LAUGH TRACK: (Cheers and applause).
Everyone rushes up to me, and I get up off my knees and hug Cap and Shelby and Haze and Pete and Dr. Gomez and Sam and even Clara, amending my thoughts in my mind—I succeeded with the help of my friends.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
LATE SATURDAY MORNING, I arrive at my house for my first official visit with Dad. The whole house is in a shambles—books, records, pillows, dishes, everywhere, and music is blaring.
The first thing Dad says when I walk in the door is, "Have you seen my violin? The Furies have eaten it, I'm afraid."
He's found the helmet I hid under my bed and he's wearing it. He needs his pills badly—and some food. His bloodshot eyes stare out from the holes in the helmet. Pete, who had been checking in on my dad for me, told me he wasn't eating, but he didn't tell me how bad he looked. He's just so thin.
"Hey, Dad," I say, turning down the music and trying not to let my anxiety show on my face. "Let's go get something to eat. Come on."
"Coffee would be good. The Furies haven't poisoned that." He follows me to the kitchen. "Have you seen my violin?" he asks me on the way.
A few minutes later, while I'm preparing lunch, Dad wanders off. I find him in the empty bathtub with his radio resting on his stomach.
I grab the radio. "Dad, no music in the bathroom! Never! Okay?" I unplug the cord, then I march out the door with the radio and set it on the floor. "Leave the radio right here and don't move it. Don't ever move it!"
CRAZY GLUE: Ah, just like old times.
I turn the radio on and look at him. "You can hear the music fine from in there, can't you?"
"I can't hide in the music from there, but I can hear it."
"Well, it's going to have to do." I turn the radio up, but I leave it on the floor. Then I return to the kitchen to finish making lunch.
Crazy Glue is right. It feels like old times again with Dad in the tub and me in the kitchen, but it doesn't feel like I thought it would. It's not a comfortable or happy feeling at all. I'm nervous and edgy, just the way I used to be. I was always on the alert in case Dad should call to me or should do something crazy like set the house on fire or electrocute himself. It's only been a few weeks since we were alone together in the house, but it feels like months. So much has happened since then. I've experienced another kind of life and I like that life. I'm glad I have someplace to go to get away from the craziness.
After lunch, which doesn't go well because Dad won't eat and he won't take his meds, Haze arrives with his "bed head," and Pete, wearing some kind of Zen outfit that looks as though he's just come from karate lessons, and Shelby, wearing a brightly colored striped hat and a big grin. I'm so relieved to see them, and my relief again makes me feel guilty. What's wrong with me? I love my dad. I would do anything for him. I went to court for him. I don't want to feel relieved. I want to feel right—to feel that I'm doing the right thing.
I look again at Shelby's beaming face. "What are you so happy about?" I say, opening the door wider so they can all come in.
"I'm in celebration."
"Yeah," Pete says. "She's in celebration."
"In celebration?"
Shelby pulls off her hat. "Yep. I've been in mourning for my mother for the past three years. So, I've decided it's time to be in celebration now." She slaps my shoulder and heads for the living room.
Everyone greets Dad, who has come downstairs wearing my mom's pink flowered bathrobe over his clothes and her fuzzy pink slippers, which don't fit, so his heels hang off the back.
I love that they don't even blink when they see the helmet and Mom's clothes.
"The Argonauts and Athena!" Dad says. Then he runs back upstairs as we all parade back to the kitchen.
"So, Pope-a-Dope, how's it goin'?" Haze asks. He picks at the grapes left on Dad's lunch plate. "I bet it feels great, huh?"
"Yeah, sort of. It's great to see my dad, but I can't get him to take his pills and you see what a mess the place is."
Pete lifts the plate with Dad's uneaten sandwich on it. I wrapped it in plastic in case he wants it later.
"What do you call this?" he says.
"What?" I look at the sandwich. "That's ham and cheese. Ever heard of it?"
"On white bread with mayo, right? No wonder your father's sick, Jason. This food is garbage. You need to get him whole grains and organic foods. I brought him organic whole grains every day, not this crap. You need natural food. This is junk."
"Yeah, and he's not eating any of it, so what does it matter?"
"You ought to let me fix him up with some herbs—hops, catnip, skullcap."
"Oh yeah, that would probably go over real well with the doctors," I say, drying the pot I just washed. I hand it to Shelby, who puts it away in the cabinet below the counter.
"Many hands make light work," Shelby says, turning to face Haze and Pete. "Hint, hint, boys." She tosses them each a dishtowel.
I smile. "When I talked to Dr. Gomez on the phone last week, she said we had made something good out of all the crap we've been handed by having this group and becoming friends—helping one another out."
"Right-o," Haze says, popping another grape into his mouth.
Shelby slaps Haze's hand. "Would you leave those grapes alone? You just ate lunch and those are for Dad." Shelby turns to me. "Go on, Jason—we're listening."
CRAZY GLUE: Did you hear that? She called your father "Dad." You really are family.
"Well, so I want to make something good come out of what's happened to my dad, but I don't know how. I can't cure him. I can't make him sane. He seems even worse today. It's—it's kind of discouraging. I mean, jeez, I can barely get him to eat his food. I want something good to come out of what's happened, but he's just falling apart." I hand Pete a sponge, and he wipes down the counters while Haze puts the grapes away in the fridge.
I continue talking. It feels good just to have the chance to think out loud. "My dad's all I have left, you know? And maybe it's a long time ago, but we used to have so much fun canoeing and reading The Iliad and The Odyssey together, sneaking the Oreos out of the house under our shirts so my mom wouldn't see. He's always been there. In some strange way, I've always been able to count on him. He's my constant, you know—like my true north. I want my true north back."
"Hey!" Shelby says, banging Dad's coffee mug down on the counter. "Did you ever stop to think, Jason, that it's the other way around? That maybe you're his constant; you're his true north. Sheesh, you just went to court for him and everything. Maybe you're the good that comes out of your family's bad situation, you know? You're the good that comes out of your mother's death and your father's illness. You're the best part. Look at what you've done. I mean, you've done everything you could to make it work for you and your dad."
"Yeah, and look how that's turned out," I say.
"Okay, but, sheesh, Jason, you sacrificed everything for him. It's not your fault he's crazy. Give yourself a break. Let him go into that home where he'll be taken care of and, like the judge said, you get your life together and be that good thing you're talking about, cause you already are. Just keep going."
Shelby looks at Haze and he's got his hand over his heart like he's listening to "The Star-Spangled Banner."
Shelby gives him a look of irritation. "What are you doing?"
"You just sound so noble, so honorable. Have you ever considered going into politics? Or maybe speech writing?"
"Haze, sometimes, I swear," Shelby says.
Pete and I laugh, and we, too, put our hands over our hearts and face Shelby.
"You know, you guys are impossible sometimes. We need another girl in this group. We really do."
The three of us laugh and make fun of Shelby, but I heard what she said, and it makes me nervous, as if there's something I'm missing—something I'm not getting.
SEXY LADY: (Whispers) You know.
Chapter Forty
AFTER MY VISIT with Dad, I go home to try to catch up on the tons of schoolwork
I've missed. I spend all afternoon and evening doing biology, but it's hard to concentrate, because something is bugging me.
SEXY LADY: You know.
Quit saying that. What? Yeah, I'm resentful that I have to work while Haze and Pete and Shelby are out having a good time, but it's my own fault. That's what's bugging me. I tap my pen on the edge of my dad's head of Socrates coffee mug. For some reason I had it in my hand when I came home today.
CRAZY GLUE: That may be what's bugging you, or maybe...
Quiet!
AUNT BEE: It was so hard being with him today. You had forgotten that.
No, I didn't. It's just that until the Lynches came along, I never knew how much better things could be, that's all. And I guess I feel guilty for thinking this way.
The words on the page in front of me blur, and I don't know if it's because I'm so tired or it's some kind of hallucination. They almost seem to dance. I slam the book shut. I jump up and stuff my schoolbooks into my backpack. I'm just tired and grumpy, that's all. I need to go to bed.
"Let go, Jason."
I turn around. No one's there.
"Who said that?"
It was a real voice. It wasn't any of the usual voices—not Crazy Glue, or FBG, none of them. It wasn't You, was it?
No. It was a real voice. I'm sure of it.
CRAZY GLUE: Well, well, here it is. Crazy at last. You knew it would happen. Like father, like son.
My hands are shaking. "Let go? Let go of what? Let go of school? Life? Dad? What? Who said that? What do you mean?"
FBG WITH A MUSTACHE: You realize, don't you, that you're talking out loud to a voice no one else can hear, just the way your dad does.
LAUGH TRACK: Isn't it a shame.
No! Shut up, everybody, and let me think.
AUNT BEE: You've been waiting for this to happen since you were six years old.
SEXY LADY: I always said crazy was hot.
No!
CRAZY GLUE: Now who's going to look after you? There's nobody. You're all alone in the world. Just like Reed. You'll be locked away—forgotten.
AUNT BEE: That's what you've been so afraid of You'll become invisible again—even to yourself.
I pound my fist on the desk. No! I can't go crazy.
I jump up from my seat and pace. "No, this is not good. I can't start hearing voices or seeing things or any other crazy thing. No, I can't do that. I won't!"
CRAZY GLUE: (In a singsong voice) You're still talking to yourself.
LAUGH TRACK: (In a singsong voice) All alone in the world. Forgotten. Invisible. Isn't it a shame?
FBG WITH A MUSTACHE: All alone and going crazy. Who will look after him?
CRAZY GLUE: (Singing) Take the keys and lock him up, lock him up, lock him up.
I stop pacing. You know what? I'm over you. I'm so over you. I'm not listening to any of you. I refuse this. I won't go crazy.
FBG WITH A MUSTACHE: It's not up to you, remember? Everything is out of your control.
No, it's not! Dr. Gomez says I'm in control of myself. That's the one thing I can control.
FBG WITH A MUSTACHE: But your dad can't control himself.
CRAZY GLUE: Like father, like son.
Get out! Get out of my head.
LAUGH TRACK: All alone. Forgotten. Invisible. Isn't it a shame?
I pound the desk again and my dad's coffee mug accidentally falls and breaks.
FBG WITH A MUSTACHE: Don't you know, there are no accidents.
"Shit!" I stare down at the pieces. A dangerous thought lurks at the edge of my mind, but I can't bring it forward.
AUNT BEE: Go on—it's time you faced it.
Faced what?
SEXY LADY: The truth.
That I'm crazy? I wipe the sweat off the side of my face.
CRAZY GLUE: You've helped to take care of him all your life.
Who? Dad? So what? I love him. That's what you do when you love someone.
AUNT BEE: And?
And nothing. That's all.
FBG WITH A MUSTACHE: Ignoring it just might be what's driving you crazy.
What? What am I ignoring?
SEXY LADY: You know.
AUNT BEE: You've always known.
What? I love my dad. I love him!
AUNT BEE: You've known since you were six years old.
He couldn't help it. He didn't mean to do it.
FBG WITH A MUSTACHE: He never meant to harm you, but...
But he did. He tried to bury me alive. My eyes sting and I rub them.
AUNT BEE: And ...
And—and he's still doing it, isn't he? Having to live with him the way he is. It's like being buried alive—it's suffocating. There! I've said it. And I'm so mad. I'm so mad at him!
I kick the broken glass.
LAUGH TRACK: Aha!
He did this to me! He did this. He made me afraid to have friends and afraid that I'm going crazy, and afraid to go to school because of what might happen to him while I'm gone.
I think of my dad in the tub wearing that insane helmet.
How could he? How could they? How could they have children when they knew they could pass his illness on to me? How could they do it? How could they risk it? Am I crazy, too, listening to all of you and hearing that voice?
CRAZY GLUE: We'll never tell.
"He almost killed me! He almost killed me!"
AUNT BEE: But he doesn't know that.
Yes! Yes! And I hate that he doesn't know. He doesn't even remember it. Mom would never let me speak of it. He's not sorry, because he doesn't know what he's done. And I hate how this makes me feel. I'm there in that sick house with my sick dad, and I feel so guilty because I want to run away from it. I want to stay with the Lynches and never go back. But I know I'm all he has. If I don't fight for him, how can I ever expect anyone to fight for me if I go crazy? Who is here for me?
SEXY LADY: Just us.
I hate that I feel this way—scared, crazy, resentful. I hate that he makes me feel this way. I hate that maybe the only reason I fought so hard to get extra visitations is because I feel guilty. Do I even love him?
FBG WITH A MUSTACHE: Well now.
I stoop down and pick up the broken glass and throw it in my wastebasket.
Socrates' broken face looks up at me from inside the can—all knowing, all wise.
I'm not alone. I'm not Reed. I've got friends now. And I've got the Lynches, Dr. Gomez, and Sam. I stand and hold out my hands and stare at them—my dad's hands. They're shaking. I go to my desk and turn on my computer.
LAUGH TRACK: All alone. Forgotten. Invisible.
"I'm not alone!" I type an e-mail to Haze and Pete and Shelby and send it: What if I get sick, too? What if I get what my dad has?
I wait, staring at the computer. Please, someone be there. Please be online. Please, please answer. It feels like a matter of life or death to me. Someone has to answer me.
I tap my fingers on the side of the computer and wait. And wait.
I have mail!
It's Pete!
Thank you, Pete.
He gives me the facts:
I looked it up. You have a ten-percent chance of becoming mentally ill as opposed to a one-percent chance if nobody in your family is sick. So that's a ninety-percent chance you won't get it. Pretty good odds, huh? Did something happen?
I pause. Do I dare tell them?
LAUGH TRACK: All alone. Isn't it a shame?
I'm not alone. I type: I heard a voice. I send it to all three of them.
THEN SHELBY WRITES: You don't have it. Don't worry. You're just totally stressed. What did the voice say?
"Thank you, Shelby!" I let out my breath.
PETE: I hear voices, sometimes. I think I hear my mother calling or my sister yelling at me. It's rare, though. What did the voice say?
HAZE: Make hay while the sun shines, dude. We never know what life has in store for us. Did the voice ask you to kill anybody?
I answer their e-mails. I tell them that the voice said, "
Let go, Jason," and that it sounded like my mom's voice.
SHELBY: Let go. That's good advice for you. Maybe it really was your mother. My mother has been visiting my dreams every night. The dreams feel so real and they stay with me all day. I like it.
PETE: Sounds like your conscience. I wouldn't worry about it.
HAZE: My dad just blew up the snowblower! Ten at night and he's out there blowing things up. Gotta go. TTFN.
We write back and forth a couple of more times, and then Cap sticks his head in my room.
I wipe my face. I feel calmer now that I'm talking to my friends, but I've been crying and I know it probably shows.
"Hey, buddy, we're all down in the family room. Don't you want to join us? Georgetown's playing on EPSN, and we've got popcorn and a card game going. It might do you some good."
I look at Cap standing in the doorway with his eyebrows raised, looking hopeful that I will join him. I hesitate for just a second. I don't want to hear any more voices, even if the advice is good, even if it doesn't mean I'm going nuts. I need to be with people. I need the Lynches. "Okay," I say. "I'll be right there. I've got to answer an e-mail first."
Cap smiles. "See you in a few, then." He leaves me and I turn back to my computer.
I reread Haze's message: Make hay while the sun shines, dude. We never know what life has in store for us.
His words scare me. Mom once told me that my dad's first psychotic episode happened when he was just eighteen years old. I'm going to be fifteen soon. In three years I could be sick the way my dad is, or maybe I'm already sick. I hope Shelby's right and I'm just stressed out, but maybe these are the best days of my life right now. I mean, nobody gets a guarantee in life. Maybe this is the best I'll ever get.
I write to Pete and Shelby that I have to go, and then I head downstairs to make some hay.
Chapter Forty-One
I'M LYING IN BED, afraid to go to sleep. I feel like a wreck. The card games and basketball helped some, but now that I'm alone again, I've started thinking about that voice telling me to let go, and about my dad, and I'm so confused.