Distracted from her nostalgia, she turned toward me.
“Well, we couldn’t just leave you out there like a redheaded stepchild, now could we?”
Her tone was so friendly that I forgot that the question was rhetorical. Left without a response, I could only shrug in confusion. She laughed kindly at my awkwardness.
“C’mon, boy. The others want to meet you.”
She beckoned me to follow as she walked back the way that she’d come with long, energetic strides. I had to jog forward to catch up.
“The others?”
“The others,” a new voice echoed from the next room.
We stepped into the kitchen. It was small, considering the number of people it held. Five or so young adults sat eating around a table that was far too small for such a crowd, while a handful of others stood scattered around the room, leaning on the countertops. The speaker, a pint-size kid of about sixteen, grinned cheekily at me and continued. “Did you think that you were the only straggler Mama Jean took under her wing?”
The others chuckled knowingly, including the older woman next to me, who I took to be Mama Jean. She caught me staring and winked. The teen lounged back lazily in his chair, tossing his legs over its arms. Mama Jean reached over and slapped his stocking feet in a silent reprimand. With a scowl, he returned to a normal position and dug into his dinner with gusto.
Mama Jean gestured to everyone gathered in the room.
“These are my kids. They find their way here one way or another, when they need it most, and we give them what they need.”
A snort rose from behind her.
“And sometimes the things we don’t,” the snarky kid commented. Mama Jean swatted him playfully, and he smirked in response. I got the sense that the kid had a mouth on him.
“Shut up, Toby,” a twenty-something blonde girl chimed in from the corner. “The poor guy will get the wrong idea about us.”
“Nah,” Toby laughed. “If I was quiet, he’d get the wrong idea.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” a deep voice rumbled from around the corner. I peeked past the refrigerator to catch a glimpse of the source. A giant of a man nodded casually at me before squinting at Toby. “I’m not sure you know the definition of quiet.”
“I’m just not the strong, silent type, Bruce.” Toby puffed out his chest and struck an action pose, but deflated as the blonde poked his stomach.
Mama Jean stepped in to throw me a line before I drowned in unanswered questions.
“They all live here, and help out around the place,” she said simply. “In return, they get food, lodging, and a place to recover until they’re ready to go back out into the world.”
The word “recover” caught my attention. I almost asked from what, but before I did, the last rays of sunlight beaming through the window fell on the blonde girl’s bare arms. Faint marks puckered her skin, creating lattice lines across her wrists. A quick glance at Bruce revealed that his large frame, while daunting at first glance, was gaunt and fragile. Toby’s fingers drummed aimlessly on the table as he chewed his lip, in what I suspected were nervous habits. It didn’t take long to spot similar things in the other residents now that I knew what I was looking for.
Mama Jean put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder and met my gaze, her eyes full of love for “her” kids.
“We all have crosses to bear. Sometimes, we need a little help along the way. Don’t we?”
I froze. She knew. I didn’t know how, but she knew that I had a problem. The others must have sensed my sudden tension because the air became laced with an overwhelming sense of protectiveness towards Mama Jean. They all knew how unpredictable addicts could be. Before anything could go sideways, I forced myself to relax and breathe normally again. The others loosened up as well.
Mama Jean stood toe to toe with me, staring me dead in the eyes. I searched hers for a hidden agenda or signs of deception, but all I saw was honesty and an unwonted amount of tenderness towards everyone in that kitchen, including me.
“It comes down to choice. Choose to stay, and I promise the only thing you’ll lose is time. Choose to go, and no one will stop you. No matter what, there is always choice here.”
I felt a dozen pairs of eyes on me, anticipating my response. Honestly, what do I have to lose? I asked myself. The dragon growled, wary of a trap. Everyone here except for Mama Jean was a recovering addict of some kind; I sincerely doubted that any of them had my particular problem and I didn’t want their misguided sympathy or an intervention. Still, I was tired of walking. A few days of rest would be more than welcome.
I glanced around at their expectant expressions.
“Sure,” the dragon said nonchalantly. “Why not?”
****
I quickly learned that the life in Mama Jean’s household was not one of relaxation and meditative therapy. As the sun inched above the horizon, I was hustled out by Bruce and another resident, Desiree, to start maintenance. Early mornings were nothing new, but I hadn’t expected to be put to work at dawn. The morning sun caught the steam rising off our backs as we lifted, wrenched, tossed, shoved, and teased our chores for the day. After I woke up a little, I used the time with Bruce and Desiree (who insisted that I call her Dash for some reason) to glean as much knowledge about this place as I could.
The first bit of information that I gathered was a doozy. Somehow, I wandered my way into Montana. That certainly explained the mountains and chilly mornings, but I struggled to comprehend just how far I’d been driven to go. My next question was how long it took me to wind up there. At first, I skirted around the mystery, afraid that asking the question would label me a freak, but I shouldn’t have worried. I guess it wasn’t uncommon for a new arrival to need a reality check. Bruce answered with an air of familiarity, as if it was a normal thing to ask. The date was October 13th; I’d been travelling for almost two months.
After those two blows, the rest of my Q&A session was pretty straightforward. Turned out that Mama Jean had been an ordained minister back in the days when it was really hard for a black woman to be a member of the cloth. She’d always had a soft spot for youth struggling with substances; she had grown up in the ghetto during the boom of drug use and she had seen the suffering that followed drug abusers throughout their lives. She gave up the ministry and move out here to the ranch in Montana, and she’d been here helping out kids like us ever since.
The day wore on and I became more acquainted with “the family”. The relationship between Mama Jean and her tenants was actually pretty close to familial. Most of them would tease her, especially Toby, and they’d receive loving cuffs to the back of their heads in return. Toby, in particular, was a persistent pain in the ass, but she never lost patience with him, although the others certainly did. Speaking of the others, I found that they were a diverse bunch, full of personality. Of the dozen or so, I only got to know about half during my time there. The others trickled out of the house and went off to live on their own within the first few weeks that I was there.
The ones that I grew close to were Toby, Bruce, Dash, Dianna (the blonde), Maxwell, and Chloe. Three of the six were former city folk, from major metropolises across the country. Maxwell and Bruce were local boys, and by local I mean that they were from Montana, not from the nearby town. Mama Jean’s ranch was isolated by a small mountain range on one side and miles of open land on the other. None of us had ever lived what I would consider “close” to the ranch. I kept my own story brief. I told them only that I’d lived in Chicago for the past year, nothing more. My taciturn story didn’t seem to bother anyone; I figured that new arrivals took a while to get chatty in a place like this.
While I chose to keep my lips sealed, the others weren’t shy about discussing their own demons. All of them were addicts in the process of ditching their habit, or in a few cases, habits, plural. Crack, heroin, speed, you name it, someone had a hankering for a hunk of it. Some, like Dianna with her patchwork of wrist scars, had taken up physical abuse as a replacement for a high before Mam
a Jean took them in. I fought it, but I sympathized with these people. They understood the depths that an addiction can drive you to. Even though I connected with them on one level, I still felt superior to them. There was no rationalization for it, but the dragon whispered a sense of arrogance into me. Every time that I heard one of their tales of woe, my face was the picture of sympathy, but beneath the mask, there was a mixture of pride and sadness. I wanted so badly for someone to understand, but while they could come close, I felt like they would never fully know the suffering that I endured.
Daily life in the family was a well-oiled machine. It was reminiscent of living with Chaplain, actually. The hard work, the comradery, and the atmosphere were all similar, but Mama Jean was no Chaplain. Chaplain was a soft-spoken recluse, while Mama Jean was a blunt powerhouse of a woman once she got to know you, and get to know me she did. She had this unsettling way of popping up out of nowhere, whether I was in the middle of chores or walking around the ranch grounds. One time, she appeared right next to me as I watched the sunset, a mile or two from the main house. I’m not an easy person to startle, but I’m pretty sure I peed my pants a little.
She breathed in the crisp fall air, eyes closed to the world as she savored the taste of autumn.
“You know what I like about fall, Ryan?”
I glanced at her, the picture of calm. I’d fixed that little scare with a quick jump. Wasn’t a huge fan of being snuck up on.
“I have no idea.”
“I love the colors right before the trees shed their leaves. It may not look like it, but those leaves are dying. They’re beautiful; you could almost think they’re healthy, but the truth is, the tree needs to grow new ones in order to survive.”
“Hmm,” I grunted. I didn’t care for her tone much. It was too abstract, too intentionally vague. I wasn’t sure where this was heading.
“You’ve been here for three weeks now, Ryan, and you haven’t said a word about what’s troubling you.”
I started to protest, but her look of I’m not finished yet killed my desire to defend myself.
“This ranch doesn’t need another laborer, boy. We handle it with the people we’ve got, as we always do. You know why you’re here,” she stated bluntly. “You’re here because your life is out of your control.”
“My life isn’t out of control,” the dragon snarled. “You saved me out on the road, Mama Jean, and I’m grateful, but it’s time to move on. I’ll be on my way tomorrow morning.”
No, wait! I pleaded mentally. Can’t we just stay a little longer?
No. The dragon hissed. Jean wants to you to cut out any part of you that’s special at all. Without this, what are you?
With a clenched jaw, I stormed off toward the house to get my things. Mama Jean watched me go, and I desperately wanted her to stop me. She didn’t.
As I angrily tossed clothes into a duffel bag, I failed to hear Toby knock on the door to my room. In typical fashion, he barged in without waiting or listening for a response.
“Where you goin’, chief?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, my tone bitter.
“Uh-huh.” He bounced on my bed listlessly, rubbing his short spiky black hair. “Mama Jean kick you out?”
“No.”
“Riiiiggghhhtt,” he drawled. Bored, he started rooting the stuff I’d already packed. I didn’t bother trying to shoo him out; Toby was like the little brother I didn’t have and never wanted. Everyone in the house knew that the only way to deal with Toby in these moments was to ignore him, despite every impulse to the contrary.
“What’s this?” he asked curiously.
He held my most recent journal in his hands.
I lashed out in an attempt to grab it, but the wily imp saw that coming from a mile away. By the time I started moving, he was up and off the bed, trying to unlace the leather cover as he danced out of range.
“Let’s read all about your deep, dark secrets, Mitchell,” he said, grinning at my barely contained wrath. “Secret number one: Keeps a diary.”
“It’s a journal!” I roared as I chased him out of the room. He was quick, no doubt well-versed in fleeing from situations exactly like this one. He spun into the basement doorway, waving the journal behind him like a piece of bait before vanishing down into the lower level of the house.
With an angry growl, I flew down the stairs in pursuit, only to find the concrete basement was devoid of any sign of the little bugger. I prowled the cold cement floor, squinting in the dim light. There was no way out except the way that I’d come in, so Toby had to be down there somewhere. A muffled laugh led me to a large steel door. Yanking on it with all my might, I managed to fling it open. Toby lay on a cot, pretending to leaf through my journal with a huge smirk on his face. I strode over and ripped it from his hands.
“Hey, I was looking at that,” he complained.
I was beyond furious. I shoved a finger into his chest, scrounging for strong enough words to hit him with, but before I could form a sentence, the massive door swung shut with a heart-wrenching clang. I dived towards it in a belated attempt to keep it from locking, but the damage was done. I wheeled back to Toby, glaring down at his startled expression.
“You…..you…..Idiot!!” I stammered, too enraged to frame my words properly. “You got us trapped down here!”
“Now, don’t you go blaming Toby for that one,” Mama Jean’s voice rang from outside the door. “It took both of you to land yourselves in this hot bowl of soup.”
“Mama Jean, you told me it was just Ryan!” Toby yelled to the door. “I shouldn’t be in here!”
There was a silence from Mama Jean. I stood bewildered as he pounded on the cold steel.
“I’m sorry, kiddo,” Mama Jean replied, her voice sorrowful. “But you know full well why you’re in there again. Now, Ryan?”
“What?” I snapped, more out of fear than anger.
“I’ll be back to check on you boys in a day or two. Bruce and Dash are responsible for your meals.”
“Wait-“
“They’ll make sure that you get fresh water, too. You can hate me if it helps you, but try to focus on you.”
“You can’t leave us in here!” I shrieked. “I am not your prisoner!!”
“No, honey,” she said sadly. “You’re your own jailer.”
“Don’t leave me in here, Mama Jean!” There was no reply. “Mama Jean?!”
“Don’t bother,” Toby said, his normally impish expression gone. “She’s not listening.”
I grabbed the back of my head, tugging on my hair in frustration as I looked around at my new prison. There were two ancient metal cots along the walls. An open door led to a closet-sized bathroom with no windows or accessories, just a toilet, sink and a flickering light with a pull string dangling from it. The walls of the room were bare, pristine, and whitewashed all over, except for a single hole the size and shape of a human fist. I ran a finger along the broken drywall, rubbing the chalky residue off of the fragments.
“What is this place?” I said hoarsely. I looked over my shoulder at the morose Toby, who slowly lowered himself onto one of the squeaky bedframes.
He looked up, eyes full of dread and exhaustion.
“Welcome to the withdrawal room.”
Chapter 27
Withdrawal is about as much fun as getting a massage from Captain Hook. The concept of withdrawal is simple: it is the body’s process of removing a chemical dependency, whether from the mind or the flesh or both. It seems clinical and scientific. The actual undertaking is a smoldering pile of pain and suffering, fueled by a sense of self-loathing and despair. It is living death. The demons created by the all-consuming need coursing through you are granted power over body and soul, and for hours, days, or weeks, the only thought that is allowed to enter the mind is that of the addiction that put you in this place of torment.
Good times.
****
The water in the glass that I was holding trembled visibly. The tremors were ca
used by my unsteady hand, which shook like a terrified Chihuahua as I brought the glass up to my lips. I’d lost track of time completely since Mama Jean had locked Toby and me in here; our cell was devoid of clocks and my cell phone was losing its charge in my duffel bag upstairs. The only way that I could keep track of the hours passing by was the accumulation of symptoms. The shakes were only the most recent addition to the long chain of medical malfunctions happening within my body. Fever and paranoia had set in long ago, accompanied by the sweat that was currently forming a waterfall down my forehead.
My bunkmate wasn’t looking much better. Toby lay prostrate on the floor, twitching and moaning sporadically in a fitful sleep. His trademark smirk had vanished when his first symptoms hit and it hadn’t returned since. He was ashen, his pale face contrasting sharply with his dark hair. The last conversation that we’d had felt like forever ago. It hadn’t been a good one, either.
In a fit of desperation, I’d pounded on the door as if I’d somehow developed the strength to bust through a four inch steel door. Ever since my torture experience with Detective Langorn last year, I’ve had a phobia of imprisonment and it was eating away at my rationality. I screamed, my angst echoing shrilly in the small room. I had been a split second from jumping when Toby snagged my arm and pulled me away from the unyielding door. The hand on my arm was like a chain, tying me down to the present. In response, I’d turned my frustration on the smaller boy.
“You did this,” the dragon raged. “You brought me in here knowing what she was planning to do. We’re trapped because of you!!”
My hand struck Toby across the face before I’d even had time to realize what I was doing. Blood rushed to his cheek where I’d backhanded him and he touched the area gingerly. His own fear and anger surged toward me and he dove at my legs, tackling me to the ground. Red mist blurred my vision as we struggled; every perceived injustice rose prominently to the forefront of my mind and I’d taken them all out on Toby. I barely felt him clawing and punching me viciously as my hands closed around the softness of his neck. The dragon squirmed in ecstasy, gleefully savoring my devotion. I could’ve left this hole, but this insignificant speck of humanity had prevented my escape to freedom. My hands clenched tighter. He would pay, I’d sworn to myself. No one would cage me! No one!
The Jump Journal Page 16