Crazy (30 page)

I sink down in my seat. What is he doing?

CRAZY GLUE
:
He's crucifying you—and your dad.

"These grades are a real concern, of course." He glances at me. "Poor grades are a clear indication of your state of mind and how you are coping, Jason." He looks at the judge. "I think it would be good if Jason could prove to us over the next several months that he's serious about his desires to improve in school. Then we could look at changing his visitation."

I shake my head. I don't believe what I'm hearing. He's just stabbed me in the back. I lean forward and glare at Haze and Shelby and Pete, who are sitting to my right. All three of their faces have gone white.

I want to cry. I put my head in my hands. We don't have several months to test me. Dad needs me now.

AUNT BEE
:
Oh dear, I'm so sorry. This is too bad.

"Excuse me. Excuse me, Judge. I'm sorry, but I have to say something here."

I lift my head and see Shelby standing with her hands on her hips.

I sit back in my seat.

"And you are...?"

"Jason's friend, Shelby Majors, and I'm probably, no, I
am
the reason everyone is here today. I caused all this. I'm the one who reported Jason's father to Dr. Gomez, so I think I should have a right to say something."

Shelby's voice is loud—louder than it needs to be, and forceful, as usual.

The judge nods for her to continue.

"You're talking here like it's separate—Jason's welfare, his father's welfare, Jason's grades. But it isn't. They're all connected—don't you see, 'cause we're all connected. You can't separate it out the way you're trying to do. We've all"—Shelby turns to indicate me and Haze and Pete—"we've all had really crappy stuff happen to us the past year or two. My mother just died. She had ALS. And you all act like that's not supposed to affect me? Like our grades shouldn't be affected? Of course it affects us! What happens to our
parents happens to us, too. We feel it, too, you know? So my grades are in the toilet and so are Haze's and Ja-son's, and the only reason Pete's aren't is because he's some genius—sorry, Pete, I know you like to keep that quiet." She looks at Pete, and so do I, only slightly surprised by this information. Pete's face is still white. Shelby turns back to the judge. "But even he's not one hundred percent. But somehow you think all you've got to do is put Jason in a nice foster home and his grades will improve. How is that possible, when he can't even sleep because he's so worried about his father? His father isn't safe, and until he is, until Jason can assure himself every day, by visiting him, that his father is okay, his stupid grades, as if they're the be all and end all of everything, won't get better." Shelby takes a breath.

I'm sitting, like the others, with my mouth hanging open.

She continues. "Jason needs to be with his dad. I mean not all the time, but you should see him. He's patient and gentle and loving, and he gets him—he understands his crazy father in a way no one else does. And like Jason said, he's not alone in this anymore. We'll be there, too. We're there for one another. So don't make him promise to keep up his grades and keep his room neat—man, give him a break. How's he supposed to care about that when his dad is in trouble? His dad needs him
now,
not months from now after you've tested him to see if he's really serious about bringing up
his grades." She takes another breath. "Okay"—she looks around at all of us—"I guess I'm done."

She sits down and I reach across Cap and squeeze her hand. "Thanks," I whisper, wishing I could say more.

The judge's face is like a mask. He clears his throat and speaks to Sam. "Did you have anything more to say, Mr. Waldron?"

Sam smiles. "Miss Majors pretty much said it all, Your Honor. If she had given me the chance, I would have gone on to say that although it would be nice, we really don't have the time to test Jason to see if he can bring up his grades, given the seriousness of his father's circumstances. I believe Jason could help his father and with all the support he now has, I believe he can manage the extra visitations on his own quite well."

"Yes!" I whisper to myself, clenching my hands in fists, while the others reach over and pat me on the back.

The judge checks his watch, then looks at us. "We'll take a twenty-minute recess," he says, "and reconvene here at a quarter past ten." He pounds his gavel.

The policeman says, All rise."

D
URING THE RECESS
, we stand out in the hallway drinking Mountain Dews and talking. I tell Sam I thought he had stabbed me in the back. "Yeah," my friends all agree. We gather around Sam and wait for him to reply.

"I had to show the judge that I knew what the objections might be. I wanted to put the objections and the possible solutions he might come up with before him first, so that then I could say why these wouldn't work under the current circumstances—that's all."

"Well, you could have told me beforehand," I say.

"And you could have told me how badly you were doing in school."

"It's not
that
bad." I take a sip of my Mountain Dew. "I'm not failing, and the semester's not over. I just have a lot of catching up to do. Do you think the judge is going to let me have the extra visitations?"

Sam shakes his head. "Hard to say with Judge Langston. He's fair, but he's not one to bend the rules, and he has a thing about grades. He uses them as a marker for everything. Sorry, Jason."

FBG WITH A MUSTACHE
:
Buck up, son. Look around you.

AUNT BEE
:
All these people, here just for you.

I look at everyone gathered around me with expressions of concern on their faces. It really is great that they're here—Dr. Gomez and Cap and Haze and Shelby and Pete and Sam and Clara. I smile. "Hey, thanks, everyone, for being here. Whatever happens, it means a lot to me that you came this morning to support me."

I get pats on the back, and everyone says how they're happy to help me.

Then Haze surprises us all by announcing that he wants to become a judge. "No kidding," he says when we all look at him like he's crazy. "I always thought I'd become a lawyer, like my old man, but this is what I want to do. Really. I'm inspired. I want to become a juvenile court judge. What do you think? Can you see it?" Haze straightens his back and walks somberly down the hallway. Shelby laughs so hard she spews her Mountain Dew on the floor, and with a minute left before we have to return to the courtroom, we all rush around grabbing paper towels from the bathroom to clean up the mess.

We're back in the courtroom a minute later and we're waiting for the judge's decision. I notice Shelby sitting with her legs crossed and jiggling her foot. Haze is rubbing his hands up and down his thighs as though trying to wipe the sweat from his hands. Dr. Gomez is
tapping her fingers on the bench. Pete is sitting beside me with his eyes closed; it looks like he's praying or meditating. I hope that whatever he's doing, it works. Cap is sitting on my other side, looking very stiff and straight.

The judge lifts his head and says, "Jason Papadopoulos."

Everyone gets still and I stand. "Yes, sir—uh, Your Honor, sir."

"You have a job to do, and do you know what that job is?"

I don't know what to answer. Sam said he was big on grades and school, so I think maybe I should answer "school," but my honest answer is to take care of my dad.

CRAZY GLUE
:
Well, say something, goob.

"I—uh—I have many jobs, your sir—uh, Your Honor."

"I'm a judge; that's my job. Sam's a social worker; that's his job. You're a student; that's your job."

I bite down on my upper lip and nod.

"You've got to do the job that's set before you, and do it to the best of your ability."

"Yes, Your Honor," I say, feeling my heart sink.

"Education is the key to everything. You'd like for your father to get well, and there are doctors out there who are trying to help him get well, and pharmaceutical companies working on new medicines that may
someday find a cure. These are educated people working to solve your father's problem." The judge jabs his index finger into the table over and over as he speaks. "Education is the key to becoming a productive and contributing member of our society. I do not take it lightly, nor should you."

"No, Your Honor, I don't."

"Going to school, studying, learning new material, advancing—this is your job. I cannot stress it enough." He eyes Shelby and points in her direction. "And when things are falling apart in your life, that does not give you permission to let it all go to hell." He returns to me. "If you have disaster in one part of your life, you make extra sure the rest of it is working. Otherwise you have to work twice as hard later to make up for the total mess you've put your life in. Your father's condition is, for the most part, out of your control. Your schoolwork isn't. Got it?"

I nod again, unable to speak with the lump in my throat. I blink several times and bite down harder on my lip. I refuse to cry in front of the judge.

"My concern, Jason, is that you have spent too much of your time as a caretaker for your father. This is not your job. You are the child. He is the parent."

I rub my face and stare at my feet. I let out my breath.

"I don't want to see you spending all your time with your father at the expense of your education,
your friendships, and your relations with your foster parents."

I look up. "No, Your Honor."

"I want your assurance that if you receive daily visitation rights, these things will not suffer."

AUNT BEE
:
Hope at last.

"Oh, no, Your Honor, no they won't. I'll show you. I can do it."

I see a hint of a smile on the judge's face. "I'm glad to see that you have this support system in place for both you and your father, and I'm hoping you will continue to rely on them—not take it all on yourself—because if I get reports back that you have, I will revoke your visitation rights. Do you understand?"

"Yes! Yes, I do. I will. Yes! Yes!"

"You will be granted two hours maximum visitation a day."

I hear cheers behind me, and I blush and break out into the biggest smile. My heart is so full of gratitude, I feel like getting down on my knees and kissing the judge's feet.

The judge raises his hand for silence. "I want you to keep a record of your visits, and if you can't catch up with your schoolwork, I want to see that you've got a tutor working with you." The judge nods in Pete's direction. "Maybe your genius friend can help."

"Yes, Your Honor, I'll catch up. I will."

"I will be receiving regular reports from Mr. Waldron. Don't let me down, Jason." The judge bangs his gavel. Dismissed.

"Thank you!" I raise my fists in the air and fall to my knees. I did it! I got daily visitation rights. I did this! Finally, I have some control of my life back. I did it. I succeeded.

LAUGH TRACK
:
(Cheers and applause).

Everyone rushes up to me, and I get up off my knees and hug Cap and Shelby and Haze and Pete and Dr. Gomez and Sam and even Clara, amending my thoughts in my mind—I succeeded with the help of my friends.

L
ATE SATURDAY MORNING
, I arrive at my house for my first official visit with Dad. The whole house is in a shambles—books, records, pillows, dishes, everywhere, and music is blaring.

The first thing Dad says when I walk in the door is, "Have you seen my violin? The Furies have eaten it, I'm afraid."

He's found the helmet I hid under my bed and he's wearing it. He needs his pills badly—and some food. His bloodshot eyes stare out from the holes in the helmet. Pete, who had been checking in on my dad for me, told me he wasn't eating, but he didn't tell me how bad he looked. He's just so thin.

"Hey, Dad," I say, turning down the music and trying not to let my anxiety show on my face. "Let's go get something to eat. Come on."

"Coffee would be good. The Furies haven't poisoned that." He follows me to the kitchen. "Have you seen my violin?" he asks me on the way.

A few minutes later, while I'm preparing lunch, Dad wanders off. I find him in the empty bathtub with his radio resting on his stomach.

I grab the radio. "Dad, no music in the bathroom! Never! Okay?" I unplug the cord, then I march out the door with the radio and set it on the floor. "Leave the radio right here and don't move it. Don't ever move it!"

CRAZY GLUE
:
Ah, just like old times.

I turn the radio on and look at him. "You can hear the music fine from in there, can't you?"

"I can't hide in the music from there, but I can hear it."

"Well, it's going to have to do." I turn the radio up, but I leave it on the floor. Then I return to the kitchen to finish making lunch.

Crazy Glue is right. It feels like old times again with Dad in the tub and me in the kitchen, but it doesn't feel like I thought it would. It's not a comfortable or happy feeling at all. I'm nervous and edgy, just the way I used to be. I was always on the alert in case Dad should call to me or should do something crazy like set the house on fire or electrocute himself. It's only been a few weeks since we were alone together in the house, but it feels like months. So much has happened since then. I've experienced another kind of life and I like that life. I'm glad I have someplace to go to get away from the craziness.

After lunch, which doesn't go well because Dad won't eat and he won't take his meds, Haze arrives with his "bed head," and Pete, wearing some kind of Zen outfit that looks as though he's just come from karate lessons, and Shelby, wearing a brightly colored striped
hat and a big grin. I'm so relieved to see them, and my relief again makes me feel guilty. What's wrong with me? I love my dad. I would do anything for him. I went to court for him. I don't want to feel relieved. I want to feel right—to feel that I'm doing the right thing.

I look again at Shelby's beaming face. "What are you so happy about?" I say, opening the door wider so they can all come in.