Crystal Lies

by Melody Carlson

  I wish I could say it was that easy. That simple. That I handed Jacob over to God that Thanksgiving night and that, once and for all, I quit worrying about my wayward son and resumed life as normal. Good grief, I didn’t even know what normal was anymore. Perhaps there is no such thing as normal. But like a toddler learning to walk, I continued moving through my new life one hesitant step at a time. And like a toddler I still fell down.

  The AA prayer became my mantra. I prayed it at least a dozen times a day. During the next couple of weeks, I continued going to Dr. Abrams and to the codependency meetings, and I tried to imagine that life was getting better and that I was becoming healthier. And perhaps it was true. But I couldn’t deny that I was still haunted by my son’s perilous lifestyle. Oh, yes, I prayed more. And I practiced the codependency recovery phrase of “letting go and letting God” more. But I could never completely escape that dull, aching knowledge that Jacob’s life was in danger. Perhaps this is the price a mother must pay for loving.

  I did receive one consolation during that time, albeit a bittersweet one. Sarah called me during her finals week—to apologize.

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” she told me almost immediately after I said hello.

  “For what, honey?” I asked. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay. I just wanted to say I was sorry for giving you such a bad time about Dad. I can’t believe what he did.”

  “What he did?” I echoed, bracing myself for fresh pain.

  “Yes. I thought he went on a business trip the week after Thanksgiving.”

  “But I think you’re right, Sarah. That’s what I heard too.”

  “Well, I called his secretary at work to get the number for the place where he was staying since I kept getting his message on the cell phone. I’m trying to get moved into an apartment on campus before Christmas break, and I needed him to cosign and give me a check. But it turns out that he was off on a Caribbean cruise. Betty gave me the ship’s number, and I called and left a message.”

  “Oh. Did he call you back?”

  “Yes. But he made up this stupid story about it being a working vacation.”

  “Right.”

  “So I called city hall again and asked for Judith Ramsey this time. And guess what?”

  “She was gone too?”

  “You got it. I asked her secretary when she’d be back and was told she was on vacation. So guess what I did?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “I called the same cruise ship number and asked for her and was able to leave a message.”

  “Did you?” I asked. “Leave a message, I mean?”

  “Yes. But I just made something up and gave a phony name.”

  “I’m sorry, honey.”

  “Well, I’m sorry too, Mom. I can’t believe I was blaming you for everything, and here it turns out that Dad really was messing around.”

  It sounded like she was crying now. “Are you okay, honey?”

  She sniffed. “Yeah, but it makes me so furious that my whole family is falling apart like this. It’s just not fair.”

  I sighed, unsure what I could say to make her feel better. Maybe nothing. “Well, life doesn’t always go smoothly, Sarah, but sometimes the bumps make us stronger.”

  “How’s Jacob?”

  “I don’t really know. I haven’t seen him since Thanksgiving.”

  “I wish he’d straighten up.”

  “You and me both, Sarah.”

  “I just wish the whole freaking world would straighten up,” she said in an irritated voice. “I wish everyone would just grow up and life could go back to what it was before.”

  I considered this. What had life been before? The unblemished image of the happy little family living the perfect little life? But hadn’t it all been an illusion? A carefully constructed cover-up?

  “Well, I hope we can all grow up too,” I finally told her. “But I don’t think life will ever go back to what it was before.” I paused. “But, who knows, maybe it will get better.”

  She groaned. “I don’t possibly see how.”

  Then we talked about plans for Christmas, and she told me that her dad had already given her money for a ski trip with friends. “I thought maybe I could stop in and see Grandma for a couple of days. Do you think you could come too?”

  “I don’t know, Sarah…”

  “Still trying to fix Jacob?”

  “No…not really. I’ll tell you what, I’ll call your grandma and give it some serious thought. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “I love you, sweetie.”

  “I love you, too, Mom. And I’m sorry I put all the blame on you before.”

  “As I said, Sarah, we’re all a little to blame.”

  “You mean me, too?”

  “No, not in regard to our marriage. But you’re not perfect either, honey. I’m sure you get to take the blame for something” I laughed lightly, hoping I hadn’t hurt her feelings.

  “Maybe. But I guess that’s between me and God.”

  I felt a clash of feelings as I hung up the phone. I was hugely relieved that this thing between Sarah and me was finally improving. But it really stung that Geoffrey had taken Judith on the Caribbean cruise. This fall was supposed to have been our time to celebrate our anniversary by going to the Caribbean.

  “Move on,” I told myself as I went over to the window to look out on the street below I peered up and down the street and knew I was, once again, searching for my son, hoping I’d see him walking this way, ready to come home, ready to get help. “Get a life!” I yelled at myself, forcing my eyes away from the window.

  And that’s when I finally took Dr. Abrams’s advice and began journaling my thoughts about Jacob and my upcoming divorce and all the other elements of my life that had unraveled during the past six months. It was hard putting these painful thoughts into written words at first, but the more I pressed on, the easier it became. After three days I discovered an entire spiral notebook was filled with sentences and paragraphs describing my recent ordeal. There was a significant amount of venting and self-pity, but it was becoming clearer that I was progressing, too. I was just about to go out for a cup of Starbucks coffee, to celebrate, when the phone rang.

  As usual, I thought it might be Jacob. That was always my first assumption. And I hadn’t heard from him for more than a week now. Instead it was Geoffrey, and he sounded very agitated.

  “Where’s Jacob?” he demanded without even saying hello.

  “How was your cruise?” I asked without answering.

  “None of your business,” he snapped. “Now, tell me, Glennis, where is Jacob?”

  “Why?” I countered. “Why are you suddenly so concerned about your son?”

  “Because I am going to kill him!”

  “Geoffrey!” I gasped. “What on earth is wrong with you?”

  “What is wrong with me?” he yelled so loudly that I had to hold the phone away from my ear. “My son has broken into my house and stolen and vandalized and…” He sputtered and swore and then continued,“and I’m about to call the police and have him arrested, and I want to know where the—”

  “How do you know it was Jacob?”

  “I know, Glennis! Believe me, I know! Now where the—”

  “But how can you be so sure? You were gone for more than a week, Geoffrey. Anyone could’ve broken—”

  “Where is he, Glennis? And don’t cover for him! Ira warning you, if you—”

  “I haven’t seen Jacob since Thanksgiving. And only barely then. I have absolutely no idea where he is.”

  “Well, he was here. He must’ve been flipped out on his psycho drugs. This place is a disaster area.” And then he began swearing again.

  “Calm down, Geoffrey,” I told him.

  “Calm down? You should see the place, Glennis. You should see what your dear little boy has done. Why don’t you come over here and look around? See for yourself that it was Jacob’s work.”

  “Fine,” I told him. “
Maybe I’ll do that.” Then I hung up and hurried over there, hoping that Geoffrey was wrong, hoping that this was the work of someone else. Not Jacob.

  But when I arrived, it seemed obvious that Jacob had been the culprit after all. Apparently he had no concern about being caught either since he’d left several incriminating notes to his dad, as if he was proud of his senseless destruction. The navy blue leather couches had been slashed, several windows were broken, furniture was overturned and moved, debris from food and drink was everywhere. And some of Geoffrey’s valuables were missing. He pointed out where various pieces of expensive electronics used to be. And despite my negative feelings toward Geoffrey, I did feel sorry for what had happened during his absence. It wasn’t anything that anyone should have to come home to. I’d already noticed his luggage dumped in a heap by the back door and suspected that he’d just gotten home.

  “Have you called the police yet?” I asked.

  He slumped down into a club chair in the living room, and putting his head in his hands, he moaned. “No…”

  I sat down on a sofa across from him. “Why not?”

  He looked up at me, and despite the unseasonable golden tan on his face, he looked worn out and tired and old. “What am I going to tell them, Glennis?” He shook his head. “That my son has robbed and vandalized my home? And how’s that going to go over down at city hall? Can you imagine what people will think and say?”

  I shrugged. Who cares? I wanted to ask, but remained silent.

  “Why did he do this to me?”

  I picked up one of the notes. The words scrawled in black felt-tip pen seemed etched in anger and pain. I read it aloud, wanting Geoffrey to really hear it. “Sorry to be such a disappointment to you, Dad. But here’s what I think of your precious house. Maybe it’s time you learned that stuff is just stuff, but people feel the pain. Your lame excuse for a son, Jacob.”

  The other notes were similar. All raging and angry and symptomatic of deep anguish. Didn’t Geoffrey get it? I held up another note. This one was unfinished and sounded almost suicidal. “Can’t you see that he needs you, Geoffrey?” I demanded. “Don’t you know that this is a cry for help?”

  “It’s insanity, Glennis. Jacob needs to be locked up until he can get over this drug habit. It’s making him crazy.”

  “You’ve said it yourself,” I reminded him. “And it’s taken me a while to accept this, but you were right: only Jacob can fix Jacob. And until he’s willing to get rehab treatment, there’s nothing you can do to fix him.” I sighed. “Well, other than to love him, that is.”

  “Love him?” Geoffrey stood up now, his hands in tight fists and his face twisted with bitter rage. “I think I might actually kill him if I saw him today. Look at this place, Glennis. Look at what he’s done to me. I’m supposed to love this?”

  “Not this, Geoffrey. Your son. You’re supposed to love your son.” I started walking toward the door now. It was clear that my presence wasn’t helping anything. I paused halfway to the door, turning to look at the man who had once been my husband, at the house that had once been impeccable, everything perfectly in place. I figured it would probably be put back together again before long. And maybe even better than before if Geoffrey was as adept at insurance claims as he was at breaking hearts.

  “You can’t blame this all on Jacob,” I told him in an even voice now.

  “I don’t, Glennis.” He folded his arms across his chest and glared at me. “I blame you, too.”

  I blinked. “Fine. I’m willing to take some of the blame. But you need to take some of it yourself, Geoffrey.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “I know I’m not perfect,” I continued. “And I made some mistakes in this marriage and as a mom, too. But you have hurt all of us—Sarah and Jacob and me. You broke promises, Geoffrey. Important lifetime promises! And it’s ironic. You’re so angry at Jacob right now, but think about it, Geoffrey. You’re no better than he is. You lied to us, you cheated us, you stole from us. And if you think you can just calmly walk away from your family as if nothing whatsoever is wrong…if you think you can run off and take a cruise with your new girlfriend and that life will go on just the same as usual, well, then you’re going to be in for a few disappointments.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  I shook my head. “No, no, not at all. I just want you to know that what goes around comes around, and even though it was wrong for Jacob to do”—I waved my hand at the mess that surrounded us—“this, I think maybe you had it coming.” Then I walked out.

  Okay, I wasn’t glad that Jacob had done what he’d done. In fact, I was seriously worried, not only about his mental state, which seemed frightening enough, but also that he could end up in jail because of this. Of course, there was nothing I could do about it one way or another. And I tried to convince myself that maybe, just maybe, this might finally force Jacob to face up to the seriousness of his addiction problem. But what I’d said to Geoffrey was true; I did feel that he should bear some of the responsibility for Jacob’s problems. No, it wasn’t Geoffrey’s fault that Jacob had started messing with drugs. But he had let Jacob down. A lot. And Jacob had often complained that his dad didn’t love him or that he loved Sarah more.

  So maybe this whole mess could be a good reminder to Geoffrey that, like Jacob had said in his note,“stuff is just stuff, but people feel pain.” Maybe this was a lesson that Geoffrey needed to learn.

  My biggest concern, as usual, was where Jacob was. What was he doing? And how long would it be before his whole world caved in on him? It seemed it could only be a matter of time.

  December

  Then I get the phone call, which brings me back to the present and my drive toward Ambrose Park to meet my son. And despite all I’ve been through with him already, I am still worried about what I’ll find there.

  From my parking spot near the playground, through the mist I spot a hunched-over figure that I recognize as my son. He’s sitting on a picnic table with his back to me. His olive drab coat, one that he got at the army surplus store, drapes over him like a small tent. If I didn’t know better, I would think he was a bum. I suppose he is.

  “Jacob?” I call from where I remain standing in the parking lot. I pull my jacket tighter around me and wait. It’s a foggy kind of day where the freezing cold air crawls beneath your clothes with long, damp fingers. After what seems an unreasonable amount of time, he turns and looks at me, then slowly stands and meanders my way. His knit cap is encrusted with grime and pulled so low on his brow that it’s hard to see his face, but he appears not to have shaved for days, and I can tell by the blank, dark look in his eyes that he’s been using again. No surprises here.

  Jacob’s pattern seems to be to “binge on crystal meth.” Or at least that’s the way Marcus puts it. This terminology about drugs, addiction, and treatment is still something of a foreign language to me. But I am learning.

  Without speaking, he gets into the car, and soon we are driving. I glance from the corner of my eye to see his head leaned against the window of the passenger side. He is already asleep. Probably coming down from his meth high. I can see that he’s tired and sick and probably needs a good long rest, but I’m tempted to drive him straight over to Hope’s Wings and simply drop him on their doorstep. However, I know that it will do no good. They will refuse to admit him unless he is willing to stay.

  At a red light, I resist the urge to reach across the front seat and push a strand of greasy blond hair away from his face. It’s obvious he could care less. Worried that he might be cold, although he appears to have several layers of clothing on beneath his oversize coat, I turn up the heater. I’m sure this layering of clothes is a trick he learned after his car was impounded and he was no longer able to spend nights sleeping in the back of it. I wonder if his “friend” Daniel kicked him out, but I don’t think I will ask.

  I wait for the light and watch as a young mom and two small boys cross the street. She’s walking between them, securely holding
on to their little hands. Bundled up against the cold, the boys both have flushed cheeks and happy smiles, and judging by the candy canes in their free hands, it looks as if they’ve just been to see Santa Claus at the minimall across the street. I vaguely recall a time when life was simple and sweet like that. Too bad I didn’t fully realize or appreciate it then. I remember how I could hold on to my son’s hand as we crossed the street and how he would cling tightly to mine. I never worried that he wouldn’t make it to the other side. Now I’m not so sure.

  It’s hard to believe it’s only two weeks until Christmas. I suppose I’ve been pretending that Christmas doesn’t really exist this year. And it’s too painful to imagine how it will feel to spend it with our family split up like this with Sarah in Arizona, me in my crummy little apartment, and Jacob…well, only God knows where Jacob will be by then.

  The light turns green, and I get on the freeway for home, or what I have learned to call “home” during these past several months. But lately I’ve decided that little apartment is not my real home. It’s not a place I’d care to live permanently. Despite the improvements I’ve made, I know I need to move on when my lease is up. If not sooner. Still, I am hesitant to look for another place. I worry my money will run out if I don’t stick to my strictly regimented budget. I know I should probably get a job, and I’ve already checked into substitute teaching, but it seems to take all my energy to simply make it through one day and then face the next. Even so, I am plagued by the nagging fear that I will be completely broke someday. I wonder what will happen after my savings account is finally depleted. What will Jacob and I do then? Where will we live? It’s not that my savings account was so small, but even so, it is steadily dwindling. I am slightly surprised that these are the thoughts trailing through my head right now. I am actually thinking about myself, my own welfare. Could it be that my codependency training is finally sinking in?

  I glance back over at my son, or rather the remnants of my son. Besides being unshaven, his face is dirty, and several open sores look slightly infected. I recently read that this is another symptom of meth use. The sores resemble bad acne, something Jacob never had, but these nasty-looking lesions are caused by the toxic chemicals that have been injected into his bloodstream. Perhaps it’s the tortured body’s attempt to excrete the corrosive substance that is slowly killing it. But it makes this mother’s heart sick.