ALCOHOL ONLY: CHAPTER NINE OF UNDERCOVER

TO HEAR LYRICS OF WINE TO WATER, PLEASE CLICK LINK BELOW:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kis40CX4-B8&feature=related

ALCOHOL ONLY

Alcohol is a legal drug. Assessing a client for alcohol abuse is difficult because the mere presence of alcohol in a subject’s blood or urine does not necessarily indicate alcoholism. Most of us have abused alcohol at one time or another, but most of us are not alcoholics. I have received a referral for a client living in east point. Most clients assessed for alcohol abuse are also using other drugs; this client is an exception to that established norm. I will not be able to rely on drug screen results, or an arrest record, unless she has been arrested for an alcohol related crime.

The assessment process proves to be less complicated than I had imagined it would be; I immediately detect the scent of alcohol on the client’s breath. Lydia is an extremely thin and very dark skinned black woman. I suspect her alcoholism may be at a stage of development that is beginning to destroy her liver, and other vital organs. I expect she will be dishonest about her drinking behavior; I have already determined that she will enter some level of treatment.

The client had failed to respond to my voice mail messages, and it had been necessary for me to send her a personal letter with attached business card. An appointment had been set, but she had later attempted to cancel it, reporting that someone else was assigned to the case. My referral source assured me that the other person was visiting the client for another reason, and said I should complete the assessment as previously requested.

After another call to the client, during which I assured her I was not entering the assessment process with any preconceived notion of whether or not she had a substance abuse problem, she relented. She also shared she was enjoying talking to me at this point, but that I had initially sounded “mean.” Since I had only talked to the client briefly on one other occasion, in order to secure the initial appointment, I suspected she might be confusing me with someone else. It occurred to me much later that the picture of a white person on my business card had most likely contributed to her assumption that I was a “mean” person.

We are sitting side by side on her couch; my lap desk in my lap, the assessment instrument on the desk, the pen between my fingers. Her daughter, Joan, and grandmother, Mary, are present in the room as well. Lydia shares that her referral took place after her 13-year old son, Luke, told his school counselor that his truancy was happening because Lydia was a heavy drinker. She reported he had also told the counselor her drinking kept him from sleeping at night, and made it difficult for him to get up early enough in the morning to make it to school.

The twenty-something year old daughter, Joan, and the ninety-something year old grandmother, Mary agree that Lydia is speaking the truth. They insist the young man, Luke, will no longer accept female authority.

“I wake him up in plenty of time to make it to school on time,” says Mary. “He ain’t wanting to go to school.”

“I know that I have offered to let him stay at my place,” Joan is saying. “Luke is doing whatever he wants to do, and using other people’s behavior as an excuse.”

I state the obvious.

“It is looking like the young man is not willing to accept female authority.”

“He has an anger management problem,” states Lydia. “He is mad because his dad is not living with the family, and because he is angry, won’t listen to anything I say.”

“At thirteen, he is wanting a male role model,” I say, “but he is rejecting the parent who is present, due to anger about the one who isn’t.” I think about Barack Obama’s book, Dreams From My Father. Barack described similar feelings and behavior in his first book.

“I am so afraid he will get into trouble,” Lydia says. Her fear is real.

“He runnin all over the place,” says Mary. “Ain’t no telling what that boy is getting into.”

I decide that I am dealing with a double-edged sword in this case. My client is indeed an alcoholic, and her son is using her problem to avoid having limits set on his own misguided behavior. Lydia probably knew what Luke told the school counselor, because he had threatened in advance to make the report, before actually doing so.

I share my own fear concerning Luke, with the three women.

“One thing is for sure,” I say. “If he wants to remain in this home, he is going to have to go to school. He must go to school; it is the law. If he does not attend school he will either end up in a foster home or in RYDC.”

I am feeling the fear of the three women in the home. They may have considered this possibility, already.

“Does he know not attending school is not an option?” I ask. They assure me they have tried to help Luke see the light, but he is not getting it.

Lydia keeps watching the door. She says she worries that Luke will not come home. She tells me she still loves his father, and will not see any other man romantically. She tells me that the two are still married, but that he has been living in another state for nine years. She tells me all of her children have the same father. She tells me she will not want to live if the state takes her son away from her.

I tell her she has a choice in this matter, if we can somehow persuade her son to attend school. I tell her other than her son’s school attendance, all that is necessary for his continued stay in her home, is for her to follow the recommendations of the court.

The door opens; the client mother breaths a sigh of relief. The young man has arrived. She has won this battle, though the war rages on. Luke has come home this time.

Luke enters the living area where we are seated. I feel some kind of attachment to him. His newly budding masculinity is appealing. I am aware that there is a very thin line between loving someone, and being in love with them. I believe that child molesters get confused, and cross the line, while most of us never do. Still, I cannot deny the young man is charming, and probably has the devotion of his school counselor. I feel sad that Luke’s father is not present to assist him through the process of becoming a man. I will have very little opportunity to impact his life for the better.

“What is going on, here?” I tease. “You’ve got all the women in the house going crazy worrying about you.”

He smiles knowingly.

“You need to go to school,” I am lecturing. “You are busy becoming the person you are going to be as an adult and it starts now, not after you get there.”

I am shocked that he is actually listening.

“I know you probably aren’t into the school thing right now,” I continue, “but there are things you will need to know when you become a grown man, and you aren’t getting them out there on the street all hours of the night.”

He is still standing there. I will milk this opportunity for all it is worth.

“Check this out,” I say as I pull a copy of Barack Obama’s book, The Audacity of Hope, from my briefcase. “This is a very good time for young black men. He is probably going to be the next president of the United States.” My adrenalin is pumping. The young man has not walked away.

“If you don’t go to school and stay out of trouble you will miss out,” I am saying in earnest. He is still standing there and appears to be spell bound. Where is this power coming from? Maybe God is here with us.

“There are too many young black men in jail already.” I can feel my heart pumping from the adrenalin in my blood. “You don’t need to go there.”

Where is this urgency coming from? Suddenly I know. I am feeling Lydia’s pain, the young man’s mother’s fear.

“Look here,” I say in earnest. “ I do a prison ministry. I’ve seen the video that M & M, the white rapper does with the guys in prison jump suits rapping in jail. But I’m gonna tell ya that I am in there often, and everyone in there wants to get out. No one wants to stay.”

Lydia breaks the spell of the moment.

“You’re not voting for Obama are you? Don’t vote for Barack Obama.”

“But I am voting for Barack Obama,” I insist. “Who you choose to vote for is up to you.”

The young man is still standing there. He has not left.

“Is it okay if I ask you a question,” he asks me. He seems serious.

“Of course,” I respond. I am honored he would want to ask me a question, since at his age I seldom valued the opinions of adults. “Sure, ask me anything you want”

I am about half expecting him to ask me if I always talk this much. I am, after all, in the midst of an adrenalin rush, and have been verbalizing with force like a speed freak, for a while now. “What’s the question?”

“Do you think Obama will be elected, and then get assassinated, and that we’ll have a race war?” he is asking.

“Our presidents have pretty tight security,” I try to assure him. “It isn’t that easy to kill the president of the United States. George Bush is still around, and look how many people hate him.”

“But John Kennedy got killed,” he says.

“I was alive in the 60’s,” I brag. “ I saw John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King Jr. both, when they were still alive.” I failed to mention I had only seen them on TV. Then I remembered he needed more than for me to talk about myself.

“Look,” I say in earnest. I am feeling as if this is my own son. “Presidents are more cautious than they were in Kennedy’s time. No one can guarantee some nut won’t kill somebody, but you are busy planning his death before the man even gets elected. Don’t expect the worse.”

My defiant nature comes through.

“I believe he will get elected, serve for all eight years, and die an old man.”

I am grinning, and feeling the power being a white person is providing me in this rare instance. It is unusual, and a luxury; usually being white robs me of power when I feel I need it the most with my clients.

“And about the race war,” I add. “I certainly hope it doesn’t happen, because I am not going to stop doing my job, and most of my clients are black. I’d be the first one to get lynched.”

He laughs, and then grins showing white teeth. He reaches for my hand and shakes it.

“Is it okay if I leave now,” he is asking.

“That is up to your mother, not me. You actually didn’t need to be here at all,” I respond. “I was curious about what you looked like, because I had heard so much about you from your family, but this is actually something I’m doing with your mama.”

I thank him for his willingness to be so honest with me. I also thank him for his willingness to listen to me at all, and tell him I had expected less, since I am neither the right race, nor the right sex to be lecturing him. The moment passes.

He shakes my hand again, before leaving the room. I turn to Lydia, my client.

“I’m shocked he listened to me for so long,” I tell her, and it is the absolute truth.

She tells me she is willing to do whatever she needs to do in order to keep her son in the home. She is especially interested in receiving family counseling for the two of them, to deal with his anger about his dad’s absence from the family structure. She shares that she believes God has given me a special gift, and that I have renewed her faith in the future.

I do not feel worthy of her praise, and remind her that her son will continue to disobey, but there might be hope if some man is willing to reach out to him, spend time with him, and teach him how to be a man. I share that neither of us can teach him how to be a man, because we have not done it yet. We laugh together. I feel whole. I feel a glow from within my body.

On the way home, I determine that my client needs to see a doctor before entering the treatment process. I do not know how long she has been drinking continuously, and alcohol detoxification can be deadly without medical intervention. I do not listen to music. My level of emotional intensity is strong enough without it.

ALCOHOL ONLY IS CHAPTER NINE OF UNDERCOVER; TO READ PREVIOUS CHAPTERS, PLEASE CLICK LINK BELOW:

http://hubpages.com/_2pvzhao591xs4/hub/UNDERCOVER-SYNOPSIS-OF-MY-FIRST-NOVAL

CLICK THE LINK BELOW TO CONTINUE READING:

http://hubpages.com/_2pvzhao591xs4/hub/THE-CRASH-CHAPTER-TEN-OF-UNDERCOVER