Every Time We Say Goodbye Part 19

Then she forgot it was there and handed it in. Luckily, the teacher didn't notice. But still: not normal.

One Friday after supper, the phone rang and it was Tony Danko. "Your brother's here and he's pretty f.u.c.ked up," he told Dawn. "You better come and get him."

Dawn looked over at Vera, who was sewing a b.u.t.ton back on to Frank's cardigan. "On page 52," she said. "The diagram of the paramecium?"

"The f.u.c.k?" Tony said. "You hear me?"

Dawn's face burned, but she continued, "You have to label it." Vera got up to get more thread, and Dawn said softly, "I'll be right there."

When she got to Tony Danko's, Jimmy was lying on the sofa in the rec room, staring at the ceiling. He blinked when Dawn talked to him but didn't move his head. Tony Danko said he would drive them home, but Dawn said to take them to Riverview Drive. It took twenty minutes to sit Jimmy up and put his coat on and half-drag him into the car. They got out at the park outside Laura's apartment and sat on a bench facing the building. "We'll just sit here until you feel better," Dawn told Jimmy. Jimmy said he was coming down, but Dawn thought he was still going up. "Less go home," he slurred.

"In a minute," Dawn said.

"This Laura's? Why're we at Laura's?" Jimmy tried to sit up straight.

Dawn said shh, she was trying to think, but now Jimmy wanted to talk. " 'Member the first time we came here?" he said.

"I remember."

Jimmy said, "An' I spilled grape juice on the carpet *n' she got so p.i.s.sed?"

"She wasn't p.i.s.sed, Jimmy," Dawn said.

"Oh my G.o.d, Dawn, you are so ..." His head flopped over and he swallowed the rest of his words. She reached over and moved his head so that it looked less uncomfortable. A car crunched quietly over snow somewhere behind them, and overhead, the sky glittered with stars.

Jimmy lifted his head and mumbled, "It's what kids do. They spill their f.u.c.kin' juice."

Dawn patted his arm. "It's okay, Jimmy. She wasn't mad at you."

"Well, f.u.c.k her if she was. Why'd we have to go there, anyway? One Sat.u.r.day. Why only one Sat.u.r.day?"

Dawn didn't know. The arrangement was for the first Sat.u.r.day of the month, from nine until five. Vera said it was what was proposed and what was agreed to, and Dawn had never thought to ask who had proposed and who agreed. Their whole lives had been a series of arrangements she hadn't agreed to. People made decisions, and even when they told you why, you didn't really understand. You just said, "Oh, okay," and went to get your jacket.

"Dawn," Jimmy said. "I wanna go home."

To distract him, she asked him what he had taken.

He said half a twenty-sixer of vodka and then the pills.

"Why did you take them both?" Dawn asked. Why wasn't it enough to be drunk or high? Why was it never enough until it was too much? "Where do you get the money?" she asked.

"Allowance," Jimmy said. "I'm cold."

"We can't go home yet," Dawn said. "It's only 8:30. Grandma and Grandpa will still be up." Even if Frank weren't still recovering from the chemo with an unknown prognosis, she couldn't bring Jimmy home like this. Frank and Vera hated alcohol, but they became hysterical at the mere mention of drugs. All drugs came under the category of Dope, and all Dope was lethal. If you didn't die of an overdose on the spot, you would end up killing a little old lady for her handbag. Her grandparents would be beside themselves if they saw Jimmy like this. She needed a different kind of grown-up.

"Stay here," Dawn told Jimmy. "I'm just going to the pay phone over there." Across the street, she placed the icy receiver against her ear and dialled Laura's number. The story came out jumbled, but at least Laura got the basics. She said, "Dawn, honey, that's terrible. I'll call you a taxi right away. He needs to be in bed."

"I can't take him home," Dawn said, exasperated. She had just gone through all that. "That's why I brought him here."

"But I can't do anything for him that your grandparents wouldn't do," Laura said. "And they need to know he was drinking. In case it happens again."

"Again?" It came out too loud. The start of a shriek. Across the street, Jimmy slumped over and then curled up on the bench. "It happens all the time," Dawn said. Her voice was full of holes, and the holes were filling up with tears.

"Well, that's what I mean. They have to know. I mean, what can I do for him? He doesn't live with me. I can't ground him."

"Can't he just stay for a while, until he's sober enough to go home?"

"I can't have him here, Dawn. Your grandmother would have a fit. Plus, I have people from the foundation coming here for dinner in less than an hour."

When she got back to the bench, Jimmy lifted his head. "Dawn, I'm so tired. I gotta lie down."

"You are lying down."

"I mean in a bed."

"Soon," she promised.

In an apartment on the other side of the building, facing the river, her mother would be arranging a platter of vegetables and dip. She would be wearing a silver-grey dress and putting out black and white coasters.

Dawn's eyes grew hot, but she refused to cry. These things happened and it was stupid to cry. Her brother was in a drunk, stoned stupor and her mother was having a dinner party for work. It was just bad timing. Frank had cancer and Vera was stricken. That was just bad luck. Her father lived in Toronto because the Soo suffocated him, and Geraldine lived on the other side of town and didn't call very often because she and Vera didn't get along, and Laura could only see them one Sat.u.r.day a month because that was what had been proposed and agreed to, which meant there was no one to help her now, but it was no one's fault. Nothing was deliberate, so it was pointless getting all worked up about it.

But what would Laura do, Dawn wondered, if she just showed up? If she just went over there and knocked? Dawn saw herself pounding on the door with her fist, slapping it with her palm. When her hand got tired, she kicked the door. Up and down the hall doors opened and closed, but Dawn did not stop yelling: "Open the door! Open the door!" Her hand ached, but she did not stop pounding. She was possessed. She was on a rampage. "Open the G.o.dd.a.m.n f.u.c.king freaking door," she yelled. Beside her, Jimmy sank down onto the hallway carpet. "Stop it, Dawn," he whispered. "Just stop." A sinkhole of dread opened in her stomach. She wasn't dreaming it. She had no memory of walking across the street or getting into the elevator with Jimmy.

There was a click, and the door opened. Laura was in a bathrobe, her hair dripping wet. Dawn pointed to her brother. "Help him," she said. She didn't recognize her own voice. "Okay," Laura said. "Okay."

After Laura called an ambulance, she called Vera and Frank. "I made an executive decision," Dawn heard her say. "Well, I did. Meet me at the hospital." At the hospital, Laura didn't know Jimmy's health card number. Dawn sat in a hard plastic chair and tried to think if this was the same chair she had sat on when Jimmy ate the hash brownies and if everything in her life was going to repeat itself. Would a social worker show up next?

Vera and Frank arrived, and for the first few moments, the discussion was surprisingly courteous and smooth. Frank said, "Thank you for calling us," and Vera said, "I just can't believe he would do something like this," and Laura said, "I know, I know. It's a terrible shock," and they all stared at the floor. Since it was going so well, Dawn decided to tell them the rest, the bottles and pills and Tony Danko. Vera put her face in her hands and Laura said, "Let me get you some water." The nurse came and said Jimmy was fine, he was asleep, they would keep him overnight for observation. Everyone thanked the nurse, Frank thanked Laura again, and Dawn thought, That went really, really well.

Then Laura said, "We should probably talk about how we're going to handle this." She squeezed the fingers of one hand and then winced, as if she had hurt herself.

Vera said, "He's not going to see that Tony Danko anymore, for one thing."

Laura said, "I want to ask my colleague to consult with us, maybe tell us what programs are available. She's a social worker."

Dawn thought, I knew it.

Frank said, "Programs?"

Vera said, "He doesn't need a program. He needs a shorter leash."

"Like counselling," Laura told Frank. "Or maybe even a prevention program for addiction."

"Addiction! He's fourteen years old, for heaven's sake!" Vera said. "You tell a kid he's got a problem like that, and the next thing you know, he'll have a problem like that."

"But he does have a problem," Dawn interjected.

Vera told Dawn to keep her nose out of it. She told Laura that Jimmy did not need any of that nonsense.

Laura looked like she had been slapped. "Why is it always nonsense to you? You said the same thing to me when I was depressed and suicidal."

Frank said, "Let's not go into all that now. That's all over and done with."

Laura's voice rose. "It's not over and done with. I have to face the consequences every day of my life."

"You made your bed," Vera said, her voice climbing over Laura's. "Don't blame us for your mistakes!"

"I had no support, no understanding-"

"We supported you! We put a roof over-"

The nurse came over and asked if they could please keep their voices down. Dawn was mortified. Vera said, "We were just leaving. We'll pick Jimmy up in the morning."

Laura called down the hall after them. "You'll be hearing from my lawyer."

On the way home, Vera said she would fight tooth and nail on this one. Social worker! Prevention program! She would not put up with a stranger coming in and telling her how to handle the child she had raised practically from day one. Who was Laura to say she knew best for him when she had walked out before he could talk? "People think they can leave their kids with us and then come back and get them like they're picking up laundry!" Vera said.

Frank said, "I know, I know. But she's still his mother," and Vera burst out, "Frank! I cannot do this again!" and in the back seat, Dawn listened to the strange silence that drifted over the three of them like snow. When I was depressed and suicidal. I cannot do this again. The more she found out, the less she knew.

Vera pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine, but no one got out. In the back seat, Dawn waited for Frank to sigh and say nothing, which would mean Vera had won, end of that story, but he said, "She wants to help-"

"Well, why didn't she help when he had bronchitis? Where was she when he was throwing up in the middle of the-"

"And besides," Frank said, "who knows what our situation will be a year from now?"

It was Vera's turn to say nothing. They all got out of the car. Dawn looked up through the bare branches and watched a thick, slow-moving cloud extinguish a line of stars. A dog barked down the street. It was horrible to think that there was a situation worse than this one.

UNIVERSAL CONSCIOUSNESS.

Vera and Frank brought Jimmy home from the hospital, and there was about an hour of quiet before the fighting started. Jimmy fought with Frank and Vera. Vera fought with Laura. Laura's lawyer fought with the princ.i.p.al of Jimmy's school. Every time the phone rang, someone was yelling at someone. Vera yelled at the social worker who called to say that Jimmy had an appointment scheduled on Wednesday, which turned out to be the same day Frank had a doctor's appointment, and then Jimmy yelled at Vera that he wasn't a G.o.dd.a.m.n baby and could go to an appointment by himself, and then Vera yelled at Laura for scheduling appointments without consulting anyone. Dawn and Frank listened from the living room. "Everyone's fighting," Dawn said.

"Well, they're talking," Frank said. "That's something."

He might have been right, because previously unthinkable conversations seemed to be happening behind Dawn's back. Vera came into the living room and said, "Geraldine says she can pick Jimmy up after his appointment. It's two blocks from her place." Dawn's mouth popped open in surprise. When had Vera talked to Geraldine?

"I didn't," Vera said. "Your mother called her."

A few days later, Vera said, "Your mother wants to know if you want to visit her this Sat.u.r.day. If you do, then call her." When Dawn pointed out that it wasn't the first Sat.u.r.day of the month, Vera held up her hand and said, "I've got enough to keep track of. You're old enough to make your own schedule."

Vera and Frank went to an appointment with Jimmy's therapist, and when they came back, Vera said the most unthinkable thing of all: "Dawn, do you have a number for your father?"

Dawn brought out all the numbers, and Vera dialled every one, but either no one answered or it was the wrong number or the person hadn't seen Dean in ages.

Vera said, "Well, we tried." She said it was time to start dinner, but neither of them moved. The phone rang, and they both jumped. Dawn reached for it shakily, but it wasn't Dean. It was the doctor, asking to speak to Frank.

When she arrived at Lighthouse, only Justin was in the front room. "Dawn! Welcome back! Is your grandfather better?"

"Yes," she lied.

"The others are in session," Justin said. "But I can take you through the pre-steps." He patted the chair beside him, and she sat down, feeling fluttery and clumsy.

Don't babble, she commanded herself. She was sorry now that she had worn her good blouse, a ruffled yellow affair with flounces at the wrists: it looked prim and teacherly next to Justin's light denim s.h.i.+rt and jeans.

"Ready?" Justin said. She nodded.

First, he said, Lighthouse was not a religion. It took readings from the Vedas, the Sutras, the Koran, the Bible and teachings from all the great philosophers-Nietzsche, Maharis.h.i.+ Mahesh Yogi-but it was not a religion or a philosophy. It was a path, and this path was based on the recognition of a basic spiritual truth called Universal Consciousness, or UC. Everyone was already on the path to UC, whether they knew it or not, but some people were moving along the path faster than others because they had jettisoned their baggage and overcome the obstacles, the main ones being judging and fearing.

"I mean, when you're afraid, you're not free, right? When you're afraid of what other people will say about you or how they'll judge you, it's like being in a prison of their expectations."

His eyes were brown with gold flecks, Dawn noticed.

People who are afraid, Justin said, try to elevate themselves by judging others. And their judging makes others afraid. And the cycle continues. However. Using a scientifically developed method called Psymetrics, Lighthouse helped people drop their fear and overcome the obstacles and move freely on the path to UC. That was all. It wasn't a religion. It wasn't a cult. It was a philosophy.

Dawn had missed something. "But you said it wasn't a philosophy? Or-or is it?"

Justin said, "Oh f.u.c.k. Sorry. I'm totally s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g it up."

"No, no," Dawn protested. "It's me."

He tapped her knee. "No, it's not you, Dawn." He was looking straight into her eyes, which made her feel slightly woozy. "That was my fault, okay?"

Dawn nodded.

"Don't tell Krista I messed up."

Dawn was unable to suppress a smile. "Why? Are you afraid of being judged?"

Justin threw back his head and laughed. She laughed too, astonished by her own temerity.

"Touche," Justin said.

"Touche," she said back, which was totally the wrong thing, but before she could even begin to berate herself inwardly, Justin said, "We should have clinked gla.s.ses there or something." They smiled at each other for a bit, and then Justin cleared his throat and said, "So ... anyway. Does what I said make sense to you?"

"It does," she said. Parts of it did. The fear part, anyway.

Justin nodded. "I knew you'd get it." He said she could start coming tomorrow for regular sessions.

A session started with meditation. They sat in a circle on straight-backed chairs in the back room. Krista, the facilitator, said, "Close your eyes. Breathe in, breathe out." Dawn sat as still as she could, but parts of her itched and twitched and her eyelids fluttered. After an interminable amount of time that turned out to be twelve minutes, the bell rang and they all opened their eyes. Krista then read a teaching about how, with commitment, the obstacles were pulverized into the dusts of time, leaving only the brilliant luminosity of Universal Consciousness. At the end of the session, Krista said, "Let go of your fear," and everyone said, "No fear."

"Let go of your judgment."

"No judgment."

"Where is the Light?"

"The Light is Within."

"Then be a beacon," Krista said, and rang the bell.