I've struggled with this kid for a long time. I kind of thought that when he went off to do his music that part of that struggle was over. Craig. Somewhere between the death of his mother and the death of his father he became my son.
Ellie called me. His friend from two summers ago, the girl with the long red hair. His "friend girl". Ha. That always made me laugh, and my response made me laugh. A girl who is just a friend? There ain't no such thing.
She called because Craig was in trouble, that was the bottom line. What were the specifics of the trouble? Drugs. Cocaine. My heart ached for him, always making mistakes, always rushing headlong into something that was going to backfire. At least I was here to bail him out. She sounded desperate on the phone.
"Joey?" I had trouble placing the voice. Ashley, Manny, all the girls' voices blended together. High pitched and lilting and sweet, one was indistinguishable from the next.
"Yeah," I said, sipping my coffee despite the late hour. Moving was a lot of work and I didn't quite have the energy for it. Angie was up in her new room unpacking.
"It's Ellie," she said, and I immediately thought about Craig. He was there in Toronto for some show. He was picking up a few of the things I'd left behind in the old garage.
"Hi, Ellie," I said, and noticed my coffee was cold. I swirled it in my cup and drank it anyway. That was as strong as my drugs got, caffeine. Maybe some wood grain alcohol.
"I'm calling about Craig," she said, and I heard the pause in her voice, heard the unwillingness to spill it. So I waited her out. She'd spill it, whatever it was. But I closed my eyes and thought of all the terrible possibilities. With Craig there were so many. He could have gone off of his meds, he could have tried to hurt himself. I always remembered the train incident from when he was in grade nine and living with Albert. Since his diagnosis as bipolar I'd been reading up on it and I knew that they could be highly suicidal. Suicide was a constant undercurrent to my worry. So I closed my eyes and braced myself. Please don't let it be that bad, I thought. Please.
"He was doing a show here and he's been doing cocaine and he started bleeding onstage, his nose was bleeding, and I think he's doing more drugs than he's admitting. It isn't good," she said. I could picture it. I saw the blood gushing between his fingers and the horrified looks on the spectators' faces and the scared look on Craig's face. I could see it clear.
"Where is he now?" I said.
"He's at the hospital, the emergency room," she said. I wondered what would happen. Would they just treat him and street him? Would they admit him? Had he been off those damn meds and he'd need another psych admission? Damn it. I'd have to call the E.R. there, I'd have to see about arranging some type of rehab, of getting him up here. I never was comfortable when he was so far from me. I had to take care of him. He was mentally ill, he wasn't quite capable of taking care of himself.
"Okay, listen. I'm gonna make some phone calls and then I'll call you back. Okay?" I said. I could hear Angie upstairs, heard her dragging some of her things across the floor. What would it be like, I wondered, and not for the first time, if I only had Ang to deal with? How would my life be without all the drama Craig provided?
"Okay," she said, sounding shaky. Poor girl.
"And Ellie? Thanks. Thanks for looking out for him," I said.