by Annie Jocoby
Uh oh. No other professor had called me on this. I think that my father’s unseen hand had a lot to do with this, coupled with the fact that I was carrying a 3.9 GPA, and was on track to graduate magna cum laude.
“My absences, sir?”
“Yes, your absences. Now, I know that your other professors don’t seem to care that you continually violate their absences policies, but I do.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll do better, sir.”
“There’s another thing,” he said, fiddling with his paper weight on his desk, and not looking me in the eye. “I don’t want to offend, but at the same time, I can’t keep silent about this. I kept silent about my suspicions with my son, and that had tragic consequences.” He took a deep breath, and I watched him expectantly. What came out of his mouth was something that surprised me completely. “I suspect that you are a drug user.”
Now how did he know that? If there was one thing that I was an absolute expert at, it was hiding the fact that I was a junkie. I never went to class completely high – I only did enough to take the edge off in the morning, and I saved my heavy drug use for the weekends.
“I’m sorry sir, I don’t know why you would say that.”
“My son died of a drug overdose. I know the signs. They’re subtle, but I see them in you. I can’t even put my finger on it – it’s just something that I know in my gut. Anyhow, I wanted you to know that I’m here to talk if you need me.”
“Well, I thank you for that, sir, but you are mistaken. I am very sorry to hear about your son. But I’m not a drug user and never have been.” I looked him right in the eye as I said this. I was well-trained on how to lie to people about this subject. Sometimes I felt that I deserved an Academy Award for my incredible acting abilities. And the winner of the Best Actor award, for his role in My Life on Smack, is Ryan Gallagher!!!!!
He looked pensive and sad for a few moments, then he raised his eyebrows in a way that said I’m calling bullshit. But he said nothing more about it. “Anyhow,” he said, “You need to watch your absences in my class. Now, I know that you are on track to graduate as a magna, but that doesn’t mean that you are deserving of special treatment from my class or any other class.”
“Yes sir,” I said, glad that it was the weekend and I didn’t have to worry about missing his class the next day. “I’ll be sure that I’m there every Tuesday and Thursday, right on time.”
“Thank you for coming by. And remember, if you need somebody to talk to, I’m here. I don’t want to lose another promising young life to that junk.”
I nodded. “Well, again, I thank you, but trust me, I don’t do drugs.” I chuckled. “Well, I mean, unless you count an occasional beer.”
And I made my goodbyes and left.
But his talk gnawed at me. It was one thing for Nick and the guys to be constantly badgering me about the drug use. It was another for this man, whom I barely knew, to do the same. I felt ashamed, more ashamed than I had ever felt, and that shame was like a 1,000 pound weight on me. It was dragging me down as I walked along the tree-lined path towards my car.
And I handled my shame the same way I handled every other negative emotion in my life.
I immediately headed down to Boston to see Seth.
I got to Seth’s house, and got into the usual routine. Shoot up and lay incoherently on his couch the entire weekend. I blew off Alexis, of course, ignoring the phone and the constant missed calls from her. The changing leaves and cozy roadside diner would have to wait until next weekend. This weekend would be saved for one thing – getting high.
But I got a rude awakening, ruder than even the rude awakening I got with the hulking Jared. I came out of my stupor and saw three guys standing in the living room with semi-automatic weapons, aimed at Seth.
“We understand that you have been poaching some of Jack Haley’s most lucrative clients,” one of the men accused Seth. He was well-dressed in a three-piece suit and expensive shoes which were buffed to an impeccable sheen. His pants were perfectly tailored, as was his jacket. He, like the other two men, was wearing a Halloween mask. The other men were not dressed as well, as they were in white t-shirts and black shoes and pants. Both of them were dressed the same. All of the men were slightly built and under the height of six foot.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Seth protested, his hands in the air.
One of the guys gestured at me with his semi-automatic. “Who is this pretty boy?” he asked.
I spoke up. “I’m just here. I’ve got nothing to do with Seth’s deals.”
“Well, Mr. Just Here, looks like you are in the wrong place at the wrong time,” the leader in the three-piece suit said to me. “Too bad for you.”
Seth was talking again. “I’m serious here, I have no idea what you are talking about. What clients am I poaching?”
“You want me to give you a list?” three piece suit asked. Then all three men started laughing. “Nah, we can’t give you a list. We ain’t that organized.”
Seth looked over at me and shrugged. He seemed strangely unperturbed by this entire scenario. I, myself, also wasn’t too freaked out, simply because I was still extremely high when these guys came in.
There was an inner voice that was screaming at me, though.
“Well, now, you, Seth, and your pretty-boy friend Mr. Just Here, obviously need to be taught a lesson.” Then he put a bag over Seth’s head and mine, and jerked me off the couch. They roughly led me over to a car that was apparently parked in an alley, and I was startled by the rat-a-tat-tat sound of a semi-automatic weapon being fired.
Now I was finally freaking out. Did they just kill Seth? Was I next?
Then I realized that the sound of the weapon was not the sound of bullets hitting a body. It was the sound of bullets hitting something metal.
I soon found out what the sound was – the bullets were making air-holes in a car trunk. I heard the trunk opening, and I was shoved into it. My hands were not bound, so, after the trunk lid was shut, I was able to take off the bag over my head and breathe.
I tried not to panic. I had never been claustrophobic, thank god, but I still felt extremely uncomfortable in this trunk. I could hear the men talking, just outside the trunk. One of them was talking on a cell phone.
“Yeah, Jackie. I got a guy in the trunk. His name is Just Here,” he said with a laugh. “What do you want me to do with him?” Then he paused. “Ok, you want to set the car on fire with him in it? That can be arranged. That can definitely be arranged.”
I started to breathe heavily. I was sobering up with every word I heard from them. My blood ran cold when I heard what the men were saying. They’re going to set the car on fire with me in it. I never feared death. I always wanted it. But not like this. Not burned up like some kind of a low-life. Not burned up, period. That seemed to me to be the single worst way to die, and that was the only thing that scared me at this point.
“You hear that, Mr. Just Here? We’re going to set the car on fire with you in it. Ty, give me that can of gasoline.” Then I heard the sound of gasoline being poured outside.
Then another guy said “let’s not do this now. Why don’t we let pretty boy in there suffer.”
So, for a time that seemed like an eternity, but was really actually two entire days, I lay in that car trunk. I heard the men outside laughing, talking and joking around the entire time. From time to time I heard one of them say “you wanna do it now and get it over with?” Or “come on, I’m tired of hanging around here. Let’s just set the car on fire and be done with it.”
While I was in the car trunk, I started to come down off my high. I was convinced that I wouldn’t make it out of this alive, so I silently prayed for death. I wanted to die before they set the car on fire, so I didn’t have to endure the agony of burning to death. I had the usual feelings that I got whenever I had to go cold turkey for a matter of days, but the headaches and extreme nausea were not as bad as usual, because my mind was more focused upon what was going t
o happen to me at the hands of these three men.
Then, out of the blue, after I had given up all hope of ever seeing the outside of this car trunk, I heard a voice.
A female voice.
“Well, you really got yourself into now, huh, Ryan?”
Her voice was unfamiliar, yet she appeared to know my name. “What? Who is this?”
“Don’t worry, you’re not going to get burned up in this car. It’s not your time. It’s not your destiny. Besides, there’s somebody who needs you to live.”
“Who? Who needs me to live?”
“Your daughter. She needs you to live.”
“What daughter? I don’t have a daughter.” At least I hoped that I didn’t have a daughter. Who knows? It was certainly possible that I had a daughter somewhere out there, with as many women as I had been sleeping with, during the times that Alexis and I had broken up.
“She ain’t been born yet. But her destiny is tied with yours. If you die, she can’t live. And she’s going to be important.”
I sighed, but, at the same time, an overwhelming sense of peace came over me.
And I knew that I was going to make it out of that trunk.
Then I heard the sound of the three men coming back to the car. “Who the fuck are you?” asked one of the men.
“Name’s Rosemary, who the fuck are you? Why don’t you get the hell out of here?”
Then one of the men started speaking in Spanish, which was a language that I had always known well. He was saying “Man, something ain’t right with this woman. I think she’s a witch.”
One of the other men started laughing, then the third man said, also in Spanish, “a witch. Whatever. Anyhow, let’s get the fuck out of here. This scene is played.” Then I heard the three of them running away.
Then the trunk popped open. I was blinded completely by the light, then, when my eyes adjusted, I saw the three men down the street, running at top speed. Just above me was a woman. She was about 80 years old, dressed in rags and missing most of her teeth. Her white hair was loosely held back, with several large strands loose around her neck. She outstretched her bony hand, and I took it. She pulled me out of the trunk.
I was confused, to say the least. “Who are you?”
She just smiled and said “I told you you’d get out of that trunk.”
“What were you saying about my daughter? I don’t understand.”
“You’ll see,” she said.
I just stood there, trying to clear my head. I was just about to invite her to have lunch with me, so that I could find out how I could set her up, and get her off the street, when a truck passed by me a little too close. I was brushed back a little, startled, then the truck stopped and the driver yelled “watch where you’re going!” I turned my attention briefly to the truck driver, then turned back to address Rosemary.
But she was already gone.
I looked for her in that vicinity for over an hour, before giving up.
Well, that was weird.
And I felt guilty that I never got to thank my benefactor properly.
∞
As I laid in my hospital bed waiting for Iris to return, and that memory flooded through me, I felt further shame. Even after that incident, I continued to use for several years, although my drug use was not nearly as heavy as before. One thing did change for me, though – even though I continued to use, I no longer wanted to die. Rosemary’s words were like an epiphany. I had felt, up until that point, that I had nothing to live for. I had felt that I was contributing nothing to the world. However, Rosemary let me know that I did have a purpose in the world, a destiny that was uniquely mine. I was going to father a child who was going to be important.
It just dawned on me who that child was.
She was finally here.
My special daughter Dalilah.
Chapter Eight
Iris
I was finally finished talking with Detective Branson, and I headed over to see Ryan. As usual, I was feeling mixed emotions about seeing him. I was happy, so happy, that he was alive and he made it through surgery.
At the same time, there was a dark sense of foreboding that I just couldn’t shake. I wanted him to come home, and I wanted him to get past the point of danger. He was still in danger, and this is what occupied my mind. Post-surgical complications were what I was obsessing about.
Still, he had feelings in his lower extremities, so that was extremely encouraging.
I stopped by the gift shop and picked up a little Winnie the Pooh bear. It was silly, and it was mainly for me – I always loved Pooh. But I wanted Ryan to have a little something to cuddle up with for times when I couldn’t be around.
I arrived at his room on the ICU floor, and felt somewhat relieved to see that he was wide awake and sitting up. His entire face lit up as I pulled up to his bedside, and little tears formed when I gave him the bear.
“Thanks for this,” he said, hugging the bear tightly to him. He put his head down into the bear, like a little boy, then took my hand and squeezed it tightly. “I’m really glad you’re here. It’s uh, been difficult without you.”
I looked into his eyes, and I saw a great amount of emotional pain behind them. I wondered if he was spiraling into negative thoughts, as I remembered Nick’s words about how Ryan had conquered darkness. I guess I didn’t really think about Ryan’s dark side as much as I should’ve, because he had always been so light with me.
Always the strong one.
“Are you ok?” I asked, staring into his beautiful eyes that shone even brighter than usual, because they were set against such pale skin. I cleared his hair away from his face, feeling extremely concerned about his color, but not wanting to address it. I hated seeing him like this, so pale and wan, and seeing the darkness behind his eyes scared me even more.
He nodded. “I’ve just been thinking about things lately. Things that I’ve wished to forget.” He looked ashamed. “You know so much about me, but I think that you’d be surprised to hear what an asshole I was to Nick.”
“Well, you had a difficult life.”
He shook his head. “No excuse. I wonder if this is all karma for me. Biting me on the ass for how I treated Nick for so many years.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Was Nick the only person who you treated poorly?”
“Pretty much. It’s ironic, but I abused him just because he was the only one who cared enough about me to try to save my life continually. Nobody else cared enough about me to do some of the things he did for me, so he was really the only person I abused. As long as everybody else stayed off my back about my drug use, I didn’t get in their face. But with him – I treated him so shitty. I’m so filled with shame about that.”
I gripped his hand harder. He continued.
“We got into a massive fight one time, and I sent him to the hospital with broken ribs, bruised kidneys, a ruptured spleen and a concussion. It was touch and go for a few days, and he stayed in the hospital for an entire week. I never visited him. I was never sober enough to do so.”
“What happened that you would do that?”
He shook his head. “He told me that I was no better than my dad. He was right, you know. That’s what enraged me. I was a waste, just like my dad. And I was always so scared that I would turn out like him. Raping, molesting, abusing. Nick tapped into my fear of being like my dad, and it just came out of me. I almost killed him, and, what’s worse, I didn’t care.”
I just sat there looking at him, gripping his hand and stroking his arm. “Shhh, let’s not think about that right now. You have to think of your recovery. That’s what is most important.”
He just shook his head. “I never apologized for that incident. And I don’t think that I ever properly thanked him for saving me from my hell. I feel like such a low-life right now.”
I put his head in my chest and stroked his hair. “Please try to think of more positive thoughts. Nick has forgiven you, obviously. He loves you. He’s not angry with you. That was m
any years ago.”
But, by looking into his eyes, I knew that what happened with Nick was not in the past with him. It was consuming him. Why it was consuming him right at that moment, I didn’t know.
I only knew that it was.
“Please don’t leave me,” he said.
“What? Why-“
“I’m not a shitty person. I’m not. I’m not like my father. I could never be like him.”
“Of course you aren’t.” I looked at him quizzically, wondering why he was talking like this.
“I’m so scared,” he said. “I don’t ever want to be abusive with you or with Dalilah. I love you both so much.”
“Of course, I know. Why are you saying these things?”
There were tears that were pouring down his left cheek. “I was like him, once. Violent, full of rage. It’s in me, still. It’s just buried. I don’t want to excavate it.”
“And you won’t.”
He said nothing, just dropped my hand and looked away. His face was filled with shame.
“Ryan,” I said, my voice forceful, “you’re not your father. You’re not like him. Even he realizes that. I mean, remember the letter he wrote you – he was frustrated because you’re not like him, and he wanted you to be. Please don’t go down this road. You need a positive frame of mind if you’re going to recover completely.”
I brushed back his hair, but he still wasn’t looking at me. Then he finally faced me. “You always felt that you weren’t good enough for me. That isn’t true. That’s never been true.” Then he took my hand again, and looked at me with pleading eyes. “The truth is, I’m not good enough for you.”
Where was this coming from? “Honey, you can’t think that about yourself. You have the tops of everything – intelligence, looks, kindness, everything.” I smiled lightly. “You’re a catch.”
He just shook his head. “Damaged. Damaged goods.” Then he looked at me again. “Uh, Iris, I really need my rest. I hope you don’t mind.”