Determination (33 page)

“Detectives, how can I help you?” my father asked in a strained but polite tone. I couldn’t see them standing just outside my line of vision, but I could certainly hear one of the detectives as he spoke loudly to my father.

“Mr. Mayfield, we are executing a search warrant of the premises.

Here is a copy for you and your attorney. If you could please stand back out of the way?” Detective Isaacs stepped in through the front door and pushed something into my dad’s chest. My father grabbed the papers and immediately reached into his pocket, drawing out his cell phone. He was on the phone with the lawyer when the other detective asked where I was. Panic rose in my throat like bile, and my heart galloped wildly in my chest. They were there to arrest me, I knew they were. I considered running, but where the hell would I go?

“He’s upstairs in his room. His attorney is on his way, so do not talk to him until Mr. Troska arrives, please,” my father relayed to the police in a stern voice. As I heard them move away from the front door, I took a deep breath and slowly made my way downstairs.

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Jamie Mayfield

“Hi, Jamie,” Detective Isaacs said as I reached the first floor. He met me at the bottom and shook my hand. “We are here to search your room and any other area of the house you may have access to. Can you show me where your room is?” It was a ploy to get me to talk to him—

I knew it without having to be told by my lawyer. What they didn’t understand was that I wanted to talk to them. I wanted to get all of this over with so I didn’t have to be scared all the time.

“It’s upstairs,” I said with a motion with my hand. He followed me up the stairs, and I led him to my room and stood out of the way while he looked around.

“If you tell me what you’re looking for, maybe I can help you,” I said quietly as he started to take my bed apart.

“It’s in the search warrant that I gave your dad, but—” He looked around quickly, presumably to see if we were alone. “—I’m looking for drugs.” Turning back to the bed, he threw the covers on the floor and pulled the mattress off the box springs. With a small pocket knife, he slit open the mattress and looked under the covering. Then he did the same with the box springs.

“I don’t have any drugs, so there isn’t anything to find,” I said in resignation and left him to his job. I walked back downstairs and stood next to my dad, who appeared to be on the phone with his own attorney asking about reimbursement for damages. My heart sank because I knew my dad would have to pay for whatever the police did to his house, even though there were no drugs or even rat poison to find.

The search took over two hours as they tore apart the kitchen, living room, dining room, family room, my room, Dad’s room, bathrooms, and the garage. Every conceivable space had been searched and rifled through by some ruthless cop. My lawyer arrived about an hour into the fiasco, but all he did was get in the way. The cops didn’t seem to want to ask me any questions—they just wanted to go through all my stuff. His only useful interaction was convincing the cops to just copy everything off my new laptop onto a USB drive for later analysis, rather than taking the whole laptop that I needed for school. I didn’t know if they thought I’d confessed in a Word document or something, but they took it all.

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In the aftermath, when only my father and I remained among the wreckage, I could finally breathe again. Picking up the overturned couch cushions, I put the furniture back together and sat down, surveying the damage. It appeared nothing was broken, but I’d have a job to do tomorrow putting stuff back in its place.

“I’ll call a cleaning service tomorrow,” my father said, almost as if he’d read my thoughts. I looked up quickly and shook my head. He didn’t see because he was picking up the coasters that had been strewn about the floor.

“No, I’ll put everything back together. It’s my fault they were here,” I said adamantly. “I’m not going to let you throw away even more money cleaning up my mess.” My hands shook violently as they moved with my bouncing knees. I felt like a huge tuning fork struck against a building. Everything vibrated, though I tried hard to stop it. I could feel a seizure coming, so I took slow, deep breaths and tried to hold on.

“Jamie…. Okay, son, if that’s what you want, I won’t argue.

We’ll go tomorrow after I get off work and buy a new bed for your room. You were probably uncomfortable on that old twin anyway. A queen shouldn’t be too big for that room. I’m, uh, going to go do something about dinner,” Dad said quietly and went into the kitchen.

Frightened tears leaked from the corners of my eyes.

I just wished they’d arrest me and get it over with.

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Seventeen

“MY NAME is Christian, and I’m an addict.”

The room replied with a fairly unenthusiastic “Hi, Christian” and then sat back to listen. It was my very first meeting, but I’d gotten to the rehab center about half an hour early to talk with Christian, who prepared me on how the meeting would go. It was nice to have someone to talk to who had actually faced what I was facing. While he continued to struggle with his addiction, he seemed to be successful and at peace. I didn’t really even need the success, but I’d love to feel the peace.

“It’s been fifteen years and seven months since I last got high.

Earlier this week, I met with a new member and his father, who questioned my appointment as his sponsor. It made me look back on some of the decisions I’d made in my life,” he said, and my breath caught in my throat. I’d only talked to Christian for a few minutes, but he seemed like a nice, hard-working guy. I hated that getting stuck with me made him lose confidence. My dad shifted in the old metal folding chair next to me, and I wondered if he felt the same way. Damn, the meeting had barely started, and already I felt guilty for being there.

“I’ve done some pretty awful things in my life, but once I found the path I was supposed to be on, everything in my life became clearer.

I was able to find balance amid chaos by giving back to others in a way that only I could. Being a sponsor is the way I keep balanced and find peace. Each of us needs to find those things in our lives that keep us grounded and use them to fight each and every day.” Christian acknowledged the quiet applause and moved to sit back in the crowd.

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He didn’t sit near us, but closer to the front, probably so he could help facilitate the meeting. A few other people got up and shared their stories or successes. One meek-looking woman in a black pencil skirt and green button-up blouse talked about how she’d been clean for nearly a year so she was going to try to get her kids back from the state.

I had no doubt that each person in that room had a story about how their life slid so far out of their control that they had no idea how to get it back.

I glanced around the small art room as the next person went up to the makeshift podium. Actually, it was a rolling hospital table, like I had during my stay after the overdose. The wheels appeared to be locked, because when the skinny kid leaned on it as he talked, it didn’t move. My hands shook as they rested on my knees. I pressed my fingers into the denim to try to get them to stop.

“Do we need to go?” Dad asked when he noticed my clenched hands. I shook my head and continued to watch the twitchy boy at the front talk about how he’d been clean for four days. I admired his courage. I’d been clean for two months, and I didn’t want to get up in front of a room full of strangers to admit that. As he ended by talking about how he wanted to finish high school, my knee started to bounce.

It took another ten minutes for the dozen or so members to file back to the table where I’d made so many charcoal drawings of Brian I could wallpaper my room. There, they ate their complimentary cookies and drank their juice before going back to their lives. As Dad and I followed the small crowd, Christian broke away and walked toward us.

“What did you think, Jamie?” he asked when he reached us. A light shone in his eyes, but his manner was calm while he waited for my reply.

“I don’t know. I felt like I should be joining in and saying something, but I couldn’t make myself stand up and do it. It was like being in a room full of people who knew me, but still being surrounded by strangers. I don’t know how to explain it,” I admitted and looked to my dad, but he wasn’t any help.

“I know what you mean. It took a couple of months before I stood up and talked in my first meeting. You can do it when you feel comfortable, or you don’t have to ever share in the meeting. Just take 216

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what you need from it, and keep yourself clean. That’s all you need to do.” He reached up and stroked a pendant around his neck, almost as if it were some kind of talisman. The chain itself glittered gold in the low light, and the pendant appeared to be a row of different colored stones set into a little gold bar suspended vertically from the chain. He stroked it as if it brought him comfort.

“What is that?” I asked, nodding toward the pendant in his hand.

“It’s a chakra necklace. The stones in it help bring balance to my life,” he explained. “Do you know anything about the chakras?” I’d heard the word before, but I didn’t know anything about it. I could imagine some new-age guy in robes with little bells on his fingers talking about aligning his chakras.

“No, I don’t know anything about them.”

“I can’t say that it will work for you, but it really helped me to learn how to center myself and bring peace into my life. Hang on….”

He put a hand on my arm and held it there for a second, then moved over to a table and picked up a patched canvas messenger bag. From it, he pulled a battered paperback book, which he brought back to me.

“Here, I’ve read it like twenty times—you can borrow it if you want.

See if maybe it puts a few things into perspective. I also have another book on meditation. I’ll bring it for you next week.”

“Thank you,” I told him, honestly excited about reading the book.

If the books helped him bring his life under control, maybe they could do the same for me.

I looked forward to finding out.

Thankfully, the seizure held off until we got home from the meeting. In the foyer taking off my shoes, I hit the ground with dizzying speed. My dad stayed right with me. When I came out of it, I saw he’d put his jacket under my head to protect it as he knelt next to me. It was the first seizure I’d had in over a week, which meant the medications seemed to be helping.

It rained the next day, so Mike’s landscaping crew didn’t come to the house. He sent me a text to say he and Alex were going to take the opportunity to spend the day together in bed. Happy for Alex, but sad for me, I spent a lazy weekend catching up on a list of gay novels I’d Determination

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downloaded to the phone. Christian’s book on chakras lay all but forgotten on my bedside table.

Monday morning, however, changed my whole life.

After Dad left for work, I picked up Christian’s book and started to read. I hadn’t even finished the first chapter when my phone chimed that I had an e-mail. Curious, I grabbed the phone and checked the display—
San Diego School for Liberal Arts
. It was an e-mail from the college. I put the phone down on the bedside table and stared at it for a long time, unwilling to check the content of the e-mail. That single electronic communication could make or break my collegiate career.

Okay, that was being overly dramatic, but if they wouldn’t let me in, who the hell would? Finally, after an hour of rearranging the books on the shelf over my desk, I grabbed my laptop and turned it on. It was time to face the music, whatever song might be playing.

James,

You will be receiving a formal invitation in the mail within
the next week, but because time is short, I wanted to
congratulate you on your acceptance to San Diego School
for Liberal Arts.

A formal consultation with your advisor needs to take place
today or tomorrow in order to register you for the upcoming
term. You will also need to obtain books and other
materials, with which your advisor can assist you.

I look forward to seeing you flourish within our academic
environment.

Sincerely,

Arvin J. Erickson

Dean of Admissions

San Diego School for Liberal Arts

Oh my God, I got in. Grabbing my phone, I hit the number five on the speed dial to call my father’s cell phone. It didn’t take long for him to answer, most likely because he assumed I was in trouble.

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“Jamie? Is everything okay?” he asked a moment later, confirming my suspicions. It felt good to know that he cared, that he worried about me, but I also felt guilty that I had scared him for no good reason. It occurred to me, belatedly, that I could have just sent him a text.

“Everything is fine. I got in! Their dean of admissions just sent me an e-mail. He said I’d get a formal letter next week, but he wanted to tell me so I could meet with my advisor as soon as possible. I think I’ll call Mike and see if he can run me over there if the advisor has time to see me,” I said, thinking quickly. God, I was so excited I could have jumped for joy right there in the bedroom. Something had finally gone my way. I honestly couldn’t believe it. Damn, I wished I could tell Brian.