Crystal Lies (13 page)

“But I
am
better. I mean, don’t you think I’m doing just fine on my own?” he asked.

“Of course,” I assured him. “You’re doing great. But I don’t want to—”

“You
know
that I’m a strong person, Mom. I mean I think this is something I can handle on my own, in my
own
way.”

“Right.” I nodded and told myself that this was probably best. Jacob had always been a strong-willed boy. I’d read that addicts can only recover when they choose to do so. Apparently he was choosing to do so now.

But after a couple of weeks at his job, and after getting his first paycheck, Jacob started staying out all night again. He’d usually come back to the apartment to clean up and change his clothes around noon the next day, and then he’d go in to work like nothing was wrong. But then he’d stay out all night again, and I wouldn’t see him again until the next day. Naturally, I wasn’t sleeping too well anymore. But when I would question him, he’d simply say,“Mom, I was just at Daniel’s again. No big deal. We were just doing music and lost track of the time, so I crashed on the sofa.”

At first I tried not to worry too much because Jacob had told me over and over that Daniel was a good influence. I knew that Daniel was a drummer who, according to Jacob, took his music seriously. But when the manager from Mama Mia’s called one afternoon, asking where Jacob was since he hadn’t shown up at work, I knew we had a problem.

Of course, I had no phone number for Daniel. I didn’t have phone numbers for any of Jacob’s “friends” anymore. But I knew that Daniel lived in a duplex not far from Mama Mia’s. So I decided to drive over to that neighborhood and see if I could spot Jacob’s car anywhere nearby.

It wasn’t the first time I’d gone out looking for Jacob. I couldn’t count how many times I had cruised around in my conspicuous Range Rover, going down one street after another in search of my wayward son. Just like before, I was racked with worries today. What if Jacob was in some kind of trouble? What if he’d been hurt? What if he’d gone back to drugs? Could he have overdosed? Same old questions but with a fresh intensity that always seemed to grab me by the neck and threaten to squeeze the life out of me.

Frightened and numb, I drove around and around until I finally spotted what appeared to be Jacob’s car. It was down a deserted alley that had become a kind of panhandle lot. I parked the Range Rover on the street and walked down the drivewaylike street toward a structure that did indeed seem to be a duplex—a very run-down and decrepit duplex with pieces of broken-down cars and old furniture strewn across the tall brown grass that had once been a lawn.

As I got closer, I knew by the distinctive dent in the left-rear fender that it was Jacobs car. I peeked into the Subaru, just in case Jacob was sacked out in the back, but only saw a messy pile of blankets and clothes and general Jacob debris. Taking a breath for courage, I went up and stood before the front door. A broken lawn chair was propped against the porch railing, and the paint on the siding was blistered and peeling. To my left, I noticed what appeared to be a bedroom window, but it was broken and “repaired” with duct tape and a weathered piece of cardboard and appeared to have been like that for some time.

It was broad daylight and about three in the afternoon, so I wasn’t feeling concerned for my own welfare, although I was certainly uneasy and apprehensive about knocking on a strangers door. But, I reassured myself, my son was probably inside. No need to be afraid of my own son. I took another deep breath, remembering Dr. Abrams’s exercises for centering myself, as I pressed the doorbell. Then unsure as to whether the bell worked or not, I knocked lightly and waited. It seemed I stood there for about ten minutes, knocking again and again, a little louder each time, but when the door finally swung open, I felt my mouth open right along with it.

The smell hit me first. A sickly sweet, nauseating mixture of rotten garbage, filthy laundry, and various human body odors. I must’ve stepped back when it assaulted my nose.

The young woman who stood at the door looked to be anywhere from fourteen to twenty-four, but I couldn’t be sure. She wore plaid boxers and a skimpy, stained undershirt that left nothing to my imagination. Her bleached-blond hair fell in greasy tangles around her face, which was extremely pale, and her eyes were glazed as if she wasn’t quite focused on me.

“Is Jacob Harmon here?” I asked in a voice that reminded me of an old curmudgeon principal I worked for before Sarah was born.

“Huh?” The girl stared blankly.

“Jacob Harmon,” I repeated a bit louder, looking past her bare shoulder to the cavelike interior splayed out behind her. The room was dark and shadowy, the result of blankets that were hanging over the windows. But I could see a couch with what appeared to be a person, not my son, sleeping on it. And in what seemed to be an old recliner was another person, again not my son.

My heart began racing as I stood there witnessing what was obviously some kind of flophouse, a place for people to get high. For all I knew there could be a crystal meth lab percolating away in a back bedroom. Maybe the cops were on their way over to make a big bust even as I stood there gaping.

“I’m, uh, looking for my son,” I said and took a tentative step into this den of horrors. “Jacob!” I called loudly enough to echo through the whole house, but the two sleeping bodies didn’t even flinch.

I could see the kitchen from where I stood, and it was piled high with filthy dishes, rotting food items, and dozens of empty booze bottles and beer cans. A couple of partially filled garbage bags littered the floor, as if someone had begun cleaning and then given up. Not that I could blame them. It would take days, maybe weeks, to clean up something like that.

“Jacob!” I yelled again.

“Oh, you mean Jake,” said the girl as she rubbed her eyes, now waking up.

“Yes!” I nodded. “Is he here?”

She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “I think he’s back there in the bedroom.”

I swallowed hard, trying to hold my breath against the stench all around me. “Uh, do you think you could go get him for me?” I asked.

Then she actually smiled, and it was really a rather sweet smile, and it occurred to me that this was someone’s daughter. Someone’s beloved little girl. And did her parents have any idea where she was at this very moment?

“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.”