Chapter Four - Addiction
1993 - Mom is 44, Scott is 19, I am 16
Scott is living with Grandpa now, working on the farm, working at Target, attending OSU for Fisheries and Wildlife, and apparently eating a lot. Mom is drinking a lot. I am doing meth and pot and acid and coke and drinking a lot of alcohol. I am tired of being good. I am tired of everyone's expectations. I am tired of having a drunk mother. I am tired of having a self-righteous fat brother. I don't want good grades, I don't want preppy friends, I don't want to do anything except what I want to do. I want to go away. I want to find someone who accepts me for who I am and doesn't put me on a "goodie-two-shoes" pedestal. I don't want to be everybody's "helper" anymore. Let 'em all help themselves for once. I am a thief, I am a liar, I am a slut. I am no good. But I prefer it that way.
"Why don't you just stop acting like an idiot and straighten up?" Scott is reprimanding me.
"You don't even know what you're talking about, so leave me alone. I just like to party, have fun. Do anything to get out of this house, away from HER."
"She's bad, huh?"
"You could say that...we had another fight last night. I doubt she remembers it. It was a "Christian Brothers Brandy" night. I hate it when she hits the hard stuff. There's no turning back after that. You know the story...she loves me, she hates me, she throws things at me, she cries. I'm sick of it. I fought back."
"You did WHAT?"
"I fought back."
"What did you do?!" He's amazed. It's the first time I've ever said this.
"I told her I didn't care what she thought of me, that I, too, wish I was never born - just like she does, and that I hated her. That she was a drunken slob who has done nothing but ruin our lives. That she's the reason I do bad things. That she's to blame. That I wish she would die."
"Why would you say things like that? You're going to kill her." He's getting mad at me now.
"I didn't really mean it, just couldn't control myself. She won't remember any of it anyway. She never does. At least she never seems to remember what SHE says."
"You shouldn't treat her that way. You're causing her to drink in the first place, then you blame it on HER? You're an idiot."
"Shut up, Scott. Who are you to talk? Oh, yeah, you're her FAVORITE child. You're the one she cuddles while she's hurling shoes at me and telling me she wishes she would've had an abortion. You're her little afflicted baby boy who never does anything wrong, such a fucking angel. You don't know ANYTHING!"
"Yep, yer right, I AM her favorite. Always have been."
"Don't call me nam-" I hang up the phone. I'm tired of his shit. I'm tired of this life, this struggle. I take a bong hit, fall back in my bed, and smoke a cigarette.
A few weeks later, it is Christmas break, and Mom and I drive out to Grandpa's for the family party. It always lasts a few days, kicked off by my aunt's pre-party, just down the road from my Grandpa's house. This is a real backwoods place, out in the middle of nowhere in the valley of Oregon. It's beautiful and serene and I love it here. But I'm not looking forward to seeing the family, or my mom's drunkenness. At least EVERYONE gets shit-faced, so my mom doesn't stand out as much. We arrive and find the alcohol in abundant supply - true to form. As the night goes on, I end up going with my other "black sheep" cousin Mike to another party down the street. All us kids, and the neighbor kids, are drinking or snorting crank and coke, and smoking pot. Merry Christmas.
Scott has stayed up at Grandpa's house because he doesn't want to be around all the drunks. I went up to see him before the party really got started. He looked bigger. He looked tired. He was standing in the kitchen, looking for something to eat. I gave him a hug and told him to come party with us, but he wouldn't do it. He grabbed a piece of cold chicken out of the fridge and ate it. I asked him how school was lately. He sliced a piece of chocolate cake and ate it. I asked him how working at Target's been treating him. He rolled his eyes, told me it sucked, and put some top ramen in a pot to cook. I took a chug of my Coors Light and asked him why he's so hungry. He said he hadn't eaten all day, and by the looks of him, I know he's lying.