036: Smell
May, 2023
Leotard, leotard, tights, shorts, leg warmers, skirt, tights, leotard, sports bra, spandex…an array of pink and white clothing into one pile of dirty laundry...tee shirt, polo, jeans, sweats, jeans, flannel, hoodie, tee shirt, flannel, tee shirt, hoodie…an array—wait a second—what is that sme—
Is that…
No..
I take another whiff.
Oh god, it is. It definitely is.
My seventeen year old son's clothing smells like marijuana.
My seventeen year old is smoking marijuana.
I'm still hanging onto the heavily scented sweatshirt—it's the purple one with the NYU logo that Henry brought home for him over Thanksgiving—when I realize that there might be something in the pockets. Or his backpack. Or his room. Or the car. Should I check?
No.
That's sneaking.
No.
Still, I can't very well put a lighter or a joint or a pipe or whatever he might have in his pockets through the wash, can I? I very gingerly slide my hands into the pockets. I'm only slightly relieved when I come up empty.
I jump and my heart skips about ten beats when the front door opens.
Jesus, Kerry, get a hold of yourself; you're doing laundry, not a drug bust.
"Ker? Are you home?"
I sigh and feel a sudden rush of relief at the sound of Kim's voice.
"In the laundry room…"
I hear the tapping of her shoes on the hardwood floor.
"What's up?" She asks cheerfully, peering through the doorway.
I simply hold the shirt out towards her.
She raises a skeptical eyebrow but still sniffs it. Instantly, she draws back. Then she unfolds the sweatshirt and scans the front, figuring out who it belongs to.
"Eli." She says simply.
I nod slowly.
"It's not that big of a deal, though…and it's not like we didn't think it could happen."
Did she really just say that?
"What?" I ask sharply, shocked. "What are you talking about, 'not like we didn't think it could happen'? Are you honestly telling me you saw this coming?"
Kim looks taken aback. "Why yes, Kerry, as a mother of three teenaged children and a doctor who works with them on a daily basis I did, in fact, foresee the possibility of at least one of them partaking in some sort of illegal activity." She shoots back. "Are you honestly going to tell me you think we're perfect enough for them not to?"
My face feels warm with anger. "Well excuse me for mistaking ourselves to be mothers who've done their job well enough to prevent it!"
Kim laughs cynically. "Jesus, Kerry, would you listen to yourself? The boy's shirt smells like pot and you're making it seem like you personally have got him hooked on meth amphetamine!" She shakes her head with somewhat of a disbelieving smile on her face, "He's a seventeen year old art student who likes to skateboard and hates authority. You may not like it, but you know just as well as I that, between himself, Max and Henry, he's the one who'd be most likely to give that stuff a try."
"So what? You're going to give me some Social Psychological bullshit and that's supposed to explain everything? This is our fault, Kim, and the fact that he's smoking marijuana is not alright! I honestly don't give a shit if his in-group says this is okay, or if this is what the new social norm is…I will not have my son partaking in any of it. It is a nasty, horrible habit." I push right back. "And who knows what this could start; for now it might just be some pot once in a while, by the end of the year he might be skipping class to get stoned, by next year he might be into harder drugs—cocaine, ecstasy, acid—or alcohol…do you really think I'm going to let him get away with that?"
I realize how ridiculous I must sound only when I see Kim's offended expression.
Silence.
After a moment, she speaks quietly. "I can't believe you think I would…"
With that, that places the sweatshirt back into the pile and exits the laundry room.
Shit.
But still: how could she not think this is a big deal? This is a huge deal. On so many levels.
I go about my business anyway, dumping Eli's pot-scented clothes into the laundry, adding a generous amount of soap as if a normal amount wouldn't be enough to get the stench out, and start the spin cycle. I go out to the kitchen, expecting to find Kim, but am greeted only by the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the need to start dinner.
Whatever, Kim; I'm not going to chase after you. We can talk when you're ready.
So I make dinner, prepare a dish for tomorrow night as Maxine has late rehearsal, and I'm working until eight and Kim until nine, and then put together a batch of cookies just for the hell of it.
By the time I'm done, Max, Eli and Gwen are home from their various activities and Kim and I have successfully gone without saying a single word to each other. We make it through dinner without any exchanges, instead focusing our attention on our food and the kids, and after dinner I stay at the table to help Gwen with her math homework while Max helps Kim clear the table and Eli goes up to his room to work on a project. By nine o'clock all three kids are in their respective rooms sleeping, working on homework, or reading. At least those are the options we give them, and after my little discovery this afternoon, I can't be too sure of what they're doing at any given moment. I'm sitting on the living room sofa folding laundry when Kim descends the stairs, her hair in a French braid and her own New York University sweatshirt pulled over her head.
"Hey…" she acknowledges me softly, taking a seat on the arm of the chair across from me.
I nod a give her a half smile.
She sighs. "Can we talk?"
I, too, sigh. I think mine might be a little more sarcastic, though. "Sure, Kim. Let's talk." I put the light blue leotard I'm holding down in my lap and look her in the eye.
"Do you really think I'm suggesting we just let this just slide? That I think Eli smoking pot is completely fine and that we should do nothing about it?" She asks me, her tone only slightly defensive. When I don't respond—I needed a moment to gather my thoughts—she continues: "Because I'm not, Kerry. I'm not that kind of mother. I can't believe you'd ever, ever think that of me…how could you? I'm a goddamn psychiatrist; I see just as many, if not more, really messed up people than you do every single day. I see how these drugs ruin them. I see how they destroy people's lives." She shakes her head and my stomach is suddenly aching with shame. "I would never, ever encourage anyone to take any recreational drug. Especially not a minor, and especially not our children."
She's really hurt.
I bring my left hand up to my head and take the bridge of my nose between the tip of my thumb and knuckle of my index finger.
What is wrong with me?
"Kim…I misunderstood…I was just so—so, so shocked. And I overreacted." I shake my head. "And I took it out on you." I glance up at her, peer into her blue eyes. They look moist, but she's not crying. "I'm sorry."
She gives me a half smile; nothing happy, but just one that says 'let's move on'. "What are we going to do about the situation?"
I groan into my hand.
She chuckles and slides down so she's sitting in the seat of the chair.
We talk about it for about a half hour, only until the subject in question descends the stairs and we realize just how late it really is. In a very noticeably awkward fashion we say goodnight and make our way upstairs and into bed.
1 Week Later
"Eli? Can you sit down for a moment?" Kerry asks our son when he walks into the kitchen. It's Saturday morning, and all three of the others are out of the house; we didn't plan it this way, but when we realized last night that it was just going to be the three of us this morning, we decided to take advantage of the opportunity to settle the issue that's been hanging over our heads for the past week. Any longer, we concurred, and we'd have probably gone crazy. We tried doing it sooner, we did, but we've truly just never found the right moment.
Avoidance at its best, I suppose.
When he doesn't respond, Kerry stomps heavily on the ground. The vibrations that go through the floorboards and through his legs work in getting his attention and he turns around, eyebrows furrowed. "What?" He signs while yawning and clearly annoyed.
"Can you please sit down? We need to talk." Kim repeats herself.
Again, he doesn't respond.
"Hey!" Kerry waves a hand in front of his face, "Look at me."
"Jesus Christ, what?" He demands furiously.
She raises one eyebrow and tilts her head towards where I am at the kitchen table. "Sit. Now."
He rolls his eyes and trudges over, taking a seat across from me. When he looks up, I ask him where his hearing aids are—I don't know if Kerry realized he wasn't wearing them or if she figured he was just blowing her off when he wasn't responding her. He tells me they're upstairs, that the batteries are dead. I nod once then look away, waiting for Kerry to sit down so we can start.
"Okay, here's the deal," she says as she sits down, "I was doing laundry about a week ago and I smelled marijuana on your clothes. You can deny it, but I know what I smelled and—"
Eli's facial expression speaks volumes and I quickly cut Kerry off. "Kerry, stop; he's not wearing his hearing aids."
Kerry looks up, her face sunken—she always feels so bad when she forgets about his hearing. I mean, we all do, but she beats herself up especially hard over it. She apologizes quickly and swiftly begins signing the general idea of what she just said, adding that she knows it was pot and that we're expecting an explanation.
Now his expression is a mix of confusion, guilt, and 'oh shit' while the color drains from his cheeks.
"I...I don't know what you're talking about." He signs, lying horribly.
Both Kerry and I stare at him.
"I don't know what you're talking about." He repeats.
I roll my eyes and surprise myself, Kerry and Eli when my fist hits the table. "Do not lie to us. Either you were smoking or you were with someone who was. Which is it?"
He narrows his eyes. "Both." He signs.
Kerry sighs heavily, clearly disappointed. I, too, am disappointed, but I've prepared myself; I knew this was coming.
"Why?" I ask simply, leaving the floor open for him to answer in whatever way he sees fit.
"I wanted to. It's not like it's unhealthy or anything…I mean, it's not tobacco or alcohol or, like, crack." He signs. "It's just to chill out."
"When did you start?" I ask, taking a mental note of his 'just to chill out' excuse; I'll be keeping an eye out for any symptoms of mental disorders, though I think he just wanted to be super chill as most marijuana smokers do.
"January." He replies by quickly fingerspelling J-A-N.
"With Zoe and Isaac?" I ask.
He nods.
I shake my head in disapproval but don't say anything.
Kerry takes over. "No more. You can easily become psychologically dependent on it, inhaling the smoke is not good for your lungs, so in that sense it is almost as bad as tobacco, it makes you downright stupid…I could go on, I really could, but I don't need to because you're done with it, okay?"
He stares her straight in the eye. "You can't stop me, you know."
She raises an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"
He matches her with an arched eyebrow of his own.
"No car until further notice, you will not be allowed to hang out with either Zoe or Isaac unless you are here and either Mom or I are home, and you have until tonight to give us every last milligram of marijuana you have and any sort of paraphernalia. If you don't hand it over, one of us will be searching your room first thing tomorrow morning."
Kerry and I have already discussed and agreed on these conditions so I've at least partially prepared myself for his reaction, but the anger I'm seeing in his eyes right now far surpasses any amount I've ever seen in them before.
"You're both bitches." He signs before standing up, slamming his chair back, and making an abrupt exit.
"Well," Kerry sighs, "that went well."
I groan, my head hitting my arms which are resting on the table. "Goddamn…"
