’ve got a notion to spring this guy.”

  “They should have never let you out—you’re still nuts!” He laughed heartily.

  “Maybe so, but I have to do this. If you have any problems, let me know.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, but no guarantees.”

  I turned to Carlos. “I’ve got a place of my own, and I’ve got more room than I need. I’ve got plenty of food, and I know all the right people. How’d you like to get out of this place and live with me? I’ll set you up like you’d never believe, and you won’t ever have to live in a dump like this again. What do you say?” I swear that his eyes filled with relief. He nodded. I put my hand on his shoulder and looked him straight in the eye. “You have my word. My friend, Nick, here is going to help you with the paperwork.”

  “You never
fail to surprise me,” said Nick. “I didn’t think that you were a man of God, but you sure as hell must be.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I do have a calling, and I think that this is part of it.”

  “All right, I’ll see what I can do.”

  3:00 p.m. arrived sooner than I expected, and I said goodbye to my friends. “Nick, make sure Carlos is cleaned up and shaved before I pick him up. I won’t have a stinky mental patient in my car,” I said with a smirk. “If he needs clothes, get me the sizes, and I’ll take care of it. When you get out, let’s talk.” I shook his hand, and for old time’s sake, I high-fived Carlos, something I’d done when I first met him. It reminded me of a time when everyone had written him off except me.

  ***

  Nick called the next day. “Can you visit today? I’ve got some bad news about Carlos.” I met him at 2:00 p.m. once again.

  “What’s up?”

  “Look at this shit. I don’t know if it’s the drugs he’s on or what.” He spread six sheets of paper in front of me, each filled with indecipherable chicken scratching.

  “What is it?”

  He changed the order of the papers, placing them long edge to long edge, shifting some up and others down. “It’s a fuckin’ phone number. Can you believe it? It took a half-hour to get that out of him and another half-hour to figure out what the hell it was! It’s as if he’s being held prisoner in his own head. You should have seen him concentrate, and do you see that?” He pointed to a spot on the paper that looked like it had once been wet. “Sweat, man. That guy was dripping sweat as he scribbled. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  I looked at it and at first couldn’t make anything out. Eventually, the numbers popped out at me. “Damn. Whose number is it?”

  “You’re lucky I’m a seasoned telemarketer. I called, and a woman answered. I claimed that I was Dr. Davis’s assistant and that Carlos wanted out and told me to call her. She acted surprised at first and then became a little suspicious. She informed me that he was involuntarily committed and couldn’t leave without Dr. Davis’s permission and that I should know that.”