Chapter 5
I had just moved from a small town in California to Lake Oswego, Oregon. There could not be two more polar opposite places on earth.
I came from a town of under a thousand people. A lumber community. I came to Lake Oswego, Oregon. Lake Big Ego... Lake No Negro... whatever name you wanted to use it was all true.
I was half-way through the 4th grade.
In California my best friends were my 2 dogs and nature. We lived on a river, surrounded by nature. I played with my brother and sister and we were all very close. I loved it there. My Dad knew that it was a dead end for his kids as far as education was concerned.
My Dad.
Naval Commander.
Leader.
Heart of gold.
My favorite times were playing hide and seek with the dogs. Barney was a springer spaniel and Libby was a black lab. I would have them sit down by the river and command them to "stay". They would. My dad trained hunting dogs to listen and listen they did. I would run away and try and hide far away in the woods. I would whistle for them.
They always found me.
Happy.
I was really happy.
***************************
nice overalls!
what?
Nice overalls!
He laughed at me. I remember my next door neighbor laughing at me for wearing overalls.
Lake Oswego.
I never wore them again.
There was a good group of kids in my new neighborhood. Across the street was my best friend Brad. He would be the kid that I first drank with and had my first cigarette with.
It was a Saturday morning. We had screwdrivers. That was the first moment I can remember alcohol working its magic. It fascinated me.
Next door to me lived John and his older brother Bill. I can still hear his fathers voice screaming. I had never heard verbal or physical abuse. My parents never abused me. Never.
Never.
I remember that voice. I saw first hand what it does to a kid. What it did to John. He was the first kid I smoked pot with. I was in 4th grade.
4th grade.
He was in his backyard under his deck with another kid named Kevin from a few streets over. They had weed. I remember them showing it to me. They had it in tin foil. I had no idea what it was. I had never heard of drugs. Never. They put it in a pipe and smoked. I tried it.
Nice overalls...
I don't remember it doing much. What I do remember is the feeling that I was doing something terribly wrong and that feeling both excited and scared me at the same time.
At the very end of the street was Andy. After Brad and his family moved away, Andy was my best friend. We were brothers. He was a year younger than me. His Mom and step Dad smoked weed. They kept it under their bed and they had a bong in the closet. Andy had two much older brothers that showed us how to use that bong.
Mother Fuckers.
We smoked and got high. We slapped ice cubes around and laughed. My pilot light was lit.
Then I almost killed my best friend.
I was in 6th grade I think. He was in 5th. We had gotten into the next door neighbors house and raided their liquor cabinet.
Everclear.
Pure grain alcohol.
Whatever. I had no idea. I made Andy take a shot of it. I remember laughing at his reaction. It was like it was painful.
Ha Ha.
pain.
We locked Andy in the dog kennel and sprayed him with a hose. He was drunk. He was in 5th grade and he was drunk. We let him out and he was laughing. We walked around the house and there was a flight of concrete stairs. He fell.
face first.
He wasn't knocked out but he had a hole in his forehead. We panicked. We can't get in trouble for drinking. My parents would kill me.
We carried Andy to his house and left him shivering on his back porch.
wet and alone.
alone.
*********************************
My first day out of detox and in with the rest of the lushes and addicts was interesting. My new room was in the quads. Think about really crappy college dorm rooms and you are getting close. My day was structured. This was a first for me. In the mornings we had the opportunity to go to the local YMCA down the street. I jumped all over the chance to start lifting weights and shooting hoops.
Then breakfast.
If you got into breakfast early enough you could get a cup of caffeinated coffee. They made one pot per day. That's it. One pot. The only drug they allowed in this place was nicotine. Even if you weren't a smoker you became one. Take away an addiction and don't treat it and another will take its place.
Breakfast was so good. I hadn't had 3 square meals a day for as long as I could remember. Before each meal there was a "prayer wall" that had prayers that fellow addicts and lushes had written. Someone would pick one and read it.
Then we would eat.
I sat alone at a round table.
what's up? Mind if I sit here?
Not at all man.
His name was Bryce. Good looking kid. Tattoos. Sweats. Cool beanie. Nice shoes. Instantly my best friend. We sat and talked like we had known each other for years. He spoke my language. He knew my pain. I knew his.
His pops was famous. Tough road for a kid.
After breakfast was free time. Basically that meant everyone went out to the courtyard and smoked. We called the place the comedy courtyard because it was so damn funny to listen to people try and out "addict" that others.
So fucking what... I passed out with the needle still in my arm while driving...
Bitch that's nothin...
On and on. Its a little like real life on crack. Wait.. it IS on crack. Everyone trying to impress everyone else with who they are and what they have done. Look at how fucked up I am. I am way more fucked up then you.
I didn't go there.
I came here to get better.
I smoked my 3 cigarettes and it was off to my small group.
Now small group is where the action takes place. The blood and guts of rehab. I think my group had six guys at any one time.
My counselor was a crack addict named Adam. He was straight forward, No bull shit. Called it as he saw it. Our first assignment is to write out our addiction history. When were the first times you can remember getting loaded.
We left him shivering on his back porch...
*********************************
There was knock on my door at around 6 PM. I remember that my Grandma Anne was staying at our house and she answered the door.
Steven, the police are here and they want to talk to you.
6th grade.
I walked to the door and they asked me to come with them outside. They asked about Andy and what we had been doing. As I walked to the street I could see the lights of the ambulance.
What is happening? Is he ok?
We went down the street. The first person I see is his Mom. A moment later she sees me.
WHAT DID YOU DO YOU LITTLE ASSHOLE? WHAT DID YOU DO?
terrified.
Andy's step father had found him on the back porch.
wet and alone.
He had choked on his own vomit and was blue. My best friend was blue.
I don't know who was the one to save him but he lived. He spent some time in the hospital and he lived.
the first of so many close calls
I came from a town of under a thousand people. A lumber community. I came to Lake Oswego, Oregon. Lake Big Ego... Lake No Negro... whatever name you wanted to use it was all true.
I was half-way through the 4th grade.
In California my best friends were my 2 dogs and nature. We lived on a river, surrounded by nature. I played with my brother and sister and we were all very close. I loved it there. My Dad knew that it was a dead end for his kids as far as education was concerned.
My Dad.
Naval Commander.
Leader.
Heart of gold.
My favorite times were playing hide and seek with the dogs. Barney was a springer spaniel and Libby was a black lab. I would have them sit down by the river and command them to "stay". They would. My dad trained hunting dogs to listen and listen they did. I would run away and try and hide far away in the woods. I would whistle for them.
They always found me.
Happy.
I was really happy.
***************************
nice overalls!
what?
Nice overalls!
He laughed at me. I remember my next door neighbor laughing at me for wearing overalls.
Lake Oswego.
I never wore them again.
There was a good group of kids in my new neighborhood. Across the street was my best friend Brad. He would be the kid that I first drank with and had my first cigarette with.
It was a Saturday morning. We had screwdrivers. That was the first moment I can remember alcohol working its magic. It fascinated me.
Next door to me lived John and his older brother Bill. I can still hear his fathers voice screaming. I had never heard verbal or physical abuse. My parents never abused me. Never.
Never.
I remember that voice. I saw first hand what it does to a kid. What it did to John. He was the first kid I smoked pot with. I was in 4th grade.
4th grade.
He was in his backyard under his deck with another kid named Kevin from a few streets over. They had weed. I remember them showing it to me. They had it in tin foil. I had no idea what it was. I had never heard of drugs. Never. They put it in a pipe and smoked. I tried it.
Nice overalls...
I don't remember it doing much. What I do remember is the feeling that I was doing something terribly wrong and that feeling both excited and scared me at the same time.
At the very end of the street was Andy. After Brad and his family moved away, Andy was my best friend. We were brothers. He was a year younger than me. His Mom and step Dad smoked weed. They kept it under their bed and they had a bong in the closet. Andy had two much older brothers that showed us how to use that bong.
Mother Fuckers.
We smoked and got high. We slapped ice cubes around and laughed. My pilot light was lit.
Then I almost killed my best friend.
I was in 6th grade I think. He was in 5th. We had gotten into the next door neighbors house and raided their liquor cabinet.
Everclear.
Pure grain alcohol.
Whatever. I had no idea. I made Andy take a shot of it. I remember laughing at his reaction. It was like it was painful.
Ha Ha.
pain.
We locked Andy in the dog kennel and sprayed him with a hose. He was drunk. He was in 5th grade and he was drunk. We let him out and he was laughing. We walked around the house and there was a flight of concrete stairs. He fell.
face first.
He wasn't knocked out but he had a hole in his forehead. We panicked. We can't get in trouble for drinking. My parents would kill me.
We carried Andy to his house and left him shivering on his back porch.
wet and alone.
alone.
*********************************
My first day out of detox and in with the rest of the lushes and addicts was interesting. My new room was in the quads. Think about really crappy college dorm rooms and you are getting close. My day was structured. This was a first for me. In the mornings we had the opportunity to go to the local YMCA down the street. I jumped all over the chance to start lifting weights and shooting hoops.
Then breakfast.
If you got into breakfast early enough you could get a cup of caffeinated coffee. They made one pot per day. That's it. One pot. The only drug they allowed in this place was nicotine. Even if you weren't a smoker you became one. Take away an addiction and don't treat it and another will take its place.
Breakfast was so good. I hadn't had 3 square meals a day for as long as I could remember. Before each meal there was a "prayer wall" that had prayers that fellow addicts and lushes had written. Someone would pick one and read it.
Then we would eat.
I sat alone at a round table.
what's up? Mind if I sit here?
Not at all man.
His name was Bryce. Good looking kid. Tattoos. Sweats. Cool beanie. Nice shoes. Instantly my best friend. We sat and talked like we had known each other for years. He spoke my language. He knew my pain. I knew his.
His pops was famous. Tough road for a kid.
After breakfast was free time. Basically that meant everyone went out to the courtyard and smoked. We called the place the comedy courtyard because it was so damn funny to listen to people try and out "addict" that others.
So fucking what... I passed out with the needle still in my arm while driving...
Bitch that's nothin...
On and on. Its a little like real life on crack. Wait.. it IS on crack. Everyone trying to impress everyone else with who they are and what they have done. Look at how fucked up I am. I am way more fucked up then you.
I didn't go there.
I came here to get better.
I smoked my 3 cigarettes and it was off to my small group.
Now small group is where the action takes place. The blood and guts of rehab. I think my group had six guys at any one time.
My counselor was a crack addict named Adam. He was straight forward, No bull shit. Called it as he saw it. Our first assignment is to write out our addiction history. When were the first times you can remember getting loaded.
We left him shivering on his back porch...
*********************************
There was knock on my door at around 6 PM. I remember that my Grandma Anne was staying at our house and she answered the door.
Steven, the police are here and they want to talk to you.
6th grade.
I walked to the door and they asked me to come with them outside. They asked about Andy and what we had been doing. As I walked to the street I could see the lights of the ambulance.
What is happening? Is he ok?
We went down the street. The first person I see is his Mom. A moment later she sees me.
WHAT DID YOU DO YOU LITTLE ASSHOLE? WHAT DID YOU DO?
terrified.
Andy's step father had found him on the back porch.
wet and alone.
He had choked on his own vomit and was blue. My best friend was blue.
I don't know who was the one to save him but he lived. He spent some time in the hospital and he lived.
the first of so many close calls
posted by steve at 11:53 AM
2 Comments:
You have me hooked, Steve.
Keep it up, you've come a LONG way (duh?) and we've known it, but it's so neat to see WHAT you came from, not just Where.
THe Lord is gracious.
-J
Whoa, this is pretty intense Steve.
And not to make light of it, but when I read the chapter where you bought a bunch of adidas stuff, I seriously thought you meant a beanie baby when you said you got a beanie!! LOL! I figured out which beanie you meant in this post. Some times it takes me awhile!
I'm really enjoying your writing. This book is going places, most definitely.
How scary that your best friend almost died. I've had a close call like that once myself. I don't think I've ever shared it, nor ever will - but I was very young.
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