Joey Jeremiah bent to pick up the toys that littered the floor. Endless toys from just one child. Toys and coloring books and markers and puzzle pieces from some puzzle that was tucked into the corners of a far closet. She was sleeping. Hugging a stuffed bear above them, the nightlight casting it's yellow comforting glow in her room. His other child was older but no less messy for that. Craig left food containers on the counters and his jacket draped over chairs and his sneakers kicked into any convenient corner.
He was endlessly reminding them both of things. For Angie it was do your homework, clean your room, brush your teeth, eat vegetables even though you hate them. For Craig it was do your homework, clean your room, put your jacket in the closet and your shoes on the mat by the door and now a new thing had been added. Take your meds.
Craig sat on the couch, staring at some music video. He hadn't been home from the hospital for that long, and the medicine bottles were in the upstairs bathroom medicine cabinet. The psychiatrists had explained them all to him. There was an atypical antipsychotic that worked well in mood disorders and they weren't as harsh as Lithium, the old gold standard for bipolar. There was something for anxiety and something to help him sleep and the side effects shouldn't be too bad. Craig didn't want to take any of them.
"Take them the same time every day," a nurse had advised Craig as they were leaving, and Joey had a hand on his shoulder, feeling protective of him. Craig had nodded, taking the white pharmacy bag of pills and handing it to him.
That same time was eight o'clock, close enough to when he went to sleep so the sleeper wouldn't disrupt things. It was nearing eight o'clock now.
"Craig," Joey said, and Craig didn't even look over.
"Craig," Louder, more insistent. Listen to me, the tone said. Craig looked up.
"Go take your meds, buddy,"
He glared at him, almost seeming to blame him. And the weird thing was Joey felt the guilt. Would this have happened this way if he'd seen the signs earlier, and looking back with his 20/20 hindsight he knew the signs were there. When he was married to Julia and Craig would come over with his false smile and scared eyes, and if he'd thought about it for even one second he'd have known where that fear came from. He'd seen the quick gasp of breath and the startled second of fear when Albert would come to pick him up, and then Craig would bury that look, smile brightly at his mother. It was easy to believe that the false smile was real and that everything was okay. All the slick excuses for bruises. He should have known.
"I don't want to," Craig said, sullen. Arms crossed.
"I know. But you have to, you have a disease-"
"Yeah, I know, Joey. I'm crazy. Just say it," Craig looked at him with anger and hurt, those layers of emotion. You could get lost in it.
"No. You're mentally ill, like, like being diabetic or something-"
"No! It isn't like that, Joey! I'm crazy. And I'll have to take those stupid pills for the rest of my life and I don't want to! I just want to be normal,"
Joey sighed. Who was normal, anyway? Everyone had their baggage, everyone had their shit. Why did kids seem to think they were exempt from that somehow?
"Craig, listen, I know you don't like this but you have to take them. You have to. Now go do it,"
"What if I don't?" Oh that defiance in his eyes, the hard challenge. He wasn't budging from that couch. Joey closed his eyes, feeling this funny brand of tired he's never felt before Craig came crashing into his life. It was like groping in the dark with no moon, no light to guide him. He was feeling the rough tree bark and stumbling over roots and trying to find a trail. What did he say?
"If you don't? Then the symptoms of the bipolar will come back and you'll end up in the hospital again. You'll end up out of control again. Do you want that? Do you want to go back to the hospital?"
"No," Craig said, still looking up at him with that hurt expression, and slowly he got up and went upstairs. Joey listened to his feet on the stairs, to his feet crossing the small hall to the bathroom. He could hear the medicine cabinet opening, the running water, the slamming of the medicine cabinet. He didn't like threatening him with the hospital but he didn't know what else to do.
He heard Craig's door slam and he winced. There was just nothing he could do. He bent down again and continued to pick up the little toys that littered the living room.