John's coming home from rehab
| It's been too long since I saw John. He hasn't been here for 6 years. Actually, it's not his fault. It's kind-of dad's fault. We would have survived mom's death just fine, if dad hadn't screwed it up. She had committed suicide one night. I didn't know it then, but she had been trying to get a divorce from him since about 5 years before. I guess she just gave up; I really wish she hadn't. Sometimes, I really need her.
After mom died, dad started going psychotic. He started drinking and became abusive, and John got the brunt of it. He took up for me. When dad would start to come after me, John would step in front of me and take the full force of dad's wrath. That’s probably why John started doing drugs. Sometimes, he’d sneak into the house and end up in my room. He would be so high that he didn’t know which way was up. That’s what got him thrown into rehab. Actually, it wasn’t really a rehab center. It was more like this school for the severely screwed up. Once he got there, he stayed. Dad just kept sending more money to keep him up there. I guess dad just assumed that if he just kept sending more money, he wouldn’t have to deal with John.
The last time I saw John, he was in the treehouse we had in our backyard. His dark hair was spiked slightly. He had run his hands through it about three thousand times, so whatever shape he had put it in in the morning, it never stayed for more than five minutes, I remember looking at his face. He was smoking something, although I don't remember what. He was shaken. His arms were shaking uncontrollably and his eyes were watery and red. He was having so much trouble lighting his cigarette, or whatever it was, that I had to hold the match for him. I had seen him go through this before. The doctors called it a flashback. I was just supposed to sit tight, and make sure he didn't hurt himself.
I could only watch him. It always scared me to see what happened to him. He would stare blankly into the air and start to cry, and every now and then, he would mumble a few words like, "mommy, what’s wrong?" This usually passed in about 5 minutes. This one was the same way. In five minutes, he was wiping his face with the back of his hand and standing up to brush himself off. "Thanks, squirt." he said as he patted me on the head, and headed out the door. I barely noticed that he was high and, before I could stop him, he just fell out the door. I heard a thud as he hit the ground. I was really scared when he didn't get up. I climbed down the ladder, and began to shake him. "John," I cried, "Johnny, get up. You gotta get up!" Tears streamed down my face, and I kept yelling at him. Dad must have heard me yelling. He came running around the side of the house and pushed me aside. He could smell the drugs on John. I knew he was more angry than worried. He picked John up and carried him to the car. He yelled at me to stay at the house and then drove off, leaving me to cry and worry. I haven't seen Jonny since then. I wasn't even allowed in the hospital. And, as soon as he was well enough, dad sent him to that school. I really miss him.
When John left, dad got therapy, thank God. If he hadn’t, I probably would have ended up with John, in that school. Dad’s remarried since then. He’s been sober for 3 years and going strong.
Judy's my new step mom. She's nice, though I really don’t talk to her much. I spend most of my time in my room. Judy brought a daughter into the family with her, Jackie. Jackie is 3. She likes to follow me around a lot. I try to be a good influence on her. I don’t swear around her, or make rude gestures, which is more than I can say for my dad.
Anyways, John's coming home. My big brother is coming home tomorrow. I can't wait till he's here.
"Jonnathan, My Big Brother; He's here" The Next Chapter