Sidekick Sidebar -- Part 14

Spring was already in the March air when the dog started barking that Sunday afternoon. "Elvis" was carrying on so that I looked out the window just as the doorbell rang.

Jay stood in the doorway, long and lean in a navy and white jogging suit, and smiling a familiar devilish grin.

"Hi, Ms. Shelton. What cha doin'?" queried Jay through the screen door. He wore his cap backward, and his head was tilted a bit to the side. He looked like a male catalogue model who had been out in the elements too long.

"Jay! Come on in! You have to kind of work your way past the dog. He's really happy to see you. Head for the blue chair, then let him say hello."

I held the almost 90 pound dog by the collar as long as I could. Jay was being slobbered with dog kisses, but he didn't seem to mind. He scratched and petted "Elvis" until the dog settled down enough for us to talk.

"I had a feeling that you'd just show up at my doorstep one day. I'm glad you found your way back! What have you been doing, and where are you staying? Isn't that all important 18th birthday coming up this month?" I had six months worth of questions and rumors about him.

"I'm staying at a warehouse. I don't fight so much no more. I had a guy stay with me this weekend. He's only about 14. We used some tires to make two rooms. Today he decided to go back to live with his parents. He didn't like the way I'm living. He thought he could just sleep on people's couches and eat their food. It's not like that for me. He got real nervous when I took him with me to get food from the grocery store. He never stole nothing before."

"So, you're not at your mother's house?" I asked.

"No," he sighed. "Jerrie, Mom's girlfriend doesn't like me. She got real mad when I broke in and took her gun. They called the police on me and everything. I was staying in the garage because they put a padlock on the front door after I broke in the first time. Then Jerrie found me again, and they got a restraining order against me. I just go over and take cigarette butts from the ashtrays when they aren't there."

Jay looked good for what he must have been through the past six months. He looked thin. He looked a little pale too. But his dark hair was a perfect two week old shave job. He said his head was shaved when he was in jail.

I dedeuced he'd been in jail twice, or had a long stay. For months I'd heard the word "jail" mentioned anytime Jay's name came up in conversation.

"And you were in jail? There have been rumors. Why don't you just tell me what happened?"

"I didn't kill nobody. I had to come back and talk to Gabriel because I thought somebody told him I killed somebody. He'd be real mad at me about that. I didn't kill nobody. I just started going back to the lot behind the store where everybody hangs out about a week ago. Then I heard that I committed seven counts of arson and seven counts of manslaughter in New Jersey. Who started that stuff?"

The tone of his voice indicated he was ready to kick somebody's ass. There was a transparent air of accomplishement about him, as if he indeed were a bad ass capable of torching and killing multiple times.


"Gabriel and David told me you got an apartment, and the next thing I heard was that you were in jail." I knew that the guys hadn't told me all the details. I thought they probably knew more than they told me."

One evening recently Gabriel, David, and Rocky had been watching television with me, and Jay's pending birthday came up. I joked that we could have his party without him. We all doubted we'd ever see him again.

Between the gossip that the three boys had shared, I wasn't sure that Jay showing back up in our lives would be a good thing. He was certainly a rebellious influence.

Since reading up more on schizophrenia, I could almost predict some of his behaviour. There would be some sort of person or situation oppressing him, to distraction. He's often paranoid about something, and usually ready to fight, and then run.

When he took off his jacket, I noticed his elbows were both scraped, and he had several new pink cuts on his arms. If he was inflicting damage on himself, at least it didn't seem to be a recent occurrence, or he was healing well. The burned line down his inner forearm, which he had done to himself with a cigarette lighter last summer, showed as an old scar. His dark eyes sparkled in the fading light as afternoon turned to dusk.

Jay had been jailed either as an accomplice to a car theft, or he had been busted selling speed. It sounded like he'd been dealing, got caught doing something else wrong, and was jailed for the most minor offense. He was still damn lucky. He was still a compulsive liar.

He was waiting to get into rehab, waiting for insurance to kick in, and waiting for 14 more days to be able to buy cigarettes as an 18 year old. Jay confessed he'd done things, that six months ago, he'd sworn he'd never do.

The longer he spoke, the more confused and distorted the story became. I listened intently, finally realizing the sun had set, the room was dark, and I needed to turn on a light.

The darkness of the room felt as oppressive as his situation in life. Two weeks from turning 18, living on the streets, stealing food, asking for rehab for his drug use--his life seemed very sad. I knew his potential was real, but he couldn't get past the part where life sucks.

I'm always too empathetic. I always think I need to help when it's none of my business.

I would be more cautious about letting Jay into my life this time. But I remembered how good it felt to be able to talk to somebody. I could at least listen.

Sometimes, a person with a problem just needs someone to listen. It's such a relief just to get stuff off your chest. I enjoy confessing some things to my psychiatrist, myself. I'm no psychiatrist or mother confessor, despite "on-the-job training," but I listened.


On the coffee table a single candle lit the room. The flame flickered casting shadows from the magazine I had been reading hours earlier. Though the front door was open, the room was quiet except for the sound of Jay's voice.

"Would you like a cup of coffee, Jay?" I asked flipping on a serious wattage of light into the room. I felt like I was trying to wake up from a bad dream.

"Sure," Jay replied. "Do you mind if I use your phone to get ahold of Gabriel and David? Maybe we can all get together again."

When I returned with the coffee, Jay said that David planned to pick up Gabriel from work in half an hour.

"This is Gabriel's third day of work! It took him so long to find a job. I even went with him to the Texas Rehabilitation Commission Office for help getting a job. ADD isn't just a school problem. But he has a job. David put in a good word for him at the Pizza Company. They work for the same company, but at different stores now. I'm so proud of him."

Jay looked sheepishly into his cup of coffee.

"I almost got a job. But I don't have an address or telephone. One place I went every other day for two weeks. The manager only talked to me the first day. He was out after that, so I gave up."

"Elvis" began barking, signaling the arrival of his friends, from whose lives he had entirely disappeared. Gabriel and David had lived a lot of life together while Jay was gone. I felt tension tighten my throat when the doorbell rang.

to be continued. . .