“Maybe he went out for a run,” I suggested.
My brother used to be an amazing runner. He’d won all-state in track when he was in high school. But now he used running as an escape from the constant therapy. It was his self-prescribed medication. This wasn’t the first time my mom hadn’t been able to find him.
“He isn’t out for a run,” she snapped.
“Did you call dad?”
She sighed. “He doesn’t know anything. He never helps. Worthless.”
I closed my eyes. The instinct was there. I could feel it tugging at me, urging me to do something. To jump back into the cycle that was my brother’s toxic pattern.
He’d take his medication for a month or two and then think he was better and stop without telling anyone. That’s when he started doing erratic things. Hanging out with his ex-girlfriend again. Blowing through my mom’s money.
I couldn’t stay and watch it happen over and over. I had been sucked into my brother’s problems our entire life. He needed more than weekly counseling and a doctor who doled out prescriptions every time one ran out.
But my mom refused to do anything more proactive. My dad didn’t give a shit anymore. And I was emotionally exhausted watching his illness tear my family in half.
I heard the bells chime from the clock tower. I had to get inside.
“Mom, I’ll call him later. When I get a break at lunch I’ll check online and see if he’s posted anything. Okay?”
“That’s it?” I could hear the hurt in her voice.
I sighed. “I’m walking into a client meeting. It’s my first one. I can’t drop everything and try to help you find him. He’s okay. He always is.” But in the back of my head I knew there was no way to be sure. It’s what I told myself. It’s what I told Mom every time Garrett did this.
“And what if he’s not?” she pleaded.
“Then, there isn’t anything I can do.” I spoke quietly. I hated saying it, but it was true. What could I do to force my brother to take his meds? How could I make him keep his therapy appointments? How did I convince him that he had to face his illness?
“Fine.” Her voice was clipped. The crying had stopped. “I’ll talk to you at lunch.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I hope you hear something. He’ll be back soon. Try not to worry.”
I hung up the phone and took a deep breath. I walked inside, pausing at the doors to change shoes. My office was at the end of the hall. I had a few steps to collect myself and try not to think about what kind of trouble my brother had gotten into this time.
I pushed open the wooden door. There was a woman sitting in the waiting room.
“Hi.” I smiled at her.
The clerk waved at me. “Your first appointment is here.”
“Oh. All right. I need just a minute.” I shared an office with another resident. She hadn’t arrived.
Yesterday during the orientation I received her name, but we hadn’t met.
I walked through the waiting area and into my office. I settled behind one of the desks and turned on the laptop the university had given me. The fan churned inside and I felt the warm air blow over my fingers.
I needed these few stolen seconds to remind myself why I was here. In the waiting room was a woman who needed my help. A woman who couldn’t afford legal help, but needed it. I was here to do something meaningful and rich with my life. I could help people. I couldn’t help Garrett, or my mom to see what he did to everyone, but there were people here who needed me. People who would listen. People who would respect my advice. Who sought it.
I could do something here my family had stolen from me. Garrett had ruined too many things. My parents were divorced. They still argued. They couldn’t be in the same room together. There was no peace or calm.
This was my chance to find something centered on my own. I needed this to work in a way they couldn’t understand. They thrived in chaos. It was drowning me.
I used to panic like my mo
ther. I’d comb the streets. I’d call all his friends. I wouldn’t sleep. Sometimes I didn’t eat. If he was gone more than a day, I didn’t go to work. I was the only one who accepted the offer for family counseling sessions.
Her name was Beth. My counselor was the same age I was. She said I didn’t have to call her Dr. Lane. I knew she didn’t have much experience, but I was desperate for a way to breathe. For a way out of the dark spiral that sucked me in to Garrett’s choices.