Thirsty- word prompt for Wk 4 of Brigits Flame
Another in a series of Autobiographical Pieces with Names and Details Changed for Confidentiality
New Referral
Brandon Smith
Age:12, grade 7
Diagnosis (Dx): ADHD
History (Hx): Neglect, parental drug addiction, frequent relocations
The school counselor who gives me a new referral says he’s “a sad little guy who’s been through a lot” and has recently failed social studies and science due to attendance problems. I call his home to introduce myself.
Stepfather answers, and after assuring I’m not a creditor, proceeds to unburden himself about the kid’s mother. She’s in California for a custody hearing over the boy, whose father wants him back. On the way to the airport she cleaned out their bank account “to buy drugs.”
“I’m leaving her,” he says. “I gave her the divorce papers when she left. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised she cleaned out the account. I feel really bad for the kid, but I don’t think she’ll let him come with me. She uses him when she panhandles and hits the churches up for food.”
“Have you told him?” I ask.
“No. I would take him if I could-but I know his mom won’t give him up. I’ve seen him put her head in his lap and brush her hair and sing to her when she’s passed out. He’s taken care of her most of his life.” The hairs on my arms rear up with a chill of horror/grief. Not sure which.
“Can’t you call his father and let him know she’s using again?”
“He doesn’t want to go back to his dad. He wants to stay here, he likes this school and has friends finally. He was bouncing all over the place before.”
“Well, will you be there for him through this transition?”
“I love the kid. I won’t give him up without a fight.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that,” I say. “He’s going to need you in the days to come.”
I hang up and call his teacher to have him sent down. He peeks into my room-small for his age, hollow eyed, with long blond skater hair.
“Hey,” I say, standing up to greet him.
His eyes dart around the room. His arms are wrapped tightly around his backpack.
“Am I in trouble for missing school?” he asks.
“No. I’m your new counselor. I’m here to help you with anything you might need help with.”
“Okay.”
I sit at the table with him. His eyes light on the magnet construction set I keep in the middle of the table. He pulls some of the magnet pieces off and begins building something. I explain my role a little more, and confidentiality. He doesn’t appear to be listening-absorbed with the magnets.
“I talked with your stepdad. He said your family is going through some things.”
“What did he say?” Intense blue eyes pin me suddenly.
“Oh, your mom is in the mainland for your custody hearing,” I shrug. “And, they’re having some marriage problems. Are you worried about the court thing?”
“Kinda,” he said. “I hate my dad. I don’t want to go back there.”
“Well it would help me get to know you if I could draw a picture of all the people in your life, to see who you have to help and support you. It’s called a genogram. Is that okay?”
“Sure.” He relaxes, settling into the chair, the magnets in his lap. “I used to have a set of these when I was a kid,” he says-like that was so long ago.
“Cool. I never get tired of them, myself. So, look over here.” I show him the paper where I’m starting his family tree. “Men are squares and women are circles. This line means they are married or together. Do you have any other brothers or sisters from your mom and biological dad?”
I proceed to draw out of him the forking path of broken relationships resulting in his birth. He’s the youngest child of a 48 year old drug addict with three other children, each by different fathers. The genogram ends up looking more like a spiderweb than a tree by the time we’re done with it. He’s also been to six different schools by 7th grade, each of which he could describe in detail down to his favorite teachers and friends. No wonder he doesn’t want to move again.
The bell rings.
“It’s lunch and I’m not hungry. Can I stay here?”
“Sure. Do you want a snack? I have some granola bars…”
“I’m not hungry,” he snaps. “I told you that.” I look at his wan face. He sure looks hungry to me. Eating disorder? Depression? ADHD meds side effect? My brain flashes possible reasons and I make a mental note to find out more.
“Thirsty?” I offer a can of apple juice. He pounces, sucks it down. It’s a little unnerving watching his Adam’s apple work, and he doesn’t come up for air until the can’s empty. Thirst is so much more intense than hunger- immediate, life threatening.
“Thirsty then,” I say. He nods, and picks up the Magic 8 Ball on the table-shakes it, and, looking up at the ceiling asks loudly:
“Is my mom going to come back?”
The liquid slowly settles, and I find myself holding my breath. His biggest fear revealed- abandonment. He reads the answer aloud.
“Most definitely yes!” He puts the ball down carefully. “She’s coming back and it’s going to be okay!” His grin is transformative-I glimpse how handsome he’ll be someday. I blink, and it’s gone.
He picks up the magnets, and refuses to say another word. The period passes with me watching as he builds ever more elaborate magnet shapes. I revert to play therapy and just observe what he’s doing out loud. The bell rings.
“See you next week. You better be here,” he says, pointing a skinny finger at me. Thirst-a need more acute than hunger.
“I will be,” I say, my heart squeezing. It actually does that sometimes, a feeling like a tight bra, leaving me breathless. My heart’s been broken too, but today it just hurt.