https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2017\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/312\/2017\/05\/Mary-Kate.mp3<\/a><\/audio>\n <\/p>\n
I treated him like a dog, not in a bad way. I took care of him. He was fed, his diapers changed, and as he got older, lunches were made. Things like clean clothes and underwear were provided, for the most part. Declan was always at my side: sometimes on a short leash, sometimes on a long leash and sometimes on no leash at all. Like the time while doing dishes, I saw his red jacket, twenty feet up in a pine tree at the end of the driveway. He was three. <\/span><\/p>\nAs things grew worse at home, there were days<\/span>\u2014<\/span>most days<\/span>\u2014<\/span>he just got a pat on the head when he came home from school. <\/span>Good boy<\/span><\/i>, I\u2019d say. I really couldn\u2019t tell you what he did from kindergarten through elementary school, except that he was always with me. The others, older, needed far less. As the days, months and years plodded along, from the birth of my three children through adolescence, in an erratic pace of overall monotony; I needed more, not less, wine to get through. <\/span><\/p>\nLooking back, we all needed more. More attention. More <\/span>in the moment<\/span><\/i> type stuff. Not frantically looking ahead with a frenzied mindset, or looking into the next day\u2019s car pool and wondering what Sharon, the world\u2019s most perfect mom, was going to say about Declan\u2019s lunch bag or his lack of lunch in general. I was spun out but had kind of lost touch with why. <\/span><\/p>\n*<\/span><\/p>\nMy extended family is large. I have two sisters. And the holidays had run rampant for years with way too many people, way too much gossip and way too much food. This Thanksgiving was going to be no different. <\/span><\/p>\nMy kids were older, two in their mid-twenties living in Boston. Declan was nineteen and living in Maine. Mike, my husband, and I lived in the Berkshires. We were all meeting the Wednesday night before Thanksgiving in Duxbury, MA, at my sister\u2019s house. Sitting high on a hill that rolled down the the beach was the house, a large sea captain\u2019s colonial.<\/span><\/p>\nWhen we arrived, it was pouring outside. Mike dropped me off at the front door and went to park the car. I yanked at the front door and stomped into the entry way, dripping wet. I looked up and saw my two sisters standing in front of me.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cWhat\u2019s up, why the circling?\u201d I asked. <\/span><\/p>\n\u201cYour kids got here a few hours ago and Declan\u2019s in pretty bad shape,\u201d one of my sisters reported.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cJesus Christ, do you think I could get my jacket off.\u201d I said. I shook out my shearling jacket and let the rain drops fly in all directions.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cSorry. Can someone get me a glass of wine. Please,\u201d I ordered.<\/span><\/p>\nI\u2019m the oldest sister and, to quote my ex-husband, I was a handful. My short shaggy hair was always in my eyes and brushing away at my freckles. I could barely see anything at any given time. I could have been elegant with my long legs and my French grandmother\u2019s cheekbones instead I was more feral than feminine. <\/span><\/p>\nWith a glass of wine in my hand, I asked just what they meant about Declan. He had been gone for a few months in Maine working on a boat. <\/span><\/p>\n\u201cIt\u2019s more than stoned, for sure.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cHe hasn\u2019t showered and his clothes are. . .I don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nThey went back and forth.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cLike very jittery, skittish…\u201d \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cHe won\u2019t look at you.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cIt\u2019s to the point you need to do something Courtney.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nEventually, the cousins and my kids came into the kitchen from various parts of the house and the property<\/span>\u2014<\/span>the hot tub, basement, game room, computer room, pool house, beach shack and where ever else they could sneak and skulk. <\/span><\/p>\n\u201cHey Jamie,\u201d while giving my son a hug I asked, \u201cWhere\u2019s Declan?\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n\u201cUpstairs, he\u2019s been up there the whole time.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\nI went up. The room was dimly lit. <\/span><\/p>\n\u201cDeclan.\u201d He didn\u2019t lift his head. <\/span><\/p>\nHe rolled a cigarette. I drank the last few swallows from my wine glass and sat down next to him. When his eyes skimmed my cheek, in sideways glance, I could see they were jacked and empty at the same time. I went into the bathroom and ran a washcloth under cool water, sat on the bed, held his head in my hand and wiped his face. As a mother, sometimes that\u2019s all we can do. <\/span><\/p>\nAfter dinner, I slunk out the back door to sneak a cigarette. My sisters kept their eyes on my lit cigarette while they talked about me. I could see them clearly through the lit kitchen window and saw their heads swivel like owls, peering out at their target. \u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cShe seems to be drinking more for sure.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cMike barely talked to her the whole night.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cAre they doing OK?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cMike was saying he spends a lot of time in the Burlington office.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cShhhh, she\u2019s coming.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nI slammed the back door and filled my wine glass, again. \u201cI have one a day.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n*<\/span><\/p>\nThat Thanksgiving in Duxbury was a shit show. Really. I was on the defensive all weekend. I knew Declan was bad. His mood was as dark and deep as I\u2019d had ever seen it, desperation hollowed his pale face. I knew he wasn\u2019t going back to Maine. Mike and I brought him home. <\/span><\/p>\nThe drafts of winter curled through the gap of my front door. The living room was grey, shadows were cast around the floor from behind the closed blinds. I knew Declan was in there because the smell of stale cigarette smoke occupied the room. His strung out body, was thin and angular, contours that didn\u2019t sink smoothly into the couch. Getting himself out of bed, most days, was non-negotiable. <\/span><\/p>\nI sat on the couch and lifted his legs across my lap. He spoke.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cLast weekend when Jamie was home and you guys were out,\u201d he said. \u201cA lot of kids came over. I was drinking. I drank a lot. Kids came over that I didn\u2019t know. I started to freak out, I went into the pantry to hide and saw a small box of maple sugar candy,\u201d he continued.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cJamie came into the kitchen, I told him I had to go upstairs. I was freaking out. I was so dizzy, the room was spinning. A memory, a moment came up like I\u2019d never remembered it, it literally hit me. My body felt it. I was dizzy again and threw up.\u201d He paused and shifted his legs. <\/span><\/p>\n\u201cDo you remember the day I got head lice in second grade?\u201d Declan asked.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cI do.\u201d I did. He had been complaining about his head itching for two weeks. I had vaguely heard him. It wasn\u2019t so much that I ignored him, I just didn\u2019t hear him. The constant fog, that shrouded my mind never lifted as long as the bottle was close by, in the pantry, behind the china set I never used. <\/span><\/p>\nIt wasn\u2019t until the third week, over his breakfast cereal, he said it again. \u201cMOM, my head is really itchy.\u201d Like a fog horn, I finally heard him that morning. I looked at the base of his neck and there were red bites all over and the translucent egg sacs clung to strands of his blond curls and the critters crawled and clawed all over his scalp. <\/span><\/p>\n\u201cDad had just come home from a trip,\u201d Declan continued, \u201cand brought maple sugar candy. He gave it to me while we sat outside and you buzzed off all of my hair. The candy was in the shape of snowflakes. I kind of didn\u2019t want to eat them. But then I did and my curls just kept dropping onto the grass all around me.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cI remember.\u201d I did. I couldn\u2019t believe how long it took to me realize he had head lice. All I could think about was what would the school say. What it said about my housekeeping. What if the other parents found out we had lice. Mike had just gotten home from a business trip to Vermont and he always brought back maple sugar candy in different shapes. These trips were getting more frequent. <\/span><\/p>\n\u201cI didn\u2019t go to school that day. Dad was home,\u201d said Declan. \u201cWe all went into my room. We had to put my stuffed animals into a bag. We took off my sheets,\u201d he paused. \u201cThen we sat and played marbles. You asked me what was my favorite one. I showed you the red one with a white swirl in the middle.\u201d Declan stared ahead and I stared at him. He continued. \u201cWe were laughing, the marbles were shooting everywhere, under the bed. I remember Dad crawling under the bed and you pulled on his legs to help him out. You guys were laughing and I was laughing.\u201d Declan turned to me, \u201cI remember, I felt happy. We were all together. Everything was OK…I never had that feeling again.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n*<\/span><\/p>\nBy the next Thanksgiving, Mike had left the marriage, the family and the Berkshires for a size two business associate in Burlington who apparently I would really like if only I would give her, Camilla, a chance. I didn\u2019t care anymore about hiding the bottle, it no longer hid behind the china set. Sitting out on the counter, in the diffused light of a winter\u2019s afternoon, it was a ray of hope. <\/span><\/p>\nDeclan was still home, I was trying to keep him together too. Most days he wouldn\u2019t get up till four in the afternoon, by that time I had started drinking. <\/span><\/p>\nIt was on one of those coldest nights of winter, late after a full night of drinking that it happened. I wanted more and knew there was another bottle of wine somewhere. It was in the car. I went out hoping it hadn\u2019t froze. Back in the kitchen, my hands were cold and numb and the bottle slipped. <\/span><\/p>\nIt smashed on the tile floor. My heart sank. I got on my hands and knees, pushed the larger chunks of glass out of the way and like a desperate dog lapped up the red wine. My hands slipped and my face slid across the floor and a piece glass sliced my cheek. <\/span><\/p>\nDeclan was in his room and heard the smashing bottle. He came downstairs and into the kitchen. <\/span><\/p>\n\u201cMom, what the hell. Are you OK?\u201d I was still on the floor. \u201cYour face is bleeding.\u201d He bent down and picked me up. He sat me on the kitchen stool and wiped my face with a warm damp dishtowel. He put the kettle on and cleaned the floor. \u00a0He sat me down on the living room couch and made tea.<\/span><\/p>\nI was sick and tired of being sick and tired, too many days of <\/span>this is my last day<\/span><\/i>. The next day in the dank basement of a Baptist church, with cheap coffee brewing in an oversized percolator, I said, \u201cI\u2019m Courtney, I\u2019m an alcoholic.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n*<\/span><\/p>\nDeclan wasn\u2019t far behind. Late the following spring, on a rain soaked Saturday night going eighty-five mph, he careened into a gas station, barely missing the pumps, and crashed head-on into the steel pole supporting the neon Shell sign. Lying in a deep puddle clear across the station, the sign weakly flashed <\/span>hell<\/b>. <\/span><\/p>\nThe cruiser\u2019s lights spun red and white in all directions. Pulled from the wreck, Declan came out swinging. A cop\u2019s face hit, Declan face down, crushed into the pavement. Wrists pinched tight by zip ties. After a quick assessment by the ambulance crew, it was presumed head-on collision. Drugs and alcohol aside, that he was in fine shape. He was rushed not to the emergency room but to jail; wet, bloody and bat shit crazy. <\/span><\/p>\nAt the arraignment, a few days later, I sat on a dark stained bench in the back. Declan stood up in front of judge, he had scabs on his chin and burn marks on his wrists. <\/span><\/p>\nThe judge read out the charges, \u201cOperating a vehicle while under the influence of alcohol, driving to endanger, assaulting an officer, resisting arrest and damage of private property. Do you understand the charges being served?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cYes, your Honor,\u201d said Declan.<\/span><\/p>\nHe no longer had a license issued by the state of Massachusetts and wouldn\u2019t for the foreseeable future. Being this his first offense he was given the option of one year probation with a hundred hours of community service. Or thirty days in a rehab followed by a year in a sober living house. He went to rehab. <\/span><\/p>\n He was thirty days sober and, in his words, fifteen pounds heavier. I laughed. I was five months clean. Someone at rehab had given him a piece of maple sugar candy. He wanted to tell me a memory.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cYa know Mom, how you\u2019re supposed to eat candy or sweet things in the beginning to curb the cravings,\u201d he said. I did. <\/span><\/p>\nHe started to tell me the story, again, about the lice, the maple sugar candy, the marbles and the feeling of being happy. That overwhelming feeling of being happy and being loved. <\/span><\/p>\nI remembered the lice and the maple sugar candy and the curls falling onto the grass. I remembered his room and the stuffed animals and the sheets and the marbles. <\/span><\/p>\nI didn\u2019t remember the feeling of being happy. Or loved.<\/span><\/p>\nI started to cry.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d I said.<\/span><\/p>\nI\u2019m sorry for that. I am.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n![\"Mary](\"https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2017\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/312\/2017\/05\/Mary-Kate--300x200.jpg\")
Mary Kate McTeigue<\/b> writes short stories about the darker side of family, couched in a matter of fact and often humorous style. She is a Frances Perkins Scholar at Mount Holyoke College. Mary Kate is a mother of four grown children, registered nurse, and the oldest of five siblings. She has experience in navigating the minefields of dysfunctional families and loves hiking with her dogs.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Not So Sweet Listen to the author\u00a0read “Not So Sweet” at\u00a0The Blackstick Review launch event in May 2017. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":85,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-19","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2017\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/19","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2017\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2017\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2017\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/85"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2017\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=19"}],"version-history":[{"count":12,"href":"https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2017\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/19\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":288,"href":"https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2017\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/19\/revisions\/288"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2017\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=19"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
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