Crystal Lies - Melody Carlson [5]
“Yes. It’s basically a support group for family and friends. But we also have special guests who come and enlighten us regarding some of the problems that come with addiction’
“Thursday at seven?”
“Yes. And if you’re married, I encourage you to bring your husband along as well.”
“Oh, I don’t know…” Suddenly I was thankful I hadn’t given him my name yet. Stafford is a relatively small town. Oh, not so small that you couldn’t hide, but a lot of people knew the name of Geoffrey Harmon, city attorney.
“It can be very helpful for the afflicted person to have the full support of the entire family,” the man told me.
“I’m sure that’s true, but my husbands a busy man.”
“And you probably know that parenting a child with an addiction problem can be quite stressful on marriage relationships.”
“Yes, I know.”
“We also encourage siblings to attend. They have their own set of problems, you know.”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s true.” I felt like I was reciting the same line again and again, and all I wanted was to get off the phone. What if these people had caller ID? I thanked the kind man and hung up. My heart was racing, and I was breathing hard. Still, I felt he was probably right. Perhaps it would be better if the whole family showed their support for Jacob and his recovery by going to Al-Anon. Except I had no idea how I could possibly talk my husband into attending. And even though I waited until after dinner and after I felt certain he was feeling somewhat relaxed, it still blew up in my face.
“But the man I spoke with said it would help Jacob to have us both attend,” I tried after my first attempt failed. “He said Jacob needs the support of his entire family.”
“Jacob had the support of his entire family when he decided to become a junkie. It didn’t make a difference then, and it won’t make a difference now.”
“How can you know that?”
“Because, Glennis,”—he was using his placating tone with me now—“I know that the only one who can change an addict is the addict himself.”
“But that’s not what the Al-Anon man said.”
“Look, if you feel the need to go to a meeting like that, then just go. But don’t think you need to drag me into it with you.”
“But what if it could help—”
“Jacob needs to help himself.” Geoffrey picked up a folder of papers, his sign that this conversation was over.
So I went alone. And I must admit to feeling a bit foolish and self-conscious as I perched on a metal folding chair along with a bunch of complete strangers. Most of them turned out to be spouses or significant others. And most were there because of drinking problems, although one woman was there because her boyfriend was a cocaine addict. Even so, I did derive a small sense of comfort from hearing their hard-luck stories. But when my turn to share came up, I froze. Suddenly I was eight years old and being called upon to spell the word rhinoceros. I just couldn’t do it.
That’s when I realized I had no desire to spill my sorrows in front of total strangers, or anyone for that matter. And as I looked around at the faces that were watching me, intently waiting for me to say something, I knew that Geoffrey would call these people “losers.” And, despite my attempt to remain nonjudgmental, I suppose that was how I saw them too. I ended up saying very little and leaving early. Then, as if to spite my efforts at getting some much-needed help, I came home to discover Jacob sitting on the sofa in the family room, eating a bowl of Rocky Road ice cream and watching a rerun of The Simpsons. His hair was wet, from either a shower or a swim, and he looked tan and healthy and was just sitting there laughing at Homer Simpson’s stupidity and acting as if everything were perfectly normal. I suppose it was, for him.
“Where have you been?” I demanded as I threw my purse onto a chair.
“Sorry, Mom.” Jacob tossed me that old smile, the one that used to work when he wanted something simple like cookies hot from the oven or “just one more