A Younger Sister's View of Addiction Posted by:Brigitte--Wednesday, April 03, 2013

I want to share a short story my daughter Kitt wrote for her high school Literature class. The assignment was to write a short story based on the book The Catcher In The Rye. The guidelines were that the story could be fictional or as real as you like. The only criteria was that it must be written in the voice of the character Holden. Kitt's story is very real, and provides a glimpse into how siblings are affected when one of them is a drug addict. Many of the posts on this blog are written by parents, but  I think you might find this post written by a 17 year old insightful.

I redacted and gave pseudo-names to keep things anonymous. Many of you know my story, and some have met Kitt and my family. Kitt and I both agree that Herman provides great inspiration for writing material. Who knows? Maybe a book is in the making.

 

Jessica

 

 

My Goddarn Screw Up Brother

I don't remember much, but Toontown used to be such a vibrant place. I would walk down the narrow roads looking in all the store windows. Such gorgeous streets and gorgeous windows. They were decorated with twinkling lights and flowers that you could smell without sticking your face in them. The fall was the best time to roam around. They had this jazz festival that added the perfect touch of velvetiness to the crisp air. I swear, you could hear those guitars no matter where you were in town. I didn’t mind it that much. It was sorta relaxing. Listening to the solid bass keep time for the guitars as they improvised. These guys just did whatever felt right at that moment. They did what they wanted and stole the show while the bassist kept to the same old beat. I would hear people say, "Wow, that guy can really play" and I always knew it was about the guitarist. Never the bassist. That always bothered me. He was the one that kept everythingtogether anyway.

It wasn’t until 2004 that things started to go downhill for the town. Hurricane Ivan grabbed it by its neck and shook it to the point that the town is now unrecognizable. The flood destroyed all the potential greatness Toontown had in one night. My dad had a newly remodeled dental office down there. New walls, new floors, new everything. Ivan barged in and decimated the office. Ivan didn't play favorites, he knocked down all thriving businesses and families. Toontown is now a ghost town infested with drug dealers. Those goddarn drug dealers.

Herman lives there now. I find that funny. I don't know why, but it is. We drive down there sometimes and drive past his apartment. It's a dainty, three-story building with red bricks and white windowpanes. His apartment has a window that faces the street. I like it. Right before you reach his place you have to drive down this long road. I wouldn't mind it, but there isn't much to see. Just broken down houses and old businesses filled with people just trying to get by in their lives. As we approach his building, my mom always says, "I wonder if we can see Herman through the window." I don't get why she thinks he'll be there. He never stands by the window. Ever. If he does, it's to water his already dead plant. That bothers me. That he keeps the plant, that is. It's such an eye sore. I don’t know why he doesn't just buy a new one, but I guess I'll never understand. The thing is that's what makes Herman so frustrating. His reasons behind his actions never make sense. Probably not even to himself. He just does what he pleases and doesn’t give a darn about anyone else. He wasn't always like that. I remember when I was little I use to think he was the coolest person ever. God, you should have known him. He killed me. His mannerisms would make about anyone smile and laugh. He was a chubby, brown hair, red Kool-aid mustache kid. You'd liked him. We would play this game. We called it "Rescue Babies". My sister and I were probably four years-old, making my younger brother about three and Herman six. I would sit on a bed with my sister and brother and we would be hugging each other singing "Kumbaya". We pretend the bed was our wrecked ship. Herman would be laying underneath the bed, swimming in the made up ocean. The game was always the same. We would be singing, Herman shakes the bed, and we would scream. Herman would grab one of us and drag up into the "water". The order was always the same, too. First Katt, then Rick. I would be stranded on the bed alone. It probably doesn't sound all that fun, but it was for us. Herman was the ringleader of all the best games. God, I wish you knew him. He was the one of the funniest kids you would ever meet. Teachers would always say he was never a student, but they still liked him anyway. That Herman is gone now, though. I'm not quite sure where he went, but I doubt he would be coming back anytime soon.

Anyway, it's Sunday, so I know what to expect for the day. "Kitt, Herman is coming over. Help me clean up a little," my mom says. I don't exactly mind helping. I like cleaning. If you want to know the truth, I just don't understand why we have to clean for him. He doesn't want to be here. Well, he does, but for the wrong reasons. I don’t blame my mom for wanting a clean house. It's good to have at least something nice while he's here. It wasn't long until we could hear his bass blasting from his 2002 Buick. He looks pretty stupid in that car, if you asked me. Take this typical old person car and imagine seeing a nineteen year-old blaring rap from it. It just doesn't look right. I watch him as he pulls into the driveway and opens his door. As he steps out, I can see a few bottles roll out and on to the ground. I don't want to know what was in the bottles and I don't care. He walks to the door with his electric cigarette hanging out of his mouth and rings the doorbell as if that's what he's suppose to do. The only people who stayed downstairs for him were me, my parents, and my dog who won't stop barking. She usually only barks at strangers. She usually does it to protect us. The funny thing is that she knows Herman. She used to love him so much we would say Herman was her boyfriend. Recently, though, she's been acting like an angry ex- that is still bitter about the break up. Nonstop yelling.

"You look good, Herman" my mom said. We all know though that he doesn't, but it's the only thing to say to a person like Herman without fearing the response. He walks into the livingroom as if he still owns the place and turns on the TV. Next thing I know, he turns to me

"Turn the Wii on. I want to watch Netflix." I turn to him and he coyly says,"Please." I could have smacked him right then. I was watching my favorite show.

"Sure. What are we watching?" (I really want to throw this Wii remote square in his eye.)

"I want to watch Jackass. My friend said I remind him of one of the guys." He laughed. His laugh just makes me angry. Not because it's annoying, but because it's the pot head laugh. A mixture of a monotone "huh" and the typical "ha". If you ever have the displeasure of talking to a pot head, you'll know what I mean. Herman's friends have that laugh, too. They're all such phonies. None of them even like each other.

"Kitt, give me the remote!" I didn't realized I was still holding it. I tossed it over, but I missed. I was shaking too much. I pick it up and hand it to him. "Here." I avoided eye contact with him the best I could. I knew if I looked that I would risk seeing them red and glassy. I don’t think I could handle that. We watch Jackass and I can hear my parents in the kitchen.

"Roger, do you think he's high right now?"

"I don't know. Maybe hung-over."

"Go check," my mom, her neck begins to become beat red. I feel bad for her. I know she's worked up and there is nothing I can do to make it better. Her own son turned into her worst nightmare right before her eyes. That drives me darn near crazy. I think of what I would do if I ever had a son like him. Makes me darn near crazy. I know my mom did everything possible to help him and has given him so many chances, yet he still refuses to follow any type of rule. I just want him to leave. I would take the honor of kicking him out of this house myself. I keep picturing me grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. I would say, "What are you doing with your life? Just look what you have done." But I know I wouldn’t have the guts to do it. So I just sit here, teeth clenched and palms sweaty. I look over at Herman and he's asleep. I watch him and imagine how peaceful he would look in his coffin. It's a depressing to picture, but I know if he continues what he's doing, I'll need to be prepared.

I guess wasn't really paying attention for awhile because I heard yelling. It was Herman. I don't want to hear it, but I know I have to stay. I have to. "Herman, please calm down. It was just a simple question," my mom said. "This wasn't meant to be an argument."

"F" you, guys," Herman snaps as he stands up. That hit me right in the gut. I know it wasn't directed towards me, but it still stings. I couldn't help but feel hurt. I wanted to say something, but my father stepped in for me. "Herman. Sit down. Now. Don't you ever speak to anyone, especially your mother, like that."

"You guys effing suck." I hate when he says that. "I'm glad I'm out of here. I can't wait until I develop Alzheimer's. I don't wanna remember any of you." Does he even realize how ridiculous he sounds? Next thing I know, the door slams. He left and I can breathe again.

I stand in the living room by myself. He has to realize what he does to us. His siblings no longer want to spend time with him. He has to know they're all starting to hate him in the order of our "Rescue Babies" game. First Katt, then Rick. Not me though. I don't think I hate him. I hate what he does and what he will do, but not him. Sometimes, before I go to bed, I pray that he gets arrested. Maybe he needs to hit rock bottom. But I guess the thing is, he hit bottom awhile ago. I thought that would change him. But he is still continues down the same path. I could feel the tears starting to cloud up my eyes. I try to wipe them away, but I felt someone grab my hand. "It's okay, Kitt. We'll be okay."

 Living with and addict is like being in quick sand. If you ever been stuck in an end-less cycle like this, you'll know what I mean.