“How long where we in there, Ryan?” he asked suddenly.
“Mama Jean said it was about three days. You’ve been out for four after that.”
“Felt like an eternity, huh?” he muttered, idly scratching at his wrist bandage. “But we survived, I guess. I didn’t expect that.”
I flinched involuntarily. He glanced up, studying me.
“We, ah, we sure did,” I cleared my throat noisily.
“I’ve heard that prescriptions can be the hardest to come down from,” he said dully. “I guess they’re right.”
“Well, being locked in a box can’t help your stress level,” I replied, trying to cheer him up.
“That wasn’t my first time down the rabbit hole, Ryan. I’ve been in that room more than anyone else in the house.”
I couldn’t even imagine being forced to go through that again. Toby had suffered more in his short life than I’d realized.
“This could be the last one.”
“It has to be. I almost died this time.” He looked askance at me. “Twice.”
There it was. I knew it was coming, but hearing it said aloud for the first time was like getting stabbed in the gut. I gaped in my attempt to say something, to somehow explain, but no words came out. Toby lay back and stared at the ceiling.
“When I was a kid, I spent a lot of time in hospitals,” he said quietly. “My mom was dying, so my aunt brought me there to see her a lot. It got to the point she didn’t even recognize me on the bad days, the days she didn’t have her pills. She,….um-“ He struggled to keep his voice under control. “…she died, and when we took her belongings, I grabbed the pills. They seemed magic to me, you know? They made her pain go away, and I thought maybe….”
He broke off and turned to face the wall. He didn’t need to finish the story; I knew the ending. Toby had been young, not even a teen, when he first fell into the maelstrom of addiction. I had no doubt that his age had made it that much easier for his body to become dependent. Leaning over, I tentatively put a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t look up, but he didn’t swat my hand away either.
“Mama Jean found me and put me through the wringer to get me sober, but I just couldn’t—“ Toby bit his lip so hard it turned white. “I couldn’t stay clean!! There’s this…..monster…inside of me and it pulls me in again and again and again until I just can’t take it anymore!”
“It talks to you sometimes,” I murmured to myself. “It’s like a voice in your head that doesn’t feel like your own.”
He looked up sharply.
“And it makes you do things, terrible things, that you would never do in a million years,” he added.
“No, it doesn’t.” I shook my head heavily. “That’s just what we want to believe.”
Toby pressed both hands through his hair as he stared at the cream colored ceiling.
“You think we’ll ever be ok, Ry?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “I like to think so. Sometimes, I even hope.”
“I haven’t hoped in years.”
I thought of the decades of hopelessness that I’d experienced when he said that; I could remember countless days when the possibility of a brighter future was nothing more than a fool’s dream. But I had encountered hopeful people, and their hope was contagious. As I sat there with Toby in one of the many bedrooms of the ranch, I imagined floating through the hallways. Each door that I passed led to a room where a member of a family lay sleeping. I remembered their concern and their fear for their unconscious sibling, and I realized that what they had here was what kept them from falling into the dark again. They had bonds that bound them to a better life, or as Chaplain would say, they had something precious.
Toby and I each had our own paths to follow, but if we wanted to accept it, there was something for us here. I decided that I wanted it.
“Maybe it’s time we traded our monsters for something else. I don’t know about you, Toby, but I’m tired of falling into the same trap over and over.”
“Yeah…”
“Then let’s get out. I’m game if you are.”
I stood and headed for the door. There didn’t seem to be anything else to be said, but as my hand closed around the cold metal door knob, Toby’s voice made me pause.
“Ryan?”
“Yeah.”
“I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. That was your monster.”
My spine rigid, I stayed frozen in the doorway. The genuine forgiveness in his tone was the emotional straw that broke the camel’s back. I looked over my shoulder just far enough that he could see me nod in silent acknowledgment before I rushed out of there. I didn’t trust my voice to reply. As I closed the door behind me, I put my back against it and slid down, overwhelmed with a whirlwind of feelings. It was chaotic, it was powerful, but above all, it was healing. I rested my head gently against the door, sitting alone in the hallway. I repressed a strange urge to chuckle. The tidal wave of emotion wanted out, and oddly enough, it expressed itself in laughter. I stifled the sound as best I could, but the sensation of unfettered joy still hummed in my chest.
I finally understood what Chaplain had meant by finding something else to live for. It was breathing deeply in sleep in the rooms all around me, and in a few cases, it was snoring. It was the 16 year old on the other side of the door, fighting for a reason to go on living.
It was family.
****
When Toby recovered enough to get back on his feet, it became my responsibility to go with him on his adventures out and around the ranch. It wasn’t an onerous task; I’d grown fond of the kid. And yeah, you might think that sixteen wasn’t really that much younger than me, but whenever I looked at Toby, I felt the age gap between us. In fact, I felt that gap with all of the others, too. The only one that I believed was truly on the same level as me was Mama Jean; her years and personal tribulations gave us common ground that those closer to my physical age just didn’t have. Regardless of the canyon of life experience that separated us, I still grew to enjoy Toby’s company.
His experience had changed him. He was no longer the hyperactive, smart-mouthed kid that I’d been locked up with in the withdrawal room. When he emerged from his bedroom for the first time, he had gravitas, a sense of contemplation about him. Don’t get me wrong, he still had a razor sharp wit and he wasn’t afraid to use it, but like me, life and its infinite trials had given him a new perspective.
We spent hours a day walking and talking. Luckily, it was a dry winter with very little snow, so as long as the cold wasn’t unbearable, we made our rounds every afternoon. As time wore on, I learned more about Toby and he gained bits and pieces of my story. The last thing I wanted was to be sent back to the detox box because they thought I was hallucinating the ability to travel through time. I trusted Toby, I trusted Mama Jean and the others, but we all kept each other on a pretty tight leash in order to prevent any tumbles off the wagon.
Amazingly, I didn’t need any watchful eyes. Since my withdrawal, the urge to jump had faded to a shadow. I won’t say that I didn’t still think about it, but the mere act of thinking about it was worlds apart from the all-consuming need for it that I’d had. I was, by some miracle, clean.
New arrivals came as some of the others, like Bruce and Dash, said their tender farewells to Mama Jean and the ranch. We were proud of them, but still grieved to see them go. As the months wore on, a new urge began to grow inside of me; I wanted to go back out into the world, too. As wonderful as life with the family was, I had spent too long living on the go to ever feel completely comfortable with settling in one place. It didn’t help that I knew my annual one way trip to Ohio was fast approaching. This wasn’t like other years; in the past, I’d been unprepared for the jerk back to August. Now, I saw it coming a mile off. I wanted to be ready, but I knew what that meant. I had to say my goodbyes and hit the road soon; otherwise I wouldn’t leave in time. I didn’t want to be ripped away from everyone that I cared about here, which left me with no other choice
than to leave them on my own terms.
March came, and the rainy spring days reminded me more every day that I’d have to say goodbye. I started throwing stuff in a bag, and as I picked up my journal, I thought back to the last time I’d packed up my belongings. It was in that very room. Full of misplaced anger and fear, I’d been ready to keep following my path of self-destruction until it killed me, never once considering that there might be an end in sight. It took a bratty 16-year-old stealing my journal and a three-day, nightmarish detox, but I’d come out on the other side feeling in control of myself for the first time in over a century.
“Wow,” Toby said from behind me. “Déjà vu, huh?”
“You said it,” I said dryly.
He sat down on the bed, which squeaked in protest.
“You running?”
I slid the bag off to the side and sat down to next him, resting my arms on my knees.
“No, not running. It’s time for me to go.”
“Where?” His tone was intentionally distant, but I knew Toby well enough to know when he was masking his feelings.
“I don’t know yet, but…..I think I might head back east. There’s an old friend I’d like to visit.”
He grunted in acknowledgement, but didn’t offer anything more on the subject.
“Look, Toby, I-“… I cut off, fumbled for words. I was never any good at this. “Being here, it’s been-“
“Don’t,” he interrupted. “I get it. Bruce and Dash left, I knew that eventually you would too.”
“You say that like you’re never planning on leaving,” I said gently. He glared at the light switch across from him and refused to look at me. “Toby, you’ve been sober for as long as I have. You’re telling me you’ve never thought about where to go from here?”
Toby drew in a breath like he had a reply ready and waiting, but he checked himself and let out a slow breath instead.
“No, not really. It’s just that I’m finally off of it, and I can’t help but think that if I go back out there, I’ll be no better off than when I first got here.”
I zippered the bag shut and slung it over my shoulder. It was heavier than I remembered.
“You don’t give yourself enough credit. One day, you’ll be ready to leave, and when you do, it’s gonna be great.” I slapped him on the shoulder and jerked my head towards the open door. “C’mon, walk me out.”
“Hang on, I just have to grab something. Catch up with you downstairs,” Toby said. He hurried out of the room like someone lit a fire under him.
I soaked in the last glimpse of my bedroom before closing the door. The simple décor and the bland walls had become so familiar, so comfortable, that the knowledge that I’d never sleep here again was a hard blow to take. Forcing myself to close the door, I turned and paced slowly down the hall. As I ran my finger along the faded flower-print wallpaper, I admired the group photos that I’d studied on my first day. They meant so much more to me now that I understood the heart behind each picture; all of these groups had the same bond that I shared with my generation of the family. A new addition to the hallway gallery caught my eye. Bruce, Dash, Dianna, and Toby smiled through the cheap glass frame, surrounded by the all of the others that I’d come to know during my stay. Another familiar face stood out in the crowd: my own. The photo had been taken weeks after Toby and I had emerged from our stint in the withdrawal room. I looked healthy, happy, and full of enthusiasm for life. For a moment, I believed that I was looking at a normal teenager.
I stroked the glass and headed into the kitchen. Mama Jean sat idly scanning a newspaper and nursing a glass of orange juice. The delicious scent of her peanut butter cookies stopped me dead in my tracks and I simply stood, savoring the smell.
“You’re killing me here, Mama Jean.”
She chuckled.
“I know they’re your favorite. I couldn’t let you leave without a parting gift.”
I tossed the bag on the table and eagerly pulled a chair up to the plate of warm, soft cookies, so delecta--
She smacked me lightly on the back of my head.
“Get that off of my kitchen table, boy!”
Before she could stop me, I stuffed one of the cookies into my mouth, ducked out of reach, and swung the bag under the table. She attempt to scowl at me, but I could see the smile in her eyes. I grinned back and continued cramming cookie goodness down my gullet. In seconds, the plate was empty, and I sat back, full of sugar and contentment.
“Well,” she sighed. “I’ll certainly miss you, but my pantry won’t.”
I winked at her, but the moment quickly became solemn.
“How long have you known…?”
“That you were leaving? Since you came out of withdrawal. You didn’t need as much as the others, just someone to get you right.”
I shifted uncomfortably, confronted with an unpleasant blend of sadness and separation anxiety.
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” I muttered, staring intently at the tablecloth.
Her brown, wrinkled hand closed over mine.
“Yes, you could’ve. You’re stronger than you think, kiddo.”
The mirror of my words to Toby brought a small smile to my lips. I didn’t have any more words, so I stood up and gave her a hug. Moisture dotted my shoulder as a few of her tears fell. Eventually, we took a step back and looked at each other.
“You take care of yourself, you hear?”
I nodded mutely.
“Don’t let your demons chase you away from living your life. Respect any young women you meet,” she continued, brusquely drying her eyes as she ran down her list of last minute advice. “Chivalry’s not dead, you know. And remember, there’s no happiness-“
“-without sacrifice. I remember,” I said with a smile. She squeezed the sides of my shoulders gently, then abruptly began cleaning dishes. That was her way. She’d said her goodbyes, and she didn’t want to make them any longer or more painful than they had to be.
I gripped the handle of the front door until my knuckles went white. God, it was hard to leave. I glanced back over my shoulder at her.
“Take care of Toby for me, will you?”
“I’ll pretend that I didn’t hear that.”
I’d spoken of the devil and he had appeared right on cue. Toby bounced down the living room stairs and strode into the kitchen, a duffel of his own bouncing off his hip. “Pretty sure I’ll take care of myself from here on out.”
I shot a look at Mama Jean, nonplussed, but she took his unannounced departure in stride. She crushed him in a hug.
“I’m proud of you, boy,” she whispered. “Go get ‘em.”
He shrugged and smirked, and we caught a glimpse of the old Toby. I shook my head, trying to dispel my shock.
“Wait, now you’re leaving??”
“I took your advice.”
“A bit literally, don’t you think?? I mean, why now?”
“It’s time. It’s been time for a while, I was just putting it off.”
I raised my eyebrows, but shrugged in acceptance.
“Where you think you’ll go?”
Toby glanced over at Mama Jean, who nodded. He adjusted the strap’s resting place on his shoulder.
“Well...,” he said. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to join you.”
I searched his expression. Anticipation, trepidation, and excitement warred across his face, but below it all, I saw hope. Toby wanted a brighter future, and who was I to reject a brother who was chasing the same things that I was after?
I smirked like he always did and watched an answering one leap across his face.
“Let’s do it.”
Chapter 29
Toby and I hitchhiked, bribed, and worked our way east in those first couple of weeks. Our destination was Michigan; after that, it was anybody’s guess where we’d go. We worked odd jobs wherever we could find them to line our pockets, then we scoured the streets for a pool hall to supplement what money we made.
&
nbsp; I should explain. Long before my time at the ranch, I’d discovered the wonderful game of billiards. Ultimately, after countless games, I developed my talents to “hustler” level and promptly swindled many a sucker out of their beer money. I never really felt bad about it, though; pool hustling wasn’t a con to me, it was a game that required a lot of skill, and no matter how good I was, I could still lose. I rarely did though, and I took pride in the fact that I’d never jumped in order to win. That was fortunate. Now that I was living clean, Toby and I needed the extra dough, and I wasn’t about to fall off the wagon over some petty cash.
Toby actually proved to be an effective stooge. Like me, he’d had a…..less than honorable phase during his addiction, and he knew how to bamboozle with the best of them. I was the heavy hitter when it came to pool skills, but Toby had a way of roping in our next score. An average night at the tables would go something like this…
To open, we’d play a warm-up. We made sure no one realized that we knew each other by entering the joint separately. In order to sell the lie, we imbued ourselves with new personalities. Toby missed his calling; the kid should’ve been on stage. He constantly switched up his role. Sometimes, he was the devil’s advocate, warning potential chumps away dramatically, which of course only lured them further into the trap. On occasion, he was the poor innocent teen tricked into losing his imaginary father’s money. No matter what his guise, he played his targets like a maestro. Since I lacked his capacity for theatrics, I stuck to the strong, silent type persona, keeping my interaction with my opponents limited to non-verbals and one-syllable conversation. We were good; most nights, we walked out of a tavern, pool hall, or frat house with double our original cash.
It wasn’t always silky smooth. There were more than a few upset pool rats and drunks who wanted their money back over our dead bodies. We were slippery most of the time, but occasionally we got caught in the middle of an OK Corral situation, minus the guns.
The Jump Journal Page 18