Crystal Clean (25 page)

Andy will be easy: I’ll tell him what I tell him every day. I’ll tell him he’s my hero, because he is. I’ll tell him he’s the best human I’ve ever known, because he is. I’ll tell him how proud of him I am and that the best thing I ever did was bring him into this world, and that the best thing I ever did for the world was bring him into it. I’ll tell my parents that I love them very much and I’m sorry for everything, but I’m going to address how things really were. I’m going to tell them that if we can’t start being honest and open with each other, they can’t be part of my recovery.”

I drop the journal off at Dorothy’s office and go back to my room. I feel better having written down my feelings, but I’m exhausted and my head is throbbing and all I want to do is sleep.

We’re back in the circle and it’s our turn, today. I take Andy on my lap and put my arms around him. “Hey, bug,” I say.

“Oh, hey.”
He kisses me on my nose.

“I love you so much.”

“Ayu you.”

“Okay. I want to tell you something. When you were first
born, I woke up without you. I didn’t know where you were and I was all alone in a room. Grandma brought me a picture of you and told me you had Down syndrome and I said, ‘I’ll have him with me forever.’ I loved you even while you were still in my tummy and I wanted you so much. The first time I got to hold you
was
just before your first surgery when you were three days old. You were so yummy! I wanted to slip you under my skin so I could get you close enough to me.

“You were very brave and very strong. They said you would be in N.I.C.U. for maybe a year, but you came home just a little over a month later. I had to feed you through a tube in your tummy. That’s why you have your tummy scar.”

“Essa wight here?”
He points to his stomach.

“Yep.
You had fourteen more surgeries after that. One time you got
really sick
and were in the hospital for a long, long time. You don’t remember because you were still a baby, but you had to have an operation even though you were sick.” I take a deep breath. My words are coming out shaky. “The doctor told me I was going to lose you, bug. So that night, I went to the hospital and talked to you. I told you how much I wanted you, but that if it was too much for you, if you couldn’t fight anymore, it was okay for you to go if that’s what you needed to do. I told you I would be okay and that I hoped you would stick around, but I knew how weak you were after everything you’d been
through
. I was so sad that night.”

“No, essa mom’s happy.”

I wiped a tear away from my eye. “Yeah, honey. Mom’s happy now, because you decided to stay and fight. And you got better. And you’ve never been sick since then. When they called me the next day and told me you were awake, I was so happy. I came to the hospital and there you were, sitting up in your bed. You were so skinny and you smelled so bad.”

“Ohhh...go on!” he says laughing.

“You did! You smelled blechy. But I crawled up into your bed and held you. You were just like a baby monkey. You wrapped your arms and legs around me and just clung to me.” He wipes a tear from my cheek and kisses me. “I want you to know, Andy, that you’re my hero. You’re so strong and brave and I’m so happy to be your mommy. Thank you for being who you are. I love you so much, bug, and I’m so sorry I haven’t been there for you
like
I should have been. I’m sorry for all the times I left you and for all the times I did drugs instead of playing with you.” I’m really crying
now. Everyone in the room is crying now. “I want you to know that I’ll be a better mommy, okay? You deserve better than...you deserve everything, Andy. I love you.”

“Ohhh, go on.” He always makes me smile, this son of mine. I hug him and kiss him on the forehead. I feel such shame for not being all he deserves and such sadness for the time I’ve lost with him. I promise myself I’ll be the best mother I can be from now on.

I move my chair to sit in front of my father. He looks at me with sorrow and pity.
Like he’s so happy to be here for me yet so sad for all the heartache in this room.
My dad has always reminded me a little of Fred Flintstone, although at sixty, his hair is more salt than pepper. He’s so sweet and I know he cares about me, but I’m conflicted. I love him so much and am grateful to him for paying for rehab, but I feel rage at his hypocrisy and denial, which have followed me my whole life. I don’t want to hurt him, so I’m scared to say what I want to because I don’t want either of my parents to be mad at me. I’m thirty-eight years old and I still can’t stand for people to be mad at me, especially my parents. I’ll do anything to avoid conflict, but I feel like if I don’t take this opportunity to say what I’m feeling, it will be a waste of my time here. I’m scared, but I also feel safe knowing that, because of the rules, he can’t say anything and I’m safe from immediate aftermath here in my thirty day womb.

“I love you,” I begin. “I’m so sorry for hurting you. I want you to know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, especially helping me get to rehab.” I take a deep breath. I can’t believe I’m going to say the things I have planned. I can’t believe I’m going to be so honest with him, with them, about my life. “You said yesterday that you want to know about my drug use. Okay.
I’ve smoked pot, done speed, dropped acid, eaten mushrooms and taken downers, although not much because I didn’t like them.
I’ve used cocaine and crank and I’ve been smoking meth for about five years.
Every single day.”
His eyes get big. “I started using drugs when I was twelve, if you count alcohol, and I’ve pretty much used drugs since then. I was sober for almost four years when my coke dealer left town. That’s when I had the foster kids. I’ve never used needles and I’ve never used heroin.” I know that heroin is the big one to him. He thinks it’s the drug of all drugs. At least he used to. He may have changed his mind recently.

He’s shaking his head like this is all so unbelievable and I
want to scream at him for his stupidity. “I was high a lot at home, especially in high school. The first time I dropped acid was in the middle of the day at school and I was still blazing at home that night.” He looks utterly defeated. “I want you to understand, Dad, that this isn’t your fault. I don’t blame you guys for my addiction, okay?” I reach over and hold his hand for a second.

“I’m sorry, Dad, but I have to call bullshit on you about yesterday.” My voice is starting to shake. “You were so sad about what these poor families and kids have gone through and you sat there acting like this is all new to you, but it’s not.” I start jiggling my knee up and down and put my hands on it to make it stop.

“You seem to forget what it was like when we were little and you would get drunk. I remember, Dad. I remember you disappearing for whole weekends sometimes and how pissed Mom was. I remember you
getting so drunk
that time at Thanksgiving that you threw up and passed out in Uncle Tim’s bathroom. Don’t you remember that? I was mortified but we went ahead and ate anyway. Do you remember being in the backseat of the car while Mom drove down Fairview, and she was pissed as hell because you were back there with the door open, puking all the way home? I remember every road trip or vacation we ever went
on,
you guys had a cooler of beer in the front seat and drank the whole time. So when you sit here and act shocked at everything these families have been through, it makes me mad. Nothing you’ve heard here should shock you. Either you’re in denial or you have a very bad memory.”

He’s crying a little and looking down at his hands. I feel like shit for saying these things to him and for embarrassing him in front of these people, but I also feel better
-
lighter somehow. I feel empowered and this makes me feel guilty. Seeing his shame makes me want to take it all back. “Daddy, I love you so much and I’m not trying to embarrass you, okay?” He looks at me and nods.

“Ed,” Dorothy says gently. “I think you might be one of us.” He nods a little at that.

“Now,” I say, “for the good things.” I lower my head so I can catch his eye. “You want to know what I’m most proud of you
for?
Andyy Barr. You taught yourself how to use a computer back when PCs first came out. You had that little Franklin 286 and back then, everything was DOS. You had no idea what you were doing, but computers interested you. Teaching
yourself
something that complicated requires focus. You told me that you found you couldn’t have a drink and still concentrate on what you were doing
and that’s when you stopped drinking. You taught yourself everything you know about computers. You’ve told me you were a bad student in school, that you got Ds and barely graduated. I know you think you’re not smart but I think you’re amazing. You went from not knowing what a computer was to teaching yourself to design web sites. Then a few years ago you built your business enough so you could retire from your job and
do
Andyy Barr full time.”

I looked at Dorothy. “Can I tell you where he got the name Andyy Barr?”

“Sure,” she says.

I turn around and face the room. “It’s spelled A-N-D-Y-Y B-A-R-R. He came up with it when he was teaching himself to do graphics back when Andy was a baby. He made this floating candy bar and thought it was funny to call it an Andy bar instead of candy bar.
He put it on the label and would make it spin and float around on the monitor.
One day I went to see
what he was doing and noticed he’d added and extra Y to Andy and an extra R to bar
. I asked him about it and he said he spelled Andyy that way because Andy has an extra Y.” Everyone’s smiling politely and I know
they
don’t get it. “Down syndrome is Trisomy 21, meaning there’s an extra chromosome on the twenty-first pair. The extra chromosome is a Y instead of an X.
That how it is with everyone who has Down syndrome.
So the candy bar became Andy Bar and that became Andyy Barr. When he started doing web site development he named his company Andyy Barr Productions.”

I turn back to my father who’s seems happy and a little embarrassed. “I’m so proud of you, Daddy. I know you don’t think you’re smart, but you are. Look at what you’ve done.” Tears are sliding down his cheeks but he’s happy, and mouths the words “Thank you.”

I move my chair over in front of my mother who’s sitting stoically with her hands folded neatly in her lap. She has the same look on her face she used to have when my dad would disappear and she’d sit at the kitchen table robotically chain smoking. Her ice blue eyes reflect none of what’s just happened. She’s all business and I’m in trouble. If she
were allowed
to speak right now, she would call me Kimberly. She doesn’t smile but seems to sigh as I begin.

“Mom.
I want you to know how much I love you too. I’m sorry for lying to you all these years. I didn’t know until I came here
that there was such a thing as lying by omission. I always thought of myself as a very honest person, but I guess I have been lying by not telling you what’s been going on with me.
First of all
, I want you to understand that this isn’t your fault. I’m not an addict because you’re a bad mother, and I didn’t do drugs to hurt you. When you say you must be a bad mother because, after all, look at how Chuck and I turned out, how do you think that makes me feel? What am I supposed to do with that? I know you wanted this perfect family but we never were and we sure as hell aren’t going to change at this late stage of the game.” She’s still sitting there, unmoving. “You did the best you could and you need to stop blaming yourself because I know this.

“I know you’re wondering, even though you haven’t asked, so I’ll just tell you that I never used drugs when I was pregnant. Hell, I didn’t even smoke cigarettes or drink soda. I didn’t start using again until around Andy’s third surgery.” I try to smile at her but she’s just sitting there. I don’t know if she’s really hearing me or if she’s just pissed about being here. “You know when you said you had no idea what was going on with me? Didn’t you ever wonder where the money was coming from? You knew I was paying all the bills and that I paid for Allan and me to go to Cabo last year. Didn’t you ever stop to think how I was doing all that writing bonds and making gift baskets? Or did you tell yourself I was doing that well? You would have been happier never knowing the truth.

“I’m most proud of you, Mom, for finally quitting the job you hated. You started at that company as a bookkeeper when you were nineteen and retired at forty-seven as vice president. All those years you worked for that company and for a man you hated because that’s what you had to do. I remember, though, you coming home after work, exhausted. I would make dinner and then you and Dad would fall asleep in your chairs in front of the TV while I did the dishes. Your misery was contagious. I’m so proud of you for finally deciding to take care of yourself and retire.” She hasn’t moved, but one corner of her mouth curls slightly upward. I’m not sure anyone else has noticed except me. “I also want you to know how grateful I am to both of you for being such wonderful grandparents. Regardless of any
mistakes
you made when I was growing up, I could never ask for Andy to have better grandparents than he does.

“I have to tell both of you, though, that I need for us to be open with each other. I need
for us
to be able to be honest and to
be able to talk about things rather than just ignore them. If you can’t do that, I can’t include you in my recovery.” It feels awkward, asking for what I need. My biggest fear is that they won’t be able to follow through and I’ll lose them. I’ve thought long and hard about this, and I know I have to be prepared to follow through if they’re not willing or able to do as I’ve asked. I’m afraid of them hating me for everything I’ve just said. I’m sick of being afraid all the time. I’m hoping they’ll be willing to try.