I Feel Like Such a Fool

"Hi. My name's Dale. My son is addicted to marijuana."

He's at it again. Or still. I went out to the shed this morning to gather up the trash bags and carry them to the curb. The air in there stank of stale cigarette smoke. Dan has a lawn chair and a little table set up out there so he can sit and smoke. The shed is without windows or electric lights and he has a candle on his tobacco shrine. It stands next to an ashtray which holds a great disgusting mound of filthy cigarette butts.

As I looked around the shed in search of plastic trash bags, I spied a small plastic bottle on a wide board above the rafters. It was still half full of water, however the water was now brown from nicotine and frozen hard. I climbed up on Dan's chair to retrieve it.

On the board, hidden from sight, were three other plastic bottles. Each one had been jury-rigged in some way to make it suitable for use as an aid to smoking marijuana or hashish. Each one was punctured to allow the smoke in. I'm assuming he'd then put his lips around the neck of the bottle and inhale the toxic cloud. I put all four bottles in the trash and moments later, watched the garbage men toss the bag in the truck.

I feel so stupid, Ms. J. I've been duped. Lied to. Tricked. Dan has told me he hasn't used any drugs since the butane incident and I've believed him. I've trusted him. I believed him because I want to believe him. I need to believe that my son is not hopelessly addicted to drugs. Even though I've been warned by both Dr. Cirone and Marsha Elman, the social worker, I still persisted in trusting him. He's been helpful around the house, doing housework every day for me. I know now that the only reason he does anything here is so I'll pay him his weekly allowance. $20. He has no other source of income so I must therefore assume that he uses that money to buy drugs. But where? And from whom?

I can't watch him every minute. I go to work in the afternoon for four hours. Dan's alone here from 3:00 til 7:15 every day. Yesterday, he told me he'd found a guitarist for his band. There is no band, Ms J. The boy hasn't the slightest clue how to play his guitar. But he fantasizes about having a rock band. I don't discourage him, but neither do I encourage him. I just try to listen and let him talk. It's harmless, I think. Besides, I think it's good to have dreams. I had dreams too, when I was his age.

So he told me he'd met someone at the used CD store around the corner. Dan visits there almost daily. He told me he's going to get a job there at Dave's Discs. "Soon."

"Yeah, Dad. The guy's name's Trevor. He's a bit older than me. Twenty-one or two. Something like that. And he's an awesome guitarist."

"How do you know that, Dan?" I asked. "Did you hear him play?"

"Yeah. We went over to his place after and I had a couple of beers. Just a couple, Dad. And he played for me. So he's in my band. Yup. We have a guitarist now."

I smiled and nodded, Ms Journal. But I didn't like the sound of it. Trevor. Older. Gives Dan alcohol. Musicians are notorious pot-smokers, aren't they? I looked at Dan's eyes and they didn't look quite right. I can't explain it, exactly. But they just didn't look right somehow. I didn't want to accuse him of using drugs unless I was certain. And I wasn't certain. He seemed OK. But as I think about it now, I don't trust that he didn't smoke up with Trevor.

Today's plan was for me to give Dan his $20. ("and a pack of smokes") and to drive him to Acton and collect Meagan after work this evening. Meagan will spend the weekend here with me, and Dan will stay a few days with his mum. Come to think of it, he was VERY anxious to get to Acton. He asked if I could take him there around noon today. "Meagan has been sick. She might still be home from school. You can drop me off early and get Meagan early."

He also asked if he could take a couple of bottles of water with him. Now I understand why he wants the bottles. And why he wants his allowance. And why he can't wait to get back to Acton.

The bottles are on their way to the dump. And he will NOT be getting his allowance this week. He lied to me. I don't like being lied to. I've been more than fair, I think. I've worked really hard to get him into various treatment programmes. I've had to take time off work to do it. I bought him a set of weights. A guitar. I honour his privacy. But he lies to me.

I'm very disappointed. And I'm pissed right off. Dan's still in bed. I'm going to confront him when he gets up. I'll do my best to remain calm. I'll tell him I do not allow drugs or drug appliances in my home or on my property. I am intractable on this issue.

I'm afraid of Dan's reaction. And I'm afraid of my reaction to Dan's reaction.