On the Edge of Wakefulness, Part 3
Chapter 11
At the end of week three, springtime rain came down in thick, unrelenting sheets, keeping everyone at Granite House inside. Not the day for the group to get talking about the pain causing drug abuse, because there'd be no sun to run to after the purging, nowhere to go to breathe fresh air and try to shake off the memories.
But it got going anyway, purposeful chance leading to this place. People talked about how their walks down the wild side started, how their searches and experimentations began. Who, what, where, when kinda stuff. Why. It was an ugly place… dark, scary… lots of monsters under beds and behind closed doors. Cause for tears, anger, cause for compassion.
It was also reason for Busy and Gilbert to watch Todd, to see if he'd share his story. He felt their eyes on him. Oh he knew his truth. He'd unfortunately landed his red plane on the runway. He just didn't want to share.
For the first forty minutes, Todd drifted in a more present sort of way, staring at his black-leather boots while others opened up. They were the same steel-toed ones he'd stumbled along Sixteenth Avenue with. The same ones he'd used to kick a stranger to make a point. The same ones that would knock against the rotting floor of Toby's place as he lay about doing nothing but drugs and all that other shit.
He didn't know why the boots meant anything to him… but they did. It was the only pair of shoes he brought when Téa said it was time to go. He ended up having to buy cross-trainers from Granite to use in the physical activities. And there were plenty of such activities.
Not today.
Cristal sat next to Todd, their singular tryst secret, their faithfulness to heroin and all its iterations kept to themselves. Todd kept twisting his ring around his finger, feeling the heaviness of it, the slickness. He missed Téa intensely, but then imagined a conversation where she told Tim that she'd given up, that Granite was Todd's only chance at recovery and he'd failed.
Oh well, Tim, I have my own life.
He took the ring off and stuffed it into his pocket like another bit of lint.
An image of her in bed that last day sizzled to life. He felt her hands on him, could feel her tying the stockings around his wrists to keep him on the bed while she searched the room for heroin. He remembered the erection he got once she started touching him. How the stockings had done something to him. He thought of the heroin, the powder bliss that had spilled on the linens and how Téa had turned her head at the taste of it.
And in all the reminiscing, he kept seeing that move…over and over… a turn away from him. Why couldn't he see her kisses of him, why couldn't he hear her say, I love you… why couldn't he see her eyes, those brown eyes? They avoided his mind's gaze.
For a moment, his heart clenched with a boundless ache for… oh yeah, for dope. Gilbert shouldn't have told him that stuff about Granite being the last stop. It affected him.
Oh well, Tim…I have my own life now that Todd's chosen his. Now that he's dead. A corpse in that hospital full of corpses.
The room quieted, Todd not noticing since he was so firmly entrenched in an internal dialogue. He watched a bit of dust float down from mid-space to the floor and soon the place was completely silent.
"Come on, Turtle," Cristal said. "Talk."
That woke Todd up and he turned to her, creasing his brows. Like she'd betrayed him or something. She didn't waver, of course not. Wavering on anything wasn't Cristal's thing.
Let's be unfaithful bitches.
We're not unfaithful. Not at all. We are damn faithful to heroin.
Todd refused her urging. He hunkered down into his chair and dug his hands into his pockets.
Gilbert saw the exchange. He made the group rounds this week, this being the first time he was participating in the group sessions. He saw that lots of eyes were on Todd and that Todd knew it, scowling and putting his head down. Gilbert crossed his arms and eyeballed the group participants from his seat in the circle.
A back and forth was happening about bullying as a start of addiction for some of them, getting bullied.
Todd didn't like it, tuning out.
No question, there was definite hostility and, or, impatience towards his silence. Typical group dynamic. If one was going to share, everyone was going to. And if you were going to be so damn quiet, the least you could do was listen. Pay attention.
Except… they didn't understand.
Busy eyed Gilbert and he acknowledged her with a slight nod. They knew exactly what was happening with him because of course they had reviewed his medical file as they did with all the Granite patients. Additionally, the head psychiatrist had brought Gilbert and Busy in on a conference call when Todd's dissociative episodes became more than just daydreaming.
Dr. Graham had sighed heavily on the phone after hearing Busy and Gilbert describe what they were seeing.
Yes, he shuts down. Episodes can be minutes long in a conversation or hours or even days. His longest episode was almost a week.
The longer episode, was it catatonia?
Yes, that was my diagnosis. He's creative, intelligent, strong-willed… makes for very effective ways to avoid what hurts him.
His file mentions severe abuse in the family home?
Severe… yes. The entire spectrum, physical, emotional, verbal, sexual. And that's only what we know, what he tells us. He has an amnesiac block for ages—
They could hear him flip papers.
… he can't remember what his life was like from age ten through twelve.
He's in the right place then.
It's why I sent him to you.
It was just a matter of time. These things don't stay under covers.
Gilbert sat back, interested in how Todd would respond to the forceful scrutiny of the group. When he dug deeper into his quiet, Gilbert said, "Cristal, why are you calling Todd, 'Turtle'?"
Someone popped up, mocking, "Because he's sloooooow…."
People chuckled and Todd closed his eyes, rubbing them hard. Trying like hell to control the burst of anger coursing through him because if there was anything that made his blood boil… it was being called, stupid. But then, it wasn't like he'd buddied up with anyone to give anyone reason to think otherwise. Still…
Cristal shook her head. "No, that ain't it. I call him, Turtle 'cause he got this way of moving along and not getting distracted… 'cause he's all alone… 'cause…" She reached over and poked his stomach, which he didn't like, swatting at her hand. "I call him Turtle because he got a soft underbelly he likes to cover up."
Todd just shook his head, refocusing out the window, folding his arms across his chest… biting on one of his nails. He was a turtle all right, firmly incapacitated and stuck as he lay upside down on his shell.
One of Crystal's girlfriends chimed, "Mmmm… girl… now how do you know that? Have you actually seen his underbelly?"
Everyone then picked up on the double-entendre and they all made sounds at it, whooping and giggling. Cristal, though, didn't laugh, keeping her eyes on Todd. He felt it and soon found it hard to look away from her.
Save me.
When the laughter continued in the face of Gilbert's and Busy's urges to settle down, Todd lit up, finally snarling, "Shut up… just shut the fuck up you stupid assholes…"
"No swearing… asshole," someone reminded him.
The room quieted once more with raised eyebrows and pursed lips, snickers in the group.
Gilbert said gently, "They just want to hear your story—that's all. They've shared theirs… why not you? It's been nearly two weeks since you joined in. Nobody's going to bite. We're all here, in this thing together."
Todd opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out. His story especially didn't come out. He didn't know why he couldn't tell what happened to him, why he was so intimidated. The fog had cleared and the static died down. He knew his fuckin' story. He knew exactly why peacefulness meant so much to him, why heroin was everything to him. He got the cutting thing. Hell, he could talk any one of these assholes under the table when
It came to self-injury.
You put a cigarette to your asshole, I do my dick, stomach, arms, the inside of my thighs, my nuts. I slashed up my arms, I hit my head against the wall, I use a needle everywhere I can find a vein. I fuck up my life at every turn. With malice aforethought. Now you want to talk about what else I do? In dark rooms, to get high, to stay high? Yeah, fuckers, I win.
He told his story to Viki, Tim. Brandy knew. He even shared some with Téa. He'd spent months already talking about it… after years of hiding it.
He watched the rain and wished like hell he could fly out into the storm. Clear as anything, he could see himself hop into the Red Baron plane and take off… swooping down along the mountain range… narrowly missing the trees. He'd shoot straight upwards…and glide along the horizon…and go home.
Home…where is that…exactly?
Cristal brought him back with her hand on his cheek. He looked at her, eyes hard on hers. He was shaking. The whole group was quiet again, except it was a different quiet. They had moved into a sickening cloud of understanding.
Gilbert or Busy… someone talked while he had been flying. Everyone knew now what he was doing when he looked out that window. He could see it on their faces.
Poor turtle. Oh. Poor poor… turtle. He's upside down.
"Welcome back," Cristal said softly.
Leaning back in the chair, stretching out his legs, he shoved his hands into his pockets once more. He was on his back, on his lonely road… claws waving… with nobody to help him out.
Come on, talk, Turtle. Your pops did way more than hit you.
"Todd?" Gilbert was talking to him.
He said plainly, sounding adrift, "Not much to tell."
"Tell us the 'not-much' part."
He felt Cristal's hand on his shoulder. It had weight to it. The quiet was suffocating. The patience and understanding by all these people was killing him.
Keep it simple.
He looked at the lights overhead and found it hard to breathe… wrinkled his nose… and whispered, "I'm feeling so fuck— " He paused, working on the language…"I feel stupid right now."
"Why?"
"I don't know…just do…"
"Try us."
He didn't know who said any of that. Shrugging, he said, "I guess… because Sherry got it worse than me. Because Greg… because he nearly died twice over before he ever got out of the house…because… I'm nothing… I'm a nothing…and you all… are right. I'm stupid, a stupid slow turtle."
He tapped his heel against the floor, bouncing his knee…nervously. He was finding it hard to stay in the present. He so badly wanted the safety of the fog but the pressure of the room was too much. They weren't letting him go. And some voice I his head said he needed to do this. Probably the voice of his favorite person, Dr. Graham.
"There's no comparing… it doesn't matter," Gilbert said. "Your story is yours."
Todd moved around in his chair, his nerves suddenly on fire. Every part of him he ever burned or cut was on fire. He didn't look at anyone. Rubbed his sweaty palms down the tops of his thighs.
"Let me try to make it easier," Busy said. "How long have you been using drugs? A year? Ten?"
"Huh?"
"Drugs, alcohol… when did you start using?"
"Oh… uh… I guess… in some way or another… I started when I was about 12, I think. I… uh… stole a drink."
It was a strange memory he had. No context. Couldn't remember before or after or during. He's sitting on his father's desk, on top of it. He's drinking from a glass, the amber of scotch. He runs his tongue all along the edge of the glass. He is looking at someone. He knows he is. He then takes a sip and it's good. The thing is, he has no clothes on. He's swinging his leg off the desk and he's leaning back on a hand. He says, are you mad now?
It makes no sense. He's a kid but he's not a kid. He's not talking like a kid.
He zoned out again. He came to as Cristal squeezed his shoulder and smiled at him. She had tears in her eyes. The group had gotten smaller. Some people left. He'd definitely gotten lost again. He reached a hand out and grabbed Cristal's thigh, a hard hand on her jeans.
Save me.
"I ain't goin' anywhere, I promise."
"You're doing real good," Busy added. She was next to him. She'd moved. He hadn't seen it happen. He looked towards the door and saw the house doctor there. Lynn something. She was looking at him. It made him want to cry. He knew then how bad his shutting down was. Just like before.
"How long?" He asked Busy, his voice barely there.
Busy smiled in that doctorly way, "Only seven minutes or so. It's who you are. It's how you protect yourself. Nothing to be ashamed about."
"Jesus Christ," he whispered.
Busy then said, "Tell us what drink you stole."
"Scotch," he choked out. "Drank more over time—got worse later on."
"What do you mean by worse?"
"Amounts. Drank to get drunk in high school then college. I smoked weed, did coke. Mostly alcohol, though."
His voice was soft and dreamy. He could hear it and do nothing about it. He glanced at the few left in the circle, seeing that they were listening. Paying attention. Mason especially. He looked back down.
"When did the heroin come into your life?"
"Started doing methamphetamine first… and uh… then I found heroin. And here I am."
Mason asked outright, "So why'd you start drinking? I mean…what happened? What made you take that first sip? 'Cause for me, it was when… when my mother… uh… crashed her car and she died. I was the only survivor. She and the family of five she killed in oncoming traffic… were gone. That started a whole long road here."
Todd said in a soft tone, "I don't remember… exactly."
"You remember," Mason said. "I tried to put the crash outta my head for a while. Pretended it had been an accident. That she hadn't gotten drunk, hadn't gotten into a car, and hadn't purposefully driven onto the exit with us in the car. After a while, I couldn't ignore it."
Sherry across the room asked, "Your dad… he ever catch you drinking…Turtle?"
Todd paused, then said, "Yeah… and… you know…" He stopped at that.
You mad now?
"No, we don't know," Gilbert said. "Be specific."
Looking around the room once more, Todd wondered who of them eventually turned their hatred onto others. That was the thing that always got to him. To condemn Peter Manning was always to condemn himself.
Dropped his eyes downward, to the floor… so his voice would have to crawl out of his mouth like a wave of cockroaches… they'd spread… black…quick… disgusting. He didn't want to see the bugs, he didn't. Not again…and again…and again…
"He'd yell and stuff, you know, no big deal… same as when he caught me doing something wrong…" He tried to shut the skin flaps of his underbelly but bloody bits were flying out, beyond his ability to get them back in.
"That all he do?" Cristal was doing the asking.
Todd looked over at her…shaking his head. He knew nothing made any of it go away. Not really. Not sex or cigarettes or heroin on Sixteenth Avenue. Not even love. Real love. There was no place to hide from the stench of what was inside his belly, there was nothing that could ease the pain of it.
"Todd," Gilbert said in a gentle tone, "The more you talk about it, the less power it will have over you. It doesn't matter that you think it wasn't as bad as what happened to anyone else… or that it was the worst thing beyond all reason… or anything. You've chosen to slaughter your own life because of these things you don't want to talk about. Bringing them out into the open will make them weak. I know you've heard this before, but it's true. It's not just lip service."
"I know all that…" Todd said in a barely audible voice.
"So then put your knowledge into practice. Tell us, Todd, was yelling and hitting all your father did to you?"
He swallowed and his eyes watered a little, the lump in his throat, hurting. A whisper rolled out as he looked at Cristal. "No…," he said at last, "he…uh…"
"Just say the words, Todd."
Tim had once said that… he remembered that. He ran his eyes across everyone else's. Landed on Cristal who nodded and gave his shoulder a squeeze.
"He… uh… abused me starting when I was 7." He then choked out the descriptive word that caused him so much pain. "Sexually abused me. He'd come to my room at night and punish me. All kinds of punishments… he'd do it often… and we were caught once by my mom… and she left me, walked out of my life… and I never saw her again."
He was quiet and he studied his hand still on Cristal's leg, caressing the denim thoughtlessly, fighting a very real wish to simply lean over and rest his head on her shoulder and cry like a baby.
"I hated it… I hated it so much… it made me crazy. Completely… positively… crazy."
The group that had stayed seemed to sigh in one collective breath. Cristal squeezed his shoulder again. She had never let him go. He eyed his black boots. The cracks in the leather. Eyed that he still had his hand on Cristal's leg. She had long put her other hand on top of his.
"When did the heroin start?" Busy was talking.
"Recently. I found it and I gave my whole life to it because…" He organized the sequence of events, trying to organize the slimy scum of his guts brightened by hellish red lights.
"See, I'd forgotten about those things he'd done to me. I forgot. And because I forgot, I got myself into deep shit and ended up in prison when I was 20. Then I got out and had this okay life for a while and then…out of the blue… I remembered. And I didn't want to sleep anymore because I didn't want to see it over and over and over so I used speed. Then I tried to kill myself… and I was messed-up and then I found heroin." He smiled a little, sadly, "I could forget again. I could pretend to be free. Sitting somewhere… and not remembering. I thought it felt like love."
People nodded, agreeing. They knew his story. It was like all of theirs. He was surprised to find his cheeks wet with tears. He wiped them away, looking at his hand afterwards, cleaning it on his jeans. The room was quiet… but for sniffles.
Mason decided to stir things up.
"Heroin saved you, man. You would have died ugly. I seen the scars on your arms… then you got high. Bet you never picked up a blade again… or a gun or anything like that."
He grinned defiantly.
Gregory, a hefty guy who sounded like he was from the Bronx, spat, "Yo, Mason, what's with you and the celebration of dope? This is so not the time! Our friend here just shared his burdens. He's here to get OFF the merry-go-round from hell and you just don't help!"
"I'm just saying the truth… as in TRUTH. Todd… Turtle… would have killed himself awfully messy-like again if it wasn't for the dope. Speed, alcohol…" Mason made slashing motions across his forearms. "They mean death…the ugly kind. Dope…makes you HIGH …makes you happy…whooo… two plus two equals four, man, simple stuff. Tell 'em… you ever cut yourself like that again? The way you did your arms?"
"No…but…"
The doctor glanced at Todd, then Busy, and nodded. She left the room. Todd realized in that moment, he'd done something good. Cristal smiled at him, gave him a wink.
Another guy across the circle said, "I'm with Gregory… that's such a bunch of crap, Mason. Heroin nearly killed Cristal…a bunch of times. In more ways than one. It did kill my buddy, Rick. He's six feet under thanks to dope. And lemme say, it was ugly as hell. He aspirated vomit. Give me a break on heroin."
Douglas from England asked, "Turtle, you ever o.d.? You ever taste death while HIGH…like Mason here likes to say?"
Keeping his eyes down, Todd nodded, saying softly, "Yeah."
"Did you like it?"
That was hard to answer. He looked at Mason who was so certain he was right. "I don't remember a lot. I know it hurt my family… infinitely." He rubbed his eyes, the reality of that deeply painful, knowing he technically od'd numerous times, knowing he never thought of them, not even one time. If he did, he couldn't remember.
Someone countered, "Death is inevitable… who cares how it happens? Ugly, pretty…whatever."
Mason looked at Todd… "But see, death by heroin, my man… that's like… peaceful… what you THINK heaven would be. You know this, Turtle…"
"Can you stop calling me that?"
Crystal put her hand on Todd's arm, chuckling a bit, "Sorry, honey… but it fits. I think you stuck with it."
Todd groaned gently.
Gilbert broke in, "No…no… if Todd wants people to call him by his god-given name, then everyone will respect that."
Sherry said, "Okay…Turtle it is. 'Cause I just KNOW the Lord gave him that name!" There was some much-needed laughter…even Todd sort of chuckled, shaking his head.
"I'm sorry, I'm not done with Mason," Gregory insisted, clearly angry.
Busy asked, "What would you like to say?"
"He's not making an ounce of sense and it's pissing me off."
"What? I'm making a hell of a point. Heroin saves the world and YOU from the ugly death. It's beautiful when you're stoned… like Kelly said, aren't we all gonna end up dead anyway? SO might as well go HIGH. Even the state agrees with me… with their lethal injection and allowing doctors to give it at end of life."
Gregory turned to Todd, "I don't believe you see heroin as something that saved you. I don't believe that."
He looked at his roommate. He was talking big but Todd knew his nightmares, how he needed to be held and protected from the monsters. He struggled. He got his point but...
"Heroin did save me."
Everyone groaned and Mason sat back, smug in his rightness.
"But not in a way that's real," Todd said. "I didn't pick up a blade again or a gun but… I stabbed myself every time I used a needle, Pulled the trigger every time I pushed down on that syringe. I really wasn't saved. Much as I like to think it, it's just not true. It's a lie."
The group offered passionate opinion, arguments, comments flying from all directions. And Todd listened. Looked at the shiny guts at his feet, secrets splattered about, enough to make him want to puke. Reminded him of all he did to get those things back inside, hidden. And the things that came about because of it… including… a murder. Justified, maybe, but he wondered if any of it have happened… had he not been a junkie?
Cristal leaned over and said to him, only to him, as she patted his hand, "Look at you… all turned over, showin' us that soft side. You still breathing, Turtle."
He shrugged. He still needed to duck and cover, but had nowhere to run… he hurt like hell… and there was no place to go. He had nothing to do except absorb what happened… and look at it head-on. He kicked at the secrets, rubbing his boots against the carpet.
When the meeting ended, ending on a positive note with Busy cheering everyone on, and people stood up to leave, when everyone began ambling out of the room, Cristal turned to Todd and said, "Hey, I'm gonna be at that place…tonight around midnight. Feel like watching the rain… I suppose. If you like…"
Too out in the open, her request, too nervy. He looked at her pretty face, the long braids he knew the feel of in his tightened fist. Her soft lips…that he'd not kissed so much. Her thin body that had felt breakable with his use of her. He touched her fingers, instinctively…
"You know I hate you for making me talk," he said.
She smiled and chuckled, "Yeah, I do…Turtle. You can hate me a whole bunch later…"
And with that he walked out the door, hearing her call for him by his proper name, but he ignored it and scuttled down the hall and through the people milling about before dinner. He walked a twisted path along other hallways, through doors separating the meeting rooms from the dorms… walked past Doris packing up to go home, and got behind some stacks of books and a few tables and around a corner, until he came to the side door that opened with a mere slide of the bolt.
He burst through it, the same door he'd sneaked out of previously, and finally, finally…
… walked straight into the rain and into the cold air.
To be continued...