Before I started writing on Friday, I dropped Parrish off at an 11:00 AA meeting. I took him around 10:30 because he said he wanted to be there early and talk to some people and maybe think about someone for a sponsor. If that sounds like a crock of horse shit, it’s because it is.
Around 11:30, he arrived back here all sweaty and out of breath, saying the meeting was cut short because there were only three people there. No shit. He looked me in the eye and delivered that load of crap.
I asked him how he got home and he said his daddy met him at the College Street house and brought him the bike from his house. He said he rode the bike home. My very well-developed bullshitometer went through the roof but I didn’t want to get into it with a drunk. I just started writing and kept on.
I didn’t even start figuring out what I was going to do with him. I knew he would hang himself if I just kept quiet and ignored him. While I was writing, he occasionally came to sit by my desk and ask some inane question like this.
“If I write something, will you edit it for me, check it for syntax and grammar?”
I mumbled that I would and kept on writing. Marnie was wisely staying to herself and even went out to the bank to get out of here for a while. P wanted to go with her but she refused to let him. She has experience with his manipulative ways. She’s taken him with her on errands too many times when he asked her to take him to the store for snuff. When she does, he comes out of the store with beer. It never fails. When she wouldn’t take him with her, he went to bed for a while.
You may wonder how he has any money for beer or anything else. The truth is that I was stupid enough to put $25.00 in his commissary account when he was in jail in Macon for being drunk while on probation. (He blew 0.285 when he checked in with is probation officer). He also worked in the jail laundry. My guess is that he didn’t spend one cent so he would have some money when he got out. I always seem to think of things too late but that’s who I am and I’m not apologizing for it. I’m not the crazy alcoholic in this family. I’m just crazy.
I guess it was about 4:00 or so when I finished writing and I went down stairs to check out the bike. There was no bike parked in my parking place so I came back upstairs and asked P where it was.
“It’s in the garage.”
“Where in the garage?”
I walked him down and pointed to the empty space in front of my car and he said he parked it in the wrong place. He walked over to the parking places for 302 and pointed to a nice rust-colored bike.
“Why did you put it there?”
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
“It matters. Move your bike out of their area and into mine.”
So he did and we came back upstairs. Soon he was acting restless and he left to go ride the bike to somewhere, I don’t remember where. I didn’t care where. I was just glad he was leaving.
After he left, I called Lawrence, Parrish’s daddy. He had a hernia operation a few weeks ago and is 72 years old and a scrawny little thing. I couldn’t get my head wrapped around the image of him taking the wheel off a bike and putting it in the trunk of his car and bringing it over to Parrish. Call me crazy.
It didn’t happen. Lawrence had not left his house in Brunswick all day. We stayed on the phone for a while and commiserated about how hard it is to have P for a son. Knowing the bike was stolen, we could only wait for him to return.
I had a drink. Then I put on my tennis shoes and took Honey for a walk on the fitness trail. While we were walking down the road to get there, I noticed a police car parked in up under the oaks not far from the river. That’s not an unusual sight. I see a car over there often and think it’s because it’s a good cool place for cops to wait for some action.
When Honey and I walked out of the gates to the fitness trail, another cop had joined the first one and his blue lights were on. I didn’t have on real glasses but I could see from where I was that they had Parrish and the bike. Yes, I had the privilege of once again witnessing my son being arrested.
I marched over to where they were and said I was his mother and the bike was stolen and they should take him to jail. I didn’t even look at P. I couldn’t stand to look at him.
I walked Honey back home and returned in my car. The second police car was gone and Parrish was in the back of the remaining car. I still didn’t look at him. I heard him call my name but I didn’t look.
The officer said the owner of the bike would probably press charges and I said I hoped he would. I said I didn’t want Parrish back in my house and that I would consider it trespass if he came inside my door. I said he wasn’t welcome. The officer suggested that Parrish not be allowed to come onto the condo property at all. I agreed and went home and locked my door. I suppose the officer had some judge issue an order to keep P away. I don’t know.
He’s still in jail, and in case you’re wondering, neither Lawrence nor I is going to bail him out. I emailed his probation officer in Macon so he is aware of P’s criminal behavior. I don’t know what he will do but I hope when P gets out of jail here, he will send someone down here to take him back to Macon and lock him up there.
As angry as I am about Parrish’s drinking and his subsequent unacceptable, even criminal, behavior, I am equally angry about the absence of any place in our society for people who are unable to function in on their own. There is no place for these people to be kept under lock and key to protect them from themselves. I don’t care what anyone says, there is a case for crazy people to be held in institutional settings without any hope of getting out. Parrish will never be able to quit drinking unless he is locked up somewhere. As it is, he will eventually get out of jail and continue to kill himself with alcohol. He will fail to take his medicine and he will drink himself into alcohol poisoning until one day he stops breathing. Before that happens, he will suffer and cause suffering. I don’t believe he wants to be like he is. I really don’t.
Having said all that, I don’t want him around me while he finishes himself off. No mother should have to watch that.
© 2013 cjschlottman