Last week I told her she can’t cry and hold on to me when she leaves. The others are going to start noticing, and they’ll make fun of me about it. They can’t see me as a momma’s boy. She looked like I’d slapped her when I told her but she agreed to a quick hug and promised there’d be no tears. I could tell how hard it was for her today when she told me good-bye, but she didn’t cry even though she wanted to. The tears were in her throat, but she didn’t let them move down her cheeks. She hugged me and then let go quickly. It hurt her but she always puts my needs above hers. That’s just the kind of mom she is, but sometimes I think it’d be easier to be like the kids who don’t have anybody to care about them.
11
Dr. Park arranged for Noah to attend school online. I had to pay for all the monitoring equipment and programs, but I didn’t care. It was worth it. Noah perked up for a second when he found out he didn’t have to go back to school, but quickly slipped back into his depressed state. It was just like the days before his confession. He went days without a shower, and I had to force him to do it. He barely ate. I tried everything, all his favorite meals. I even made a batch of my homemade chicken soup, but he didn’t take more than a few bites before pushing it away.
The walls of our apartment were closing in on me. It’d been two weeks since we left the hospital, and he hadn’t stepped foot out of the apartment, not even to get the mail or bring the laundry down to the laundry room for me. I could’ve left the apartment and he probably wouldn’t notice my absence, but I was compelled to be with him in his pain. I didn’t want to leave him feel alone.
Since I wasn’t leaving the apartment, I couldn’t get Katie from school, so Lucas dropped her off on her visiting days. Lucas and I had only spoken about the logistics with Katie since our confrontation in the hallway, and we talked to each other like robots when we did. Most of the time he didn’t even bring her into the building. He just texted from the curb and I ran down to get her. Even Katie couldn’t snap Noah out of his trancelike state. He wouldn’t let her touch him. He pushed her away, saying it hurt his ribs too much. It might be true, but I doubted it.
I was on the phone with Dr. Park constantly, asking her advice about what to do about him. She suggested inviting one of his friends from Marsh to come visit Noah for the weekend, and I rejected the idea without a second thought. That part of his life was over, and I didn’t want him making friends with those kinds of kids. It seemed hypocritical, but Noah wasn’t like anyone else in treatment. I went to all the education and parent support groups while he was at Marsh and I’d heard all of their stories. Noah’s case was the least serious. He was like the kid in treatment for smoking pot a few times surrounded by kids who shot heroin.
But Dr. Park wouldn’t let the idea go. She brought it up every time we talked. She thought it was a great idea because of the powerful social pressure during adolescence.
“Think about it for a second—would he want his peers to see him this way?” she asked. “He’s not going to lay around on the couch all day if there’s someone else there to see it.”
I didn’t like referring to the kids from Marsh as his peers, but she had a point. At least, I wouldn’t have to be worried about his anonymity if the kid was from Marsh. It might be good for him not to have to constantly censor himself to make sure he didn’t give anything away about his history. It took me a few more days to think about it, but eventually I agreed.
Dr. Park suggested Rick come for the visit since he was only a year younger than Noah and only lived two hours away. They’d been in treatment at the same time, and she explained that went through a similar process.
“What’d he do?” I asked.
I didn’t want someone who committed a violent sex crime in my home. During group, I listened in horror about kids who’d committed unspeakable crimes against other kids. They were the types of offenders who scared me—the predatory, sadistic sex ones. They were the worst kind and the most dangerous. They took pleasure from inflicting pain on others just for the enjoyment of watching them suffer. There was no way I was letting one of them into my house.
I wanted a kid like Noah. I was only comfortable with the visit if he was someone like him, who had insight into the wrongness of his actions and was trying to change. I had to know something about Rick’s history before I could let him in my home.
“You know I can’t disclose confidential client information,” she said.
“Is he dangerous? Can you at least tell me that?”
“I can tell you this—he’s not violent. He’s a boy who was going through puberty and very curious about girls. He made some poor choices due to his lack of impulse control and poor social skills.”
I agreed despite the fluttering of doubt inside me. Dr. Park arranged it for us, and I appreciated not having to do it myself. Rick lived with his grandmother, and she didn’t drive, so the plan was for Rick to take the bus to the metro station in downtown Chicago and I would pick him up from there.
“Are you kidding me? I can’t believe you did that without asking me.” Noah’s eyes flared with anger when I told him we were having Rick over to spend the night on Friday.
It was his first emotional response since he’d gotten out of the hospital. Even if he hated me for making him do it, at least he was feeling something. It was better than him walking around like he was half-dead.
“He doesn’t live far away from us, and it might be helpful for you to have a friend. Dr. Park thinks it’s a good idea. She’s worried about how isolated you are,” I explained it exactly as she instructed me to. She warned me he might not be open to the idea given his current emotional state. “I know you’ve got to be lonely. It’s—”
He interrupted me. “I’m not lonely. I don’t need a friend.”
There was no way that was true.
“We can give it a try and see how it goes. Dr. Park said the two of you got along well at Marsh.”
“Just because we got along doesn’t mean we’re friends.” He scowled.
“It’s going to be nice. You’ll see. We’re going to pick him up in the city, and I thought we could have dinner while we were there. Then, on Saturday, you guys can go to a movie or something.”
He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. This sucks.”
He sulked the entire ride to the station, but he’d showered before we left and put on something other than sweatpants for the first time since the hospital. He wore the skinny jeans he picked out a few weeks before, but hadn’t worn, and one of his vintage Beatles t-shirts that he’d picked up years ago at one of our favorite flea markets.
Unlike Noah, Rick had a phone, and texted us when he arrived. We pulled up along Fifty-Third Avenue, and as soon as Noah pointed him out on the curb, I second-guessed what I’d done.
He was short, much shorter than Noah, with deep-set green eyes and heavy dark brown eyebrows coupled with an expression that warned, “Don’t mess with me.” He was dressed in black from his t-shirt all the way down to his black combat boots. Even his fingernails were painted black. Blond roots poked through his dark hair that made his already pale complexion look pasty.
He slid into the backseat.
“What’s up, bro?” he asked Noah.
“Nothing,” Noah responded without looking at him.
“I’m Adrianne, Noah’s mom. Nice to meet you.” I smiled back at him in the rearview mirror. No response. He didn’t acknowledge I’d spoken. I pulled away from the curb and headed to the restaurant. They were both silent as we drove. Rick tapped away on his phone the entire ride, his eyes glued to the screen. At the restaurant, he pulled it out again and set it on the table.
“Have you played the new Assassin’s Creed?” he asked.
Noah shook his head. “No video games for me.” He shot me a pointed look.
“Damn, you’re totally missing out. It’s badass. Check this out.” He opened up a screen, and Noah leaned closer to peer at it with him.
Rick didn’t flinch when he swore in front of me. No
ah’s old friends never would’ve dreamed of swearing in front of me. It was an implied social understanding that kids didn’t swear in front of parents. It was unnerving.
Noah joined in, tapping away on the screen. “That’s so cool.”
“What about Limbo? You downloaded it yet?” Rick asked.
“Dude, I don’t even have a phone.”
“No way, are you serious? That’s like child abuse or something.”
Didn’t he know he wasn’t supposed to have a phone either? At least not a smartphone, and there was no way either of them would use a flip phone.
Before I knew it, they were engaged in a battle on the video game Rick downloaded. I sat back and watched them, realizing how long it’d been since I’d seen Noah interact with a teenager in a real-world setting. To all outside appearances, they looked like normal teenagers. It made my eyes film.
They played all through dinner, and I didn’t stop them. It didn’t matter that they weren’t talking to each other outside of whatever was going on in the game because they were having fun. Noah was animated and lively. He devoured his chicken Alfredo pasta. Rick ate the steak he ordered from the most expensive spot on the menu, but I let it go. It was worth the expense to see my son alive even if his friend was incredibly rude.
*****
I was thrilled about the visit despite how odd and socially awkward Rick was. He didn’t have any manners; didn’t say thank you for anything the whole time he was with us. He swore as if it was nothing. His vocabulary extended far beyond the soft cuss words. He dropped f-bombs without caring. He was someone I would’ve steered Noah away from in the past—pointed him in the direction of making other friends, and warned him about the importance of making good choices in who he spent his time with—but we no longer lived by the same rules.
His presence energized Noah, and that’s what I cared about. The other things paled in comparison. What if I got Noah a phone? At least if he had a phone, he could text Rick and other friends he might meet. It was only a matter time before Noah broke the ice at school and started making friends. He’d definitely need a phone then because texting was the primary way teenagers communicated. Noah and his friends used to text each other when they were in the same room. Having a phone would allow him to play video games with them too. He might not be able to use a console, but if he had a phone, he could play on it like they did all weekend.
As I hurried through my grocery shopping, I considered talking to Dr. Park about getting Noah a phone. There had to be a way to set up monitoring on the phone like we did on the computer for his online school. But what if she said no? Should I just do it without asking permission? He couldn’t go to jail for having a smartphone, could he? It felt foreign to think about breaking the rules. I’d never broken any kind of a law. I didn’t know how people broke rules. I’d always been that way. It wasn’t because I hated getting into trouble even though I did, but there was something fundamental inside of me that felt obligated to do the right thing simply because it was the right thing.
I missed talking to Lucas. We used to sit down and hash out the pros and cons of each big parenting decision until we reached an agreement. He was always able to point out things I couldn’t see and vice versa. Those days were gone. We didn’t even talk about decisions with Katie anymore, and she was the easy one. He did what he wanted with her when she was at his house, and I did what I wanted with her when she was at mine.
I used to be afraid we’d reach this point—the place where we’d moved so far away from each other that we couldn’t come back together. But now that it had happened, it wasn’t nearly as awful as I imagined it’d be. The person I knew and loved was gone. I didn’t want to get close to the new Lucas who’d taken his place. We were fundamentally different. Maybe we always had been.
I pushed aside the thoughts about Lucas like I always did. I didn’t have the emotional energy to deal with our crumbling marriage on top of everything else. I would work it out once I got through this year with Noah. Until then, I was going to have to deal with things as they were.
The weekend had renewed my faith that we could learn how to live in this new life even though it was a life neither of us wanted. I smiled to myself, wondering what Noah would say if I told him I was considering breaking the rules and getting him a phone. I hurried to pick up the last items on my grocery list and get back home so I could make us dinner.
I walked in the door expecting to find him sitting on the couch, but the couch was empty, and the TV turned off.
“Noah?” I called out.
Nothing.
I put the bags on the counter and walked down the hallway to his room. I lifted my hand to knock when I heard him retching. I threw open the door. He was leaning over his bed, spewing violently on the floor. It was covered in puddles of puke. The stench made me gag.
“Get up, get into the bathroom!” I yelled, instinctively covering my mouth and nose with my hand.
He kept hurling on the floor, clutching his stomach. I ran and pulled him up. He spewed vomit as I shoved him into the hallway. His movements were sluggish and slow. I dragged him to the bathroom. He fell toward the toilet, wrapping his arms around it with his head halfway in. I rubbed his back while he heaved. He didn’t take his head out of the toilet even after the heaving stopped.
“Why didn’t you get to the bathroom when you felt sick?” I asked. It was going to take forever to clean up the mess he’d made.
“It happened so fast. I felt fine and then all of a sudden, I was throwing up. I think I’ve got food poisoning.” He let out a deep moan.
“What’d you eat?”
He heaved again before he could respond. He moaned with each convulsion. I grabbed a washcloth from the sink, wet it, and held it on his neck.
He pushed my hand away. “Mom, you’ve got to get out of here. I have to sit on the toilet too.”
I scrambled up, shutting the door tightly behind me. The smell of vomit surrounded me. I held back the urge to gag. I hated vomit. Always had. When Noah was little and got the stomach flu, I used to throw up with him because of the sounds and smell. It got easier after a while, but it’d been a long time since either of them had been this sick. I took a few deep breaths to settle my stomach.
I went into the kitchen and filled a large bucket full of water, waiting to squeeze in the soap until the water was scalding. I started on the hallway walls. He’d splattered them with brown on his way to the bathroom. There were more spots on the carpet. I breathed through my mouth while I scrubbed them and they came up easily since they hadn’t had time to settle. The sounds coming from the bathroom were awful. I was grateful not to be in there.
It didn’t take me long to finish the hallway, but his bedroom was a different story. I didn’t know where to begin. It was a disaster. I grabbed plastic garbage bags and balled up all his bedding, stuffing it inside.
“Noah, I’m going to run your bedding down to the laundry room,” I called out before heading downstairs.
I wasn’t used to not doing laundry in my home. It’d been two decades since I’d had to leave to do laundry. At least the unit had laundry facilities on site. When I got back upstairs, I pulled clean sheets and blankets out of the hallway closet and made a bed for him on the couch. I took the waste basket in my bedroom and emptied it, then washed it, and placed it next to the couch. I had a feeling I would be spending most of the night emptying and cleaning out his bucket. I’d only had food poisoning once in my twenties, and I threw up for two days. It was brutal.
I knocked on the bathroom door. “Honey, are you okay?”
“Yes.” His voice was weak.
“Are you ready to come out? I made a bed up for you on the couch.”
He opened the door, and the foul smell of diarrhea assaulted me. He shuffled down the hallway and fell onto the couch.
I didn’t bother cleaning the bathroom. I would wait to attack it until he felt better. I moved into his room. I h
ad never seen so much vomit. It covered both sides of the floor by his bed. I wished I hadn’t sold my Bissel carpet cleaner in the moving sale, because I had no idea how I was going to get it up. Even if I cleaned up the puke, the smell was going to stay.
I started scrubbing the floor by the right side of the bed. I noticed an empty pill bottle next to one of the piles of puke. I picked it up and twirled it between my fingers to read the label. It was Noah’s prescription for Percocet. A rush of horror burned my insides. I clutched the bottle against my chest, stifling a scream, and walked back into the living room. Noah was curled on his side, eyes closed.
“Sit up.” The anger in my voice surprised me.
He opened his eyes. His pupils were dots, the lids heavy. His face pale.
I threw the pill bottle at him. He moved to catch it, but his reaction time was slow. It fell on the couch next to him.
“What did you do?” My voice quivered.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me. Don’t you dare lie to me.”
He hung his head.
“Did you take these?”
He nodded.
“How many?”
He shrugged.
“How many?”
“Whatever was left? I don’t know. I didn’t count.”
I picked it back up. It was empty. They’d given him twenty pills, and we hadn’t refilled the prescription. I didn’t know how many he’d taken before today. I hadn’t monitored them. It never occurred to me that I needed to. I trusted him to take them when he needed to because of his pain. He said he stopped taking them after a few days because he didn’t like how they made him feel. How many did that leave?
“Come on. Get up. We need to go the hospital.” I yanked the blanket off him.
“Mom, no, please. I can’t go back to the hospital. I’m okay. Really.”
Saving Noah Page 12