Determination (24 page)

It had been years since I’d been in a store like that. I’d only been able to visit a short list of stores when I lived with Steven because he controlled me so completely. During the brief, beautiful time Brian and I were together, we spent almost all our time in the apartment. When we walked through the doors, it was like entering another world. I’d always loved video games and other electronic gadgets, but the last couple of years I’d been completely out of touch. I’d watched other people get new toys from afar, always on the outside looking in.

My dad didn’t seem to be any more knowledgeable as he stood searching the overhead signs.

“Ah!” he said suddenly and followed the aisle to the right past cell phones and music players to a huge section with laptop computers on every available counter. The sheer assortment they had on display made my head spin. Then I started looking at the prices. I knew my dad had money, but some of those computers could feed a homeless kid for a year. “Dad, I don’t need a laptop,” I said, and something inside me felt torn. Unable to deny it, I had to admit to myself I wanted the computer.

Games, social networking sites, even mundane things like e-mail and Determination

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chat were all better on a computer than on my phone. But I didn’t deserve it. It’s not like I contributed anything to society or even to my own life. Other people did everything for me, and I really just existed.

How did that deserve a reward?

“It doesn’t have anything to do with need,” Dad told me as he waved over one of the blue-shirted guys. “First, I want to buy you a computer. Spoiling you a little will make me happy, so it’s for me, not you. Second, you can use it to find online support groups to help with what you’re going through.” I noticed he never used the word
addiction
. It was almost as if using the word reminded him of his failure with me.

“I just feel guilty about it. You’re doing so much already,” I admitted. The salesperson looked like he was finishing up with a teenager holding a small piece of plastic I couldn’t identify from that distance.

“Me too. I feel guilty for letting you down, and no matter how much I do, it will never be enough. I’m doing what I should have been doing for the last two years. Or is there something else?” He stopped looking around for the salesperson and really looked at my face. “It’s not just about you and me.”

“There are so many kids on the street. I saw them and tried to survive with them for those weeks I had nowhere to go and nothing to eat. What’s so special about me that I now get to eat every day and live in a beautiful house and get computers and cell phones?”

“Oh, Jamie, I… I can’t answer that. I don’t know why any kids ever have to end up on the streets. But my firm is partnering with Leo’s shelter, and we’re going to help as many as we can. I know we can’t help them all, but….” His voice trailed off. I had no idea he was trying to help other homeless kids. His eyes were filled with remorse about what the decisions he and my mother made had started in my life. I didn’t fight him about the computer again as he spoke to the salesclerk.

“Hi, we’re interested in a laptop, a printer, and whatever accessories he’ll need.” My father put his hand on my shoulder, and for the first time since he walked into my hospital room, I didn’t flinch at the touch.

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“Great, why don’t you guys come with me?” the eager little salesclerk suggested as his eyes lit up behind thick-rimmed glasses. He couldn’t have been any older than me, but the passion in his voice for the electronics that surrounded him made me envious. I wished I had passion for something like that in my life.

Well, for something other than Brian.

The thought sent a blinding pain through my chest. I drew in a quick, unsteady breath as I reminded myself it had been Brian’s choice, not some evil force, that had pulled us apart. It killed me that I knew exactly where to find him, but I couldn’t do a thing about it. I’d called, I’d texted, I’d e-mailed, and I’d friended him, all with no success.

It took another hour as the sales guy helped my father assuage a bit of his guilt by buying me not only a laptop, but a printer, mouse, backpack, and external backup hard drive with minimal involvement from me. I knew I should have been more grateful, but everything ached from the seizure. Exhausted and a bit nauseated, I stood idly by as my father whipped out his credit card to pay the nearly three-thousand-dollar tab.

On the way back to the house, as promised, he picked up Mexican takeout. Usually, he ordered pizza or Chinese because they delivered.

Since we were out, I was glad that he decided on something different.

My automatic reaction to agree with whatever he wanted for dinner stemmed from living with Steven. I knew that, but I couldn’t quite break myself of the habit, even though we’d had pizza three times in the week I’d lived there.

After dinner, my father watched excitedly from my doorway while I took the laptop out of the box and removed the packaging. I stared at the open machine with its gleaming new keys and dark display with irritation. Picking it up, I looked on the back, the sides, and the front but still couldn’t find the magic button that would turn the thing on. The quick-start guide I’d thrown to the side slid to the floor as I pushed the computer away.

“Jamie, do you want some help?” my father asked, sounding slightly amused, which just pissed me off further. Rolling my eyes, I grabbed the instructions and skimmed them quickly. They even had pictures for the technologically challenged, like I had become. I took Determination

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the power cord out of the box and plugged it in, both to the laptop and to the wall. When I hit the same button I’d pressed a dozen times before, it finally lit up, and the machine started to whir.

“I think I’ve got it now,” I replied, and even in my own head, my voice sounded tired and distant. The excitement of getting a new toy had worn off even before the welcome screen appeared, and I wondered if that’s how my life would be from then on—brief pinpoints of light and joy in an otherwise inky night sky.

“Okay. I’ll run downstairs and get the information for the wireless.” I heard the swish of his shirt as he turned and the muted padding of footsteps on the stairs before I let out a breath. It had been on the tip of my tongue to tell him to go find something else to do because I didn’t want to play with my new toy, but that seemed so ungrateful I couldn’t make myself say it. He had no way of knowing just how sore and tired a seizure made me. Even hours later, I just wanted to go to bed. Unfortunately, the directed writing Dr. Fisher wanted me to do wouldn’t write itself, and I had to leave too early to do it in the morning.

Following the quick-start guide and the on-screen prompts, I got the wireless working, the software installed, and had set up my e-mail in relatively short order. It seemed once I got the damn thing turned on, computers were pretty much like riding a bike. The technology built on itself, but nothing ever truly changed.

We decided to put the wireless printer in my father’s den because my desk just didn’t have the space. That way, he’d also be able to use it, and maybe I wouldn’t feel like such a leech. I didn’t say that aloud, because I knew he would just argue, but the feeling settled in my heart like a shadow. I grabbed my battered messenger bag, the one I used to carry to school, off my bed and found the paper Dr. Fisher had given me with my “homework.”

Who in your life do you admire most and why?

I hadn’t really looked at the paper when she gave it to me at the end of our nightmare session. Though one of the male staff had helped me clean up in the bathroom, shouldering my weight as the strength returned to my muscles, the seizure humiliated me. Jerking and twitching on the floor wasn’t exactly the first impression I wanted to 156

Jamie Mayfield

make with my new therapist. I hated the look of mingled horror and pity as she stood above me when it finally stopped.

Shaking myself, I pulled up the word processor and typed in the question out of habit. It surprised me how easily the ingrained response to an essay question came back to me. Unfortunately, that’s as far as the conditioning went as I sat staring at the question and the cursor blinking back at me from a nearly empty screen. Leaning back in the ancient student desk chair, I heard the ominous creaking of springs as I laced my fingers behind my neck and thought. People started to come to mind as I turned the question over in my head. I admired my dad. He was successful, he could figure out a solution to any problem, and his life was more in order than mine would ever be. Then I thought of Alex. He ran away from home when he was barely an adult and figured out a way to survive. His relationship with Mike seemed to be strong and happy. It took me a moment, but I wondered if I actually envied Alex more than I admired him. Closing my eyes, I considered other people I’d known in my life. George certainly had my admiration. He’d spent years on the streets, fighting and carving out a life for himself in the underbelly of San Diego society. Even with everything he had done to save himself, he had taken the time out to take a terrified boy under his wing.

With all the people in my life, I had to admit Brian would be the person I admired most. He had the balls to get on a bus and leave his parents, his life, to start from scratch on the other side of the country, all in the name of love. Not for the first time, I wondered what it must have been like for him to make that leap. It had to have been like my decision to leave the Sunshine Center and strike out on my own. Brian had more money and ended up landing on his feet instead of his ass like I did, but we’d both jumped out of the plane hoping against hope our parachutes opened.

With that picture firmly planted in my mind, I placed my fingers on the keys and began to type.

Determination

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Twelve

“DAD, I’m scared,” I admitted a few days later as we trailed behind my lawyer on our way through the police department’s front door. He’d managed to put off the interview as long as he could, stalling through the lawyer, probably hoping it would all just go away. It didn’t, of course. Though my father had no way of knowing, I’d murdered a man.

I needed to atone for that or make peace with it or something. I’d meant to pay with my own life, but things hadn’t quite worked out that way. It terrified me that I might be locked up for the rest of my life instead, though it was no less than I deserved.

“I am too,” he whispered as the lawyer informed the man at the desk we were there to speak with Detectives Sanchez and Isaacs. The officer stood, straightened his dark uniform, and asked me to follow him with my lawyer. My father stayed behind, looking uneasy as we passed through a set of double doors into a long hallway. When I turned back for just a moment, I could see him watching us through the scratched and dingy window cut into the middle of the door. The officer, a squat, older man with a bald spot the size of Nebraska and a belly to match, led us to the very last door in the corridor and unlocked it. I found it ominous that the room they wanted to talk to me in was kept locked.

“Have a seat, and they’ll be with you in a few minutes. Would you like something to drink?” The man’s bored demeanor made me think the offer was more about protocol than comfort, but my lawyer saved me from answering.

“We’re both fine, thank you,” he said as he ushered me into the room and then guided me into one of the chairs. I looked up at him, and 158

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judging from the tasteful slate-gray suit covering a sharp blue shirt, he did well at being a lawyer. My dad seemed to have faith in him, since he’d left me in his hands. His quick brown eyes watched me closely through titanium-framed glasses, and I waited for him to give me some kind of advice about the coming interrogation. He ran a hand lightly over his thin salt-and-pepper hair and watched until the door swung closed.

“Okay, Jamie, just like we talked about, here’s what’s going to happen. They are going to ask you questions about your relationship with Steven O’Dell, your life, and what happened that night. If I don’t want you to answer a question for whatever reason, I will tell you not to answer. You need to trust me and stay quiet. Otherwise, just answer their questions directly and succinctly. Don’t embellish. Understand?”

His voice sounded calm, and it soothed me that he didn’t seem nervous.

It felt like he’d been through the process a lot. It helped me tame my fear, thankfully, because the last thing I needed right then was a seizure from the stress.

“I understand.” I took a deep breath as I tried to stop my hands from shaking. Looking around the small, spartan room, I saw no measure of comfort. From the plastic and metal chairs to the cheaply laminated table, everything in the room seemed to be about efficiency and function. I pushed back from the table a little and noticed someone had bolted it to the floor. It was like a bad prison movie, a nightmare I couldn’t wake from. I wanted to get up and pace but felt like I needed to ask permission.

My leg started to bounce.

“Just try to relax,” the lawyer said quietly. “They want you to be nervous and scared so you’ll tell them something by accident. It’s a tactic. Just stay calm and take a deep breath before you answer each question.” I nodded, and the motion made me slightly nauseated.