Excerpt

Introduction
The View from the ADHD Roller Coaster
Both Sides

Monday, 8 PM
The monthly meeting comes to order in the heart of Silicon Valley, a world center of leading-edge technology. Household names such as Google, Yahoo, Apple, YouTube, Netflix, and Hewlett-Packard dot this short stretch of coastal California between San Francisco and San Jose. In attendance this evening are software developers and computer scientists, some from these very companies.

What’s on tonight’s agenda? The Next Big Thing in high-tech? Not exactly. Not unless you have adult ADHD (Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder). In that case, keeping track of your keys can be a very big thing indeed. Phillip, 32, a talented software programmer with a beautiful smile and an engaging personality, begins: “Okay, I’ve been practicing some of the suggestions we talked about last time for keeping track of my keys, and I can’t believe how well they’re working.” No one snickers. No one rolls their eyes. Most people attending this support group for adults with ADHD chuckle and nod in agreement, relieved to hear someone speak openly about an embarrassing problem that they, too, have, or a problem similar to theirs.
Make no mistake: Silicon Valley might be a worldwide magnet for people with ADHD, what with their stereotypical love of the new and novel. But even here, ADHD is not limited to young men who tinker in high-tech, and its challenges aren’t limited to lost keys. The people gathered tonight (male and female, professionals and blue-collar workers, teens and retirees, long-time locals and new immigrants from many different nations) find themselves dogged by a few or many of these other difficulties:

- Losing track of priorities
- Arriving late to events and missing deadlines
- Having trouble initiating tasks and following through to completion
- Being chronically disorganized
- Managing finances poorly
- Losing their temper easily
- Overspending, smoking, video gaming, and other addictions
- Not being “present” in relationships

As you would expect, behaviors like these seldom won them kudos from bosses, coworkers, family members, or even grade-school teachers. As a result, some people have lost jobs, partnerships, houses, large fortunes, and self-worth. Or, at best, they believe (or have been told often enough) they have fallen far short of their potential.
Some have been unsuccessfully treated for anxiety or depression for years without knowing that, in fact, untreated ADHD was making them anxious or depressed. Many of these late-to-diagnosis adults have long suspected that they were a bit “different.” When they finally learn about ADHD, most wish they’d learned sooner. Much sooner. It explains a lot about how their unwitting actions generated unpleasant consequences as well as why, just when they started getting traction in life, they’d often slip on that invisible banana peel

Meanwhile, tonight, as these adults share their triumphs and difficulties, ones that their families and the public frequently fail to understand or accept, you can almost see the light bulbs flashing on. Apprehensive newcomers relax their jaws. Arms unfold. Possibilities expand as they realize that they are not alone, that other smart people, accomplished people, well-meaning people ride the same roller coaster. They begin to realize they’re not “lazy, stupid, or crazy,” as that breakthrough ADHD book title goes. Most important, they learn that practical solutions exist for helping them optimize their abilities. For many, this is the only gathering where they feel truly understood.

But if you stumble on this group while looking for the Toastmasters meeting down the hall, and if you stay a while to listen and watch, you might wonder why these “normal-looking” adults have never picked up certain “mature adult behaviors,” like getting organized or getting to bed at a decent hour. You might ask yourself

- Didn’t their parents teach them?
- Don’t they realize why these issues are important?
- Do they just not care?

The short answer: ADHD challenges have little to do with intelligence, caring, the lessons their parents tried to teach, or what they know to be right or wrong. It has more to do with

- having difficulty focusing one’s attention right now,
- on the most critical task, speaker, or activity, and
- once focus has been achieved, maintaining it instead of yielding to distraction.

As one prominent ADHD expert, psychologist Russell Barkley, says, “The challenge is not knowing what to do. It’s in doing what you know.” So, instead of calling it an attention-deficit disorder, we could call it an intention-inhibition disorder. That’s because it’s a condition in which the best intentions go awry.
Same Meeting Room, the Following Tuesday, 8 PM

Be careful talking about good intentions to newcomers at this week’s gathering! It’s the same room but a very different crowd. The people gathered here tonight aren’t adults with ADHD; they are their partners. And most have had it with good intentions. They are also done with being doormat and “dumpee,” warden and watchdog, crisis manager and caretaker, and a parent instead of a partner.

Ironically, the two meetings that take place one week apart,one for adults with ADHD and the other for the partners of adults with ADHD, typically show little overlap. That is, one partner or the other in a couple is either “in denial” about ADHD or feels no need to learn about it. It’s too bad, because when couples act as a team in learning about ADHD, they tend to speed through the learning curve with fewer bumps and bruises, too.
The group assembled tonight has come seeking knowledge. They also seek clarity and hope that they can somehow stabilize their lives with partners who seem focused on destabilization. Until recently, most did not know that adult ADHD exists, much less that it can affect their lives so profoundly. Or they’ve suspected ADHD for a long time, but they just can’t get their partners to consider the idea or do anything about it.

When they finally hear other people voicing similar threads of befuddlement, the floodgates open. Let’s listen in as the new folks introduce themselves:

- “Communication problems” plague Donna and her husband. “When we started dating, we had great conversations. Now I can’t speak a word before he changes the subject or zones out. I hate the way this makes me feel, like I’m boring or not worth listening to. When I try
breaking off the relationship, though, he becomes attentive again, only to backslide two weeks later. He finally told me last week that he has ADHD, but he insists it is an asset. I’ve read some Web sites that advise us spouses to be more understanding, but that’s not helping.”

- Jose’s partner has a spending problem. “On impulse, she bought 20 expensive handbags on sale months ago, planning to sell them online. She’s procrastinated and they sit in the spare bedroom, along with the other ‘bargains.’ I love her, but we can’t afford this. If I complain, though, she says I make her feel bad. She’s been treated for depression for years, but a friend recently suggested learning about ADHD.”

- Sheila’s husband gets distracted while watching their child. “He left our squirming baby on the changing table when the doorbell rang and stayed to chat with the mail carrier! Maybe he has ADHD, as our therapist suggests, but is that an excuse? To top it off, he got angry with me when I pointed out the risk! But what do I do when I can’t trust my husband with our child?”

- Surrounded by clutter, Lauren feels she’s “catching” ADHD. “Our home is so crammed with my partner’s crafts projects that I can hardly move or think! I’ve read about the association between ADHD and hoarding, and came to learn more.”

- Brenda’s fiance is the love of her life, but his difficulties at work are driving them apart. “Paperwork takes him twice as long as it does his coworkers, who seem half as smart as him. He loses track of time, works until midnight, and then forgets to phone me. He was diagnosed with ADHD as a kid but says he outgrew it. I don’t think so.”

- Does Dan’s new girlfriend find him a boring kisser? “I like her so much, but she keeps showing up late (or not at all) for dates, and later she’s super apologetic. And, while we’re enjoying a long kiss, she’ll get distracted by the least little thing. One time she blurted, ‘Forgot to feed Rex!’ That’s her dog. She says she was recently diagnosed with ADHD, but maybe she’s just using that as an excuse and she’s really not interested in me.”

- Doreen’s teen son says his Dad has ADHD, too. “Our son won’t accept that he has ADHD, but he’s failing in school. He also asks why he should take medication if Dad won’t. My husband ‘copes’ with his own ADHD by drinking beer and riding herd on our son. Their constant fighting is driving me nuts.”

- Eric went from being a “catch” to “dropped” in three months flat. “My new boyfriend wanted to be with me all the time and was over-the-top thoughtful. But when it stopped suddenly, he implied it was my fault, which made no sense. I’m just trying to understand what happened.”

- Jade discovered her husband’s credit-card debt after the honeymoon. “He owes $30,000! At first he said he’d hoped to pay it before I found out. Totally overoptimistic! Then he blamed me for overreacting. I’m feeling some kind of emotional whiplash, from our honeymoon to this. Our pastor suggested looking into ADHD, but is lying a trait? He’d told me he was entering the marriage debt-free. I love him, but I’m not sure I can forgive this betrayal.”

- Liz is tired of other people holding her responsible for her husband’s failings. “He’s my sweetheart and now we finally know why he does what he does. I’m not angry with him, but I am angry with the people, including his family, who blame me for not making him do things they expect of him. They don’t believe in ADHD and think it’s the woman’s role to be a 24/7 executive secretary for her husband.”

- Frank can’t compete with his wife’s BlackBerry. “When she learned she might have ADHD, my wife researched it and hyperfocused on getting better organized. She claims her BlackBerry helps her focus on the job. Great, but where’s the focus on me? If I take more than 30 seconds to say something, she eyes her ‘CrackBerry’ for the latest text message. We both work hard, but she never turns it off.” As these introductions continue, comments echo all around the room: “Your partner does that, too?” Some people laugh in amazed relief, but
others fight back tears. Sure, they’re grateful for the long-overdue validation, but reality can hit hard:

-  “You mean our problems aren’t all my fault, not me being rigid, anal, controlling, demanding, or ‘no fun’?”

- “You mean our problems aren’t all my partner’s fault, not bad temper, selfishness, or apathy?”

- “You mean the invisible enemy we’ve been battling not only has a name, it has a solution?”

Most group members here tonight still love their partners. That’s why they’ve come to this meeting. (Some, though, are straining to remember why they went on that second date, and a few are asking for referrals to good divorce attorneys.) The confusion crept up on them stealthily, they explain, and most of their partners’ behavior grew sharply more problematic with time and new responsibilities. They tackled each particular set of problems as it turned up, and so the roller coaster ride smoothed out, lulling them into the idea that their lives would stay less chaotic for a while. But then the next dip happened and the next and the next. And, so the roller coaster will continue, until they either stagger to the exit sign, succumb to permanent emotional whiplash, or develop awareness about ADHD and get on a new track.

It’s not solely ADHD’s symptoms that afflict relationships, though, and double the rate of divorce for adults with ADHD. It’s the years of ignorance about the symptoms’ existence’ and misattributing them to lack of caring, selfishness, and immaturity. Moreover, people who’ve grown up with undiagnosed ADHD often lug around a lifetime of poor coping strategies. And typically, the same is true for their loved ones. With both of you reacting blindly, your life together might feel like a wild ride indeed.

Could ADHD be contributing to your relationship woes? You’ll have a good idea if it’s “you, me, or adult ADHD” by the end of Part One of this book. Then, if it is ADHD, you’ll learn what you both can do about it. As many support-group members have learned, and their stories will illustrate, there’s simply no reason to keep struggling or simply coping when you can start creating big, positive changes.
Part One begins with the basics and expands slowly into the complexities,
helping you to:

- Identify ADHD symptoms and understand why the term Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder confuses everyone (Chapter 1).
- Gain a solid overview of ADHD, including its central challenge of self-regulation (Chapter 2).
- Distinguish between actual symptoms and poor coping skills developed over a lifetime’s lack of awareness about ADHD (Chapter 3).
- Recognize common patterns in the areas of driving, money management, sexual intimacy, and more (Chapters 4, 5, and 6).

Along the way, it’s important to remember: ADHD can manifest itself in many different ways. There is not one way of having ADHD. You might relate to many, or only a few, of the examples in this section, but if someone you love has ADHD, a clear enough picture should start to emerge.

Copyright 2008 Gina Pera. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Excerpt

Chapter 1

Have mercy on me, O God, in your faithful love,
in your great tenderness wipe away  my offences;
wash me thoroughly from my guilt,
purify me from my sin.
For I am well aware of my offences;
my sin is constantly in mind.
Against you, you alone, I have sinned,
I have done what you see to be wrong.
Psalm 51, verses 1-4.

The tinder sparked to life, igniting one of the logs and bringing the fire to a crackle. The rectory’s front light would stand vigil until 9:00 PM while the foyer remained dark in hopes that there would be no visitors tonight. John looked at himself in the full length hall mirror. He was about average height, but growing thicker around the middle. No he-man but he guessed he was in decent shape for a man of fifty-nine. Sometimes he wondered if he was attractive. No one had ever volunteered an opinion in his thirty five years of being a priest and he had never thought to ask for one. His appearance seemed irrelevant in his occupation. His father once told him he would be bald by age thirty five, but a few wisps of hair still clung to his scalp.
Father John Spador eased himself into his favorite easy chair and raised the footrest. Should he have brewed a cup of tea before sitting down? It was a little more of an effort to get up and down these days. He realized that he was more likely now to think of doing something after he should have done it. Well maybe he would just sit for a while in the quiet. He could brew some tea later.
As the fire grew brighter in the fireplace, its reflection danced on the floor, walls and ceiling, chasing away ghostly bands of light and shadow which flashed across the room with each passing car. John felt most at ease when the fire provided all his light and soothed him with its warmth. The day began to fade from his awareness and that was just as well.
Six AM Mass, a funeral, stopping by the reception afterwards to comfort the family, a visit to the hospital, reading the Divine Office and jotting down some thoughts for Sunday’s homily all scrolled through his mind. During the day, his darker thoughts had no time to creep into his awareness. Maybe tonight he would be able to just sit peacefully with his thoughts.
John listened to the crackling syncopation of the fire, and watched the flames dance. His muscles began to relax, he breathed easier and the band of tension in his scalp receded as he let go of the day. Dinner with three fellow priests took his mind off his concerns at least for a while. As usual, he had eaten just a little too much for dinner. The filet mignon sat like a rock in his stomach. He really should find something lighter to eat when he went out for a late dinner. But steak was his favorite. Maybe next time he would try something different. Father Mike had commented on how delicious his salmon was.
His mind kept churning. During the day he tried to stay focused on the needs of his parishioners and his parish. He kept thoughts about himself at bay when he could. Most of the time he was successful. But once he reached this part of the day when no one else had any demands on his time, his thoughts wandered back to his life, to his decisions and to his actions and regrets.
John had tried many ways to keep his feelings from unsettling him. Meditation on religious mysteries only increased his discomfort. Relaxation exercises, yoga, long walks and racquetball helped. But in the end, everything he tried fell short. His thoughts kept turning to what he could have done differently or should have done before his life reached this point.
Interrupting his reverie, the chimes announced someone at the front door. Turning on the parlor light brought his brought his train of thought to an abrupt halt. In some ways the interruption was a relief. He did not like the direction his thoughts were taking him.
He turned on the vestibule light and opened the door to a stocky, uniformed policeman and an equally stocky middle aged woman carrying a black zippered portfolio. Both were stone faced, giving nothing away. He saw neither the smiles nor deferential bows which usually greeted him. Theirs was obviously not a social call and they seemed an odd pair to be ringing his doorbell at eight thirty in the evening. A twinge of discomfort started to rise but he forced it back down.
The officer remained stony. The woman looked down at her portfolio rather than meet his gaze. He could not read them but their reserve unsettled him. The officer finally spoke, “I’m Deputy Sid Jerome from the sheriff’s office and this is Mrs. Lempel from Social Services. Are you Father John Spador?”
No point being evasive. Maybe one of his parishioners was in some trouble and they thought he could be of service. “Yes. I am. How can I help you?”
While the woman looked back and forth between the two men, the officer continued. “A situation has come to our attention and we think you might be of some assistance.”
John felt a little on guard, but still not sure he had anything to worry about. “What kind of situation if I may ask?”
“It’s about a family who recently came to my office to report a matter of concern. May we come in to discuss it with you?”
John’s discomfort started to gnaw at him but he could not think of any way to refuse them admission to the rectory without arousing their suspicion. “Of course, if you think I can be of help. I just lit a fire in the parlor. Even though it’s mid September, it’s starting to get chilly at night. Come in and sit down.”
They followed him to the parlor with none of the usual comments most new visitors made on the Victorian décor. They removed their coats, folded them over their arms in unison and sat on the edge of their seats, a bit odd for two heavyset people. Looking in all directions, they seemed to be taking mental notes on his surroundings. John thought the officer and woman were taking quite a bit of time to organize their thoughts. The silence was becoming uncomfortable. “Would either of you care for some coffee or tea?”
“No thanks,” the deputy replied for both of them, “I know it’s a little late in the evening and I would like to get right to the point.” Deputy Jerome cleared his throat and seemed to be deciding how he would get to the point. John wished he would just get on with it. Mrs. Lempel unzipped and opened her portfolio, folded it back, and took out her pen. He talked. She wrote.
He had no idea what this was all about. Well, maybe he had some suspicion, although he didn’t think he really wanted to know. The tension in his muscles dissipated by the firelight just a few moments ago returned, accompanied by a gnawing feeling in his stomach. He could only wait for the deputy’s next move.
Deputy Jerome cleared his throat once again and finally started. “This afternoon I had a visit from Mr. and Mrs. Anton who brought their fourteen year old son Seth to see me. Is it true he acts as an altar server in your church?”
The gnawing gave way to bile working its way up toward John’s throat. It was all he could do to choke it back and keep his dinner from reappearing. He could only manage a thin-voiced reply. “Yes. It’s true. He is one of many boys and girls who help out with services in the parish.”
“I will get right to it. Mr. and Mrs. Anton related an account of some disturbing events involving Seth which took place during times he was alone with you. Seth confirmed their statements. We want to hear what you have to say about his allegations.”
John was not used to being confronted in this manner. If he were not so busy being frightened, he would have been annoyed. He was unprepared for it and had no easy comeback. He tried to keep his voice steady. “What kind of allegations if I may ask and why is Mrs. Lempel with you?”
The deputy, unfazed by the priest’s reply, continued in what seemed to John as his best professional manner. “It is the practice in this county that concerns about inappropriate behavior with minors be investigated by a team consisting of representatives from the sheriff’s department and Social Services.”
“Are you accusing me of a crime involving Seth?” John’s muscles tightened even further. His face burned despite his struggle to stay calm. His voice was almost a squeak and he found it difficult to appear indignant.
“So far we are not accusing you of anything. We are just here to discuss the allegations with you to help us decide how to proceed. What can you tell us about this matter?”
“I don’t know what matter you are talking about. There must be some mistake. I don’t understand what your concern is or what he might have told you. Seth has been an alter server in my parish for about three years. He is one of my most reliable boys. I can count on him whenever I need him, even for funerals which are obviously hard to anticipate. What did he say happened? What am I supposed to have done?”
Deputy Jerome maintained a calm appearance in the face of the panic John felt continuing to rise within him. “Father, what is the nature of your relationship with Seth?”
“Well, like I said, he is a quite reliable and dependable boy. I have become quite fond of him over the past few years. He has taken to spending some of his free time around the rectory and seems to have developed an interest in the priesthood. It occurred to me that he might well have a vocation and I have been spending some extra time with him recently to explore this possibility.”
Mrs. Lempel noted his comments on her pad while the deputy seemed to take them in stride, continuing in the same even tone. “Thank you, Father. Can you think of any reason why the boy would have asked his parents to bring him to see me about his relationship with you?”
“I don’t know what you mean. Seth has never expressed any discomfort about being around me. I have spent a little more time with him than with the other boys, but as I have said this was to give him a chance to explore his vocation. We have engaged in some recreational activities together like swimming and camping at my cabin in the mountains. Do you think he might have misinterpreted something about my interest in him?”
“What do you think, Father? Is there something you could have done which he might have seen as inappropriate?”
John’s mind raced, trying to think how to phrase his reply to stress the normality of their relationship. “I have no idea what it could be. Let me see”¦No, I can’t think of anything he might have viewed as being inappropriate.”
“Okay. Did other boys always accompany you and Seth to the cabin?”
“Most of the time, yes. A few times the other boys were busy with family activities so Seth and I went alone.”
“I understand there were at least two occasions when you went swimming with Seth in the evening. Were other boys present on those occasions?”
“Usually. But as I said there were a couple times when the other boys were busy and I was at my cabin alone with him.”
“I see. Seth told me that on two occasions when you and he were alone, you suggested you both take off all your clothes in the cabin before going swimming nude in your pond. Is that correct?”
“”¦Yes. I believe so. Those were on particularly hot nights and I thought it would be refreshing to go skinny dipping.”
“In your view, was this an acceptable activity for an adult and an adolescent?”
“I didn’t see anything wrong with it. No one else was around.”
“And when you were finished swimming, did you return to the cabin naked.”
“Yes, we left our towels in the cabin and came back in dry off before going to bed.”
“Okay, on the nights you and Seth swam nude, where did you both sleep?”
“We usually slept in separate beds.”
“I don’t want to know what you usually did. I was asking about the particular nights in question.”
“Well, a couple of times we slept in the same bed on a particularly cold night to keep each other warm. I believe we did so on those two nights.”
“Father, you said a few minutes ago that you went skinny dipping only on particularly hot nights and slept in the same bed only on cold nights. If it was cold, why did you walk back to the cabin naked?”
“I don’t like the tenor of this conversation. I would like to review this with my lawyer before we proceed any further.”
“Fine, Father. We will stop here. Based on what the boy and his family reported and your admission that you were alone with him naked at the times he alleged being abused by you, you are under arrest for suspicion of sexual abuse. Anything you say can and will be held as evidence against you. You have the right to a lawyer. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights as I have related them to you?”
“Yes, I do.” What was happening? John felt railroaded during the conversation, or as he saw it, the interrogation. He had not admitted to anything like abuse.
“Okay, Father, get your coat. We are going to the sheriff’s station. You can call your lawyer from there. In deference to your position in the community, we will not resort to handcuffs as long as you cooperate.”

Read more about THE PASTOR’S INFERNO and Joseph G. Langen HERE.

Copyright 2008 Joseph G. Langen. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Excerpt:

“Hey, faggot!”

The muscles in my back bunched up like someone had attached a string to my spine and pulled hard. I sneaked a look back over my shoulder and saw Larry, DeShawn, and Pete half a block behind me. They’d followed me from the junior high. They did that a lot when they didn’t have football practice.

“You walk like a girl, Bowman!” Larry yelled. “You even look like a girl with those long eyelashes and those pretty blue eyes. Let’s see if you fight like a girl.” He smacked his right fist into his left palm.

I tried to ignore them and walked faster.

“The faggot’s scared,” called Larry.

At least Josh wasn’t with them like he had been the week before. That wasn’t much, but it was something. The hot summer wind whipped across my face. I blinked hard and ran a hand over my eyes.

“Poor baby, he’s crying,” Larry said.

I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t crying, that it would take a hell of a lot more than him and his Neanderthal friends to make me cry, but I needed all my breath to get away. I broke into a run as I reached the intersection where Highway 183 cut through Clareton like a long, ugly knife wound. The traffic light facing me was green. I stepped off the broken curb as the light turned yellow and sprinted across the intersection, dodging a white Ford minivan that accelerated too soon. The driver honked and shook his fist at me.

Behind me I could hear Larry, Pete, and DeShawn cursing at me, but even they weren’t stupid enough to try to cross the highway on a red light when traffic was so heavy.

I reached the other side of the highway, turned around, kissed the middle finger of my right hand, and shot them all the bird. “Wait ‘til Coach Lugielli hears you can’t even outrun a faggot,” I shouted. My voice didn’t come out very loud. It never did. The wind and the cars rushing past carried the words away, but they saw my finger. There wasn’t much they could do about it, though. Kill me in school the next day, but I had at least sixteen hours before I had to worry about that.

Right now, all I wanted to do was run the three blocks to Loving Pastures before that light turned green again.

*****

The nurses had Grandma sitting in front of the television set in the lounge, even though I’d told them that she’d never even owned a television when she lived alone. Even after she got Alzheimer’s and came to live with me and Mom, she never parked herself in front of the TV the way Mom did.

On the screen, a blue haired skank was ragging on a fat guy with sweat stains on his shirt and tattoos of women with huge boobs across his forearms. He looked like someone Mom might bring home.

“Hi, Grandma,” I panted, pulling a hard plastic chair over to where she sat slumped in her wheelchair. The blast of cold air from the vent overhead made my lungs ache.

I straddled the chair, resting my arms on the back. My hands shook a little, and I laced my fingers together to steady them. My bare legs stuck to the plastic seat.

The fat guy on television yanked off his microphone and threw it at the blue haired woman. He screamed something at her, but the network bleeped most of it out. Definitely like someone Mom would bring home.

Grandma turned her head slowly and looked me up and down. “Who are you?” she said.

My stomach hurt, as if someone had punched me low and hard. “I’m Danny, Grandma.”

“Henry?”

Henry had been her older brother. He’d died way back during World War II when he was seventeen and Grandma was fifteen.

“No, not Henry. Danny. Lora’s son.”

“Lora?”

At least it kind of made sense, Grandma forgetting Mom. I’d forget Mom too, if I could. I stuck my finger through a hole in my shirt and twisted the material hard.

Across the lounge, a little old man started rocking back and forth and moaning. A dark stain spread across his crotch.

On the television, the fat guy and the skank had made up and were sucking face.

Grandma jumped a little and looked at me as if she’d just noticed I was there. “Danny!”

Every time I came, it took her a little longer to figure out who I was. Someday, I was afraid she wasn’t going to know me at all.

I squeezed her hand. Her fingers were thin and cold, the skin baby-fragile.

“Sit up right in that chair,” Grandma said.

I stood up, turned the chair around, and sat down in it the right way. “Did you get your hair done?” I asked. “It’s nice.”

“I look like a whore.”

“No, it’s great,” I said, trying not to laugh. She sounded almost like her old self. “You should always wear it curly like that. Really.”

“Damn waste of time and money. Where’d you get that watch?”

I automatically slapped my hand over the titanium watch on my left wrist, but it was too late. She’d seen it. She’d know Mom couldn’t afford a watch like that—it had cost over a hundred dollars. Mom couldn’t even afford clothes that didn’t have holes in them. Only one person I knew could afford a watch like that.

Mark.

I braced myself for more questions and a stern lecture about not taking gifts from Mom’s boyfriends.

Instead, Grandma gave me a puzzled smile. “What did you say your name was?”

My eyes got hot. I blinked hard.

Grandma patted my hand. “Are you all right, Henry?”

“Stop calling me that, Grandma. I’m not Henry. Henry’s dead. He’s been dead for about sixty years.”

“Feed the dog,” Grandma said suddenly, trying to stand up.

I jumped to my feet and got in front of her so she couldn’t move. She wasn’t supposed to try to walk. She’d fallen and splintered her left hip just a few days after she moved into Loving Pastures. The doctor said it would take at least six months to heal, if it ever healed at all. He hadn’t sounded real optimistic.

Grandma slapped at my hands. “Help! Help!” she hollered.

“Shhh…Quit it, Grandma. Settle down.” I tried to get a better grip on her, but she squirmed like a landed fish.

The nurse behind the front desk lowered the paperback romance she was reading and looked up at us. I’d given all of the nurses nicknames. This one was Jabba. Before I could wave her over, she went back to her book and her bag of potato chips.

“Grandma, knock it off,” I hissed. “Sit down now!”

I manhandled her back into the wheelchair with a thud. She shrank back with her hands over her face like she thought I might hit her.

“Grandma, I’d never hurt you. You know that.” Keeping my hands on the greasy, plastic armrests so she couldn’t get up again, I crouched in front of her, my face level with her knees.

I’d scrambled for Grandma’s lap more times than I could count when I was a little kid and Mom or one of her loser boyfriends came after me. I knew that if I made it to Grandma, I’d be all right. At least for that time.

Grandma and I were both quiet. After awhile, I felt her hand gently stroking my hair.

The old man who’d peed his pants started banging his head against the picture window. I could see the grease stains where his hair hit the glass.

Whap. Whap.

Jabba didn’t even glance up from her book. Her tongue flicked at the corner of her mouth as she turned a page.

“Hey,” I called out to her, but my voice didn’t carry very well. I’d had so much practice not making too much noise that I couldn’t do it when I really needed to get someone’s attention.

Whap.

“Stop it mister,” I said to the guy, “you’ll hurt yourself. Hey, lady. Nurse!”

Jabba finally looked up, scowling at me as if I had spoiled her steam scene on purpose. I pointed to the old guy banging his head.

She pressed a button behind the desk. After a minute or two, a nurse’s aide came out of one of the other rooms and led the old guy away. By then he was crying.

I leaned forward and hugged Grandma tight, resting my head on her knees like I used to when I was younger. Her bones felt so fragile I was afraid I’d break them if I hugged her too hard.

She smelled of dried pee and too much cheap perfume and lotion. If they wanted her to smell nice, why couldn’t they just give her a bath?

“I love you, Grandma,” I said, standing up so I could kiss the top of her head.

Grandma jerked away and stared at me like I’d grown a tail. “Do I know you?” she said.

Chapter Two

It took me almost an hour to walk from Loving Pastures to the trailer park where I lived with Mom and Mark, her newest boyfriend. They’d been together about six months, a record for Mom. Most of her boyfriends didn’t last more than a few weeks.

If one of them had to stay around, I was glad it was Mark. He didn’t beat me up like a lot of them did, and he talked to me like I was a real human being. He even did parent things, like helping me out with my homework, or playing games with me, or getting on my case when I forgot to do my chores. Sometimes he bought me stuff too, like the watch. He could afford it, because he was a trust fund baby. That’s what he called himself.

I kept expecting to get home some day and find all Mark’s stuff gone and a new guy grunting at me from the beer-stained couch, but so far Mark had stuck it out. He went on business trips sometimes, but he always came back. I had no idea why. If I’d been him, I wouldn’t have put up with Mom for six seconds, let alone six months.

The walk home wouldn’t have taken so long, but I spent a good ten minutes scouting around to make sure Larry and his friends weren’t lying in wait for me. They’d caught me once while I was walking home, and it hadn’t been pretty. By the time I was sure they weren’t around, it was rush hour and I had to wait what felt like hours for the light to change so I could cross 183.

I didn’t see any cars in the yard when I walked up to the trailer. No point in bothering with the key. The splintered lock was a parting gift from Mom’s boyfriend before Mark.

I shouldered the door open, dropped my backpack on the living room floor, and headed for the kitchen. I’d skipped lunch at school, and my stomach was growling.

The place smelled like a swamp. I’d been spending so much time with Grandma, I hadn’t gotten around to doing the dishes like I was supposed to. Mom had threatened me with the strap if they weren’t done by the time she came home from work, but she was wasted when she said it, so I was betting she wouldn’t remember. I was hoping, anyway.

“God, Danny, were you born in a barn?” Mark stepped out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but a towel slung low over his hips. He looked like one of those marble statues of Greek gods they’d made us study in history last year. He wasn’t tall, but he worked out almost every day and had a lot of muscle, and his face was movie-star handsome with every feature perfectly chiseled and eyes as green and bright as a cat’s. His auburn hair hung in wet crinkles around his face. Beads of water glistened in his chest hairs.

“The backpack,” he said, pointing. “Pick it up and take it to your room, please.”

I ducked my head, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way I was looking at him and said, “I didn’t see your car.”

“It’s not there to see. I had to take it in overnight for repairs. I just hope the morons don’t ruin it. They were standing around scratching their heads when I left.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t have a whole lot of BMWs here in Clareton,” I said. “Not even on the east side of town.”

“No kidding. By the way, do you know what time it is?”

I winced. Mark had been on me recently about staying too long at Loving Pastures after school. “Four-thirty? Five?” I said as I leaned over and snagged my backpack by one denim strap. My voice came out in a squeak because I was super-conscious of Mark standing so close to me.

He snorted. “Try ten to six. I got you the watch. Do I have to teach you to tell time as well?”

I shook my head and felt my face get hot at the mention of the watch. I still couldn’t figure out why he’d gotten me such an expensive gift. If he was worried about me being on time, a basic Timex would have done just as well.

“And of course you crossed the highway during rush hour traffic again.”

“So?”

“So, people get killed at that intersection.”

He was right. Maybe once every four or five years, you’d hear about some kid getting hit by a speeding car, but it was usually a little kid, not a thirteen year old. The parents on the west side—it always seemed to be a westie kid—would petition the town council to lower the speed limit or add more stoplights or something, but nothing ever came of it except a few editorials in The Banner and a couple of dumb safety seminars at school.

Mark sighed and shook his head. He was standing at the opening of the short hallway leading to the bathroom and the bedrooms. He didn’t move when I walked towards him, so I had to scrunch against the wall and squeeze by. I couldn’t help brushing against his body.

The towel slipped, exposing him.

He didn’t seem to notice. “I don’t care how careful you think you are, Danny, it’s dangerous, especially during rush hour when the commuters go shooting through town. I seem to remember mentioning that to you, oh, about six thousand times before. If you can’t pay more attention to the time, I’ll have to put a stop to your visiting your grandmother after school.”

I was so busy trying not to look where the towel had slipped that I barely registered his words.

He broke off suddenly with a grin. “Oh, don’t act so embarrassed, kid. I haven’t got anything you can’t see in the mirror, right?”

Face blazing, I escaped past him to my room and tossed my backpack onto my bed. Actually, I aimed for my bed, but I missed by about half a foot and the backpack wound up on the floor with three weeks’ worth of unwashed clothes. I pulled the door shut so Mark wouldn’t get on me about my room being a mess on top of everything else.

“What’s for dinner? I’m starving,” I called, hoping my voice sounded casual. I looked at Mark out of the corner of my eye. He had covered up again, so I walked back down the hall.

“Starving, huh? That means you didn’t eat lunch at school again,” Mark said, giving me a light swat on the butt as I edged by him.

I jerked away from him, even though it hadn’t hurt.

Mark didn’t seem to notice. “What did I tell you about that, Danny?”

“Uh…not to skip lunch.” I went into the kitchen, found a half empty carton of OJ, and drained it without bothering to look for a clean glass. It tasted foul. I should have checked the date before I drank it.

Mark reached over my shoulder, opened the freezer, and rummaged around until he found a package of chicken pieces. “You can’t let a friendship mess you up so bad you can’t eat, kid. You’ve got to grow a thicker skin.”

I’d told Mark about fighting with my best friend, Josh, and about some of the jocks giving me a hard time, but I hadn’t told him the whole story.

I was scared he wouldn’t like me anymore if he found out I was gay.

“If what’s-his-face abandons you because you’re not a football player, then he wasn’t a very good friend to start with, was he?” Mark went on.

“Josh was my best friend,” I muttered. Aside from Grandma, he was the only person in the world who knew about Mom and her loser boyfriends and what they did to me sometimes. I’d spent a lot of nights over at his place when it wasn’t safe for me to go home, especially after Grandma started getting so forgetful.

“Well, the time I met him, I didn’t think much of him.”

Mark’s towel slipped again and fell to the floor. He put the chicken on the nearest counter and reached for it, still talking. “In fact, I thought he was rude as hell. Nothing like you, Dan. You’re a really nice kid. Which is good, because if there’s one thing I won’t tolerate, it’s a kid with a smart mouth.”

He fixed the towel again and reached over to ruffle my hair. Then he put his fingers under my chin and lifted my face up so I had to look him in the eyes. “I’m very lucky to be dating a woman with such a good kid.”

His gaze was so intense that I shivered. I would have done anything in the world for him at that moment.

Then Mom’s car pulled into the yard, and Mark let me go, laughing. “Now you’re in trouble, Danny-boy. You were supposed to have the dishes done. Your mom’s going to want me to take the strap to you.”

Mark hadn’t done that yet, but he’d never tried to stop Mom from whipping me, either. Mostly he just pretended like nothing was happening until it was all over.

“I’ll do them tomorrow,” I promised fast. “Honest.”

Mark looked at me for a minute. “All right. I’ll see if I can run interference for you tonight. But skip the nursing home tomorrow. Your grandmother won’t die if you miss one day. Come home and do the dishes before we all catch salmonella.”

“But—” I saw the look on his face and stopped. “Okay.”

“I am not kidding around with you. I will be seriously pissed if you disobey me. Got it?” He nailed me with his eyes again. “Seriously pissed.”

“I said okay.”

“I trust you. And now you trust me. Junior high is not the end of the world. It just feels like it sometimes.”

He squeezed my shoulder and vanished into the bedroom to get dressed.

Copyright © 2008 Debra Stang. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

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