Unsocial (16 page)

It's
noon, and I’ve been dealing with a 15-year-old girl addicted to meth for the
last four hours.  After taking her to a rehab facility that I busted my ass to
find, I’m exhausted.   Now my thoughts turn to the Dylan.  This is about the
time he sends me a text about tomorrow night’s menu.

Now
I know that Tuesday night’s meal isn’t the only time cooking has been going in
that house.  This Monday text about the menu for Tuesday night had way back
turned into just an excuse to reach out.  As I’m sitting here thinking about
that, I realize I need to text Dylan and let him know that I won’t be staying
for
cooking lessons.
  My plan is simply to check in and get out.  I’m
not sure if I want to hear what Dylan has to say.  Right now I know it would do
nothing but mess with the all the other out-of-control thought processes taking
up head space.

I
reach for my phone to get this done.  I can’t put it off any longer.  Since I
only answered one text with simple answers of, ‘I’m busy,' I’m hoping he gets
the message and backs off.  I want to answer back, but I can’t.  As raw as I’m
feeling it wouldn’t take much for me to fall right back into looking forward to
every text or call.  And without a doubt, that would lead to reasons to help
with this or come over for that.  It’s just too dangerous.  I need to stay
focused on keeping my distance and firmly on my career.  I begin typing my text
to Dylan when my phone vibrates with an incoming message.  I should have
known.  I open it and read:

Dylan: 
Tomorrow’s meal is a surprise. I have everything covered.

Short
and sweet, I have to figure out what to say here because it sounds like he
might be planning something big, and I was…am….fixing to cancel his plans. 
He’s pulling and pushing my emotions in a million different directions at
once.  I’m looking for every conceivable reason to create as mush distance as I
can from him, and he reels me in with something like this.  But I can’t fall
back in, or all my good intentions will be for shit.

I
hit reply with no idea how to answer, so I’m just hoping to let him down easy,
for reasons I don’t understand.  There was absolutely nothing easy about seeing
a string of hickeys around his neck.  I’m holding a double-edged sword, one
side wants to slice his feelings open like mine are while the other wants to
make sure I treat his feelings gently.  So I reply:

Me: 
Hey, tomorrow I won’t be able to stay.  Plans with Alex at five, so visit will
be short.  I’m sorry.  See you tomorrow.

Honestly,
I can safely say I’m a coward.  I get no answer, but I wonder what he could be
thinking.  Can he feel my distance, because I can?  And it sucks.

I
finish my day pretty quietly, mostly paperwork, but it keeps me busy.  When my
phone buzzes or rings I get the butterfly effect in my stomach wondering if it
will be him, but it never is, and this both comforts me as well as saddens me. 
How is that for some fucked up feelings?

At
home that evening, Alex seems to be watching me carefully.  I know something is
on her mind, but she won’t come out and ask, so I make it easy.  “What, Alex? 
Just say whatever it is you’re tiptoeing around.”

“How
do you feel about tomorrow night?” she asks carefully.

Ahhh,
is cooking school going to be in session? That’s what she’s asking.  “How
should I be
feeling?
  I’m going to do a quick visit and come home.”

“Okay,
so how do you feel about seeing him?”

“I’m
not going to feel anything.  So we had a moment of flirtation.  It’s over.  I
don’t even know why I was so worked up about it all.  I’m not in love with him,
and I know what would happen to my job if I wanted to be stupid.  I’ve thought
about it, and it was all harmless.  The end.  Now let’s eat dinner because I’m
starving.”  She stares at me a beat; I suppose she’s looking for the truth in
my lie.  Finally, she looks satisfied, and we order dinner.  I’m not feeling
much in the cooking mood.

“So,
I was thinking about Friday, and I think we need to go out, and please say yes,
Brooke.  I want to get out and cut loose for a night.  We’ve had too many
Friday nights stuck in this apartment drinking cheap wine and watching shit
movies, and I
need
a night out.”

“Dramatic
much?  Okay, fine.  Friday it's girl’s night, and we’re going out.  You’re
right.  It’s been too long.”

“Thank
you, thank you, thank you!”

“You’re
welcome, dork.”

We
eat our dinner while watching crap TV and drinking our cheap wine, but it’s a
work night, and spending this time with her keeps me from thinking too much
about tomorrow because thankfully she doesn’t bring it up again.

By
the end of the next day, the nerves have once again taken over.  Getting the
visit over is my only objective.  I’m going in with a list of questions I need
to ask, then heading home as quickly as possible.  I don’t want confrontation. 
I don’t want to be alone.  I don’t want conversation other than what I have
prepared.  I need to keep this visit on track the whole time.

When
I pull into the drive, I have my doubts that I can pull off professional,
because the door is thrown open and Cassie is running toward me at breakneck
speed.  “Brooke, you won’t believe what happened yesterday and today!”

I’m
a sucker for this girl, “Well tell me, I can’t stand the suspense.” I tease.

“Brent
met me at my locker before first period yesterday and walked me to every single
one of my classes.  He did the same thing today.  And then today he walked me
out to meet Dylan, and asked me to be his girlfriend.”  I’m sure I resemble a
bobble-head doll because I’m following her movements while she bounces up and
down in her excitement.

“I’m
so happy for you, Cass.  He seems like a nice guy.”  I wonder if I sound as
politely distant as I think I do because she kind of deflates at my lack of
enthusiasm.  I immediately feel bad, but I need to get over these guilty
feelings.  I link my arm through hers and turn her toward the house, “Come on,
let’s see the others.”

That’s
when I see him.  He’s standing there watching us.  No happy greeting for me
today, it almost reminds me of the first visit. Dylan is cold and distant. 
Before I get too close, he turns and heads inside, and that little brush off
saddens me.  When I step in the house, I notice he’s already headed for the
dining table.  I’m guessing there aren’t going to be any more comfortable
meetings around the coffee table.

Everyone
but Cassie and me has already gathered around.  I take my seat and immediately
begin asking about everyone’s week.  When I chance a peek at Dylan, he seems to
be studying something fascinating on the table because he won’t raise his head
or engage.  After everyone has shared one fascinating tale or another, I
finally ask, “How about you, Dylan?”

“How
about me what?”

“You’re
week so far.  Are there any concerns?”

He
looks at me like I’m stupid, and he’s clearly pissed about me not talking to
him. “Seriously?”

“Dylan,
I….” I’m about to plead for some understanding.

“No,
Brooke.  Everything’s fine. I get it.  So, is that it?  Are we done?”  His
dismissal hurts, and my hand goes unconsciously to my chest to massage away the
pain.

A
look around the table shows four confused faces that jump from me to Dylan. I’m
sure they have questions about what’s going on that they don’t even know how to
ask, and if they did, I’m not sure that Dylan or I either one could explain.  I
thought forcing us back toward the professional level of conduct would be some
magical fix for all this
craziness
.  Now, well, I’m not so sure that the
waters aren’t getting more muddied.  There’s so much to say, but no real valid
reason to give it voice.

Dylan’s
studying whatever is holding his attention in the grain designs on the table. 
It’s time to go.  I say my goodbyes, and make my way to the front door.  This
time, no one follows me, not even Cassie, who I was expecting to jump up and
hug me.  This bugs me, because not even when I began these visits with them was
I ever subjected to this type of unsocial behavior.

“So,
what is it you do, beautiful?” God, I swear if this drunk idiot asks me that
question again I’m going to dump my beer on his head, and if he grabs my thigh
again I’m going to rack him with my bottle.

“Social.
Worker.”  I say it slowly, this time, hoping he gets it and shuts the hell up.

I
had been enjoying myself until Alex returned from the bathroom with these two
guys in tow. I don’t know what the hell she was thinking.  The one she’s with
isn’t anyone she would go for.  He screams
frat boy
from across the
room, and she hates frat boys.  It was always something that drove her crazy
about Will when we were dating.

“I’m
a civil engineer for Kansas City,” he tells me, again. I should ask him what
projects he’s worked on so I can avoid them at all cost.

“Yes,
that’s what you said before. So, that must be rewarding.”  And just like any
good frat boy, he begins his biography.  I let my attention wander to the dance
floor for something interesting, then order another drink while he goes on and
on.  Finally after a three more hours of listening to him and shooting pleading
stares at Alex, she comes to my rescue.

When
I tell her how painful it was to set with the idiot, because he couldn’t have
stood up long enough to make it to the dance floor, she doesn’t even have the
decency to look guilty.  “You know, you could have saved me three hours ago.”

“But
what would have been the fun in that?”

“I
fail to see where any of that torture was fun.”  She burst out laughing, and
I’m seriously hoping she pees her pants. “What’s so funny?”

“It
was watching you listen to him and try so hard to be nice.  You had this
horrible little smile on your face as if you were planning his death if he
didn’t shut up.”

“I
was several times.  But that’s no reason to make me suffer through that.”

“Brooke,
don’t you get it.  I just wanted you to get out.  Stop thinking about your job
and your families and all the bullshit you put up with throughout the week. 
You used to laugh at assholes like that and find somehow to shake them off,
kind of like you should have shaken off Billy.  Before you met him, you were
spontaneous and fun and full of life.  Now it’s mostly all gone, and I miss
it.  I thought once you got rid of him I would get the old you back.  I was
hoping that idiot tonight would shake something loose in you so you would
loosen up and let the joy in life back in. Evidently it didn’t work, so I’m
sorry.  Next time, no guys.  I swear it’ll just be girl’s night, well unless
someone interesting comes along.  I just promise not to force it.  Deal?”

“Fine. 
Deal.  Now let’s go to bed. My brain is exhausted.”

The
rest of our weekend passes with grocery shopping and laundry. I’m kind of
realizing what Alex has been talking about.  I seriously have no life.  I’ve
checked my phone it seems like a million times; I guess I’m hoping I get a text
from Dylan or even Cassie.  Other than a few sporadic texts with Cassie telling
me something random, but exciting, about her new boyfriend, there’s been radio
silence. And I find my feelings closing in on despair. 
I miss him. I miss
all of them.
Maybe I did cross the line with the entire family. Do social
workers miss their clients?

It’s
unfortunate I don’t have the courage to ask Cassie about her brother when I do
answer her texts or calls, but I’m scared of what she might say.  I find myself
wondering way too much about what he’s doing at any given minute.  But part of
me doesn’t want to know the answers to these thoughts because I want to avoid
feeling the way I did last Friday night at the sight of the hickeys he had
received when he was ‘hanging out with Jax.’  Yeah, I still feel the hurt and
bitterness.

On
Sunday, I finally get what I’ve so impatiently been waiting for, a simple text:

Dylan:
Have a good week, Brooke.

I
try so hard to see past the tears as I reply:

Me:
Thank you, Dylan.  You too.

Monday
is finally here with another wonderful day at the office.  It’s a slow
beginning to the week.  All the usual suspects show wanting food stamps or
housing assistance, and it’s mind numbing.  I’m beginning to learn that social
work isn’t always in your face exciting.  Sure, what I do is rewarding, and I
love my job, but sometimes the difference you’re making is too subtle to
notice.

At
home that evening, I make more of an effort to keep the mood light with Alex. 
She’s right, I need to find my way back to the Brooke I was, the one I was when
life was waiting for me to embrace it instead of letting it embrace me.  So we
rented crazy, funny movies settled in with our cheap wine and laughed our way
to bed.

Now
it’s Tuesday.  I can’t explain what’s going through me today. If it’s possible
to have every feeling and raw emotions take up residence in you at the same
time, this is how I feel.  I want to turn back time, while I simultaneously
want to speed of the clock.  Other than a brief chat with Paige, I’ve pretty
much kept to myself, trying to find my way to calm.