Tony Scott Movies, Car Chases, Drug Dealers, and the Psych Ward Again.

Short version: He was being chased by someone* who was going to "jack" him -- for what? Money? Drugs? Cell phone? Who knows but I raced out of my office at lightening speed and tried to find him which was difficult because he didn't tell me exactly where he was before his phone went dead. I was hoping that it was just the phone that was dead.

There he is! on the other side of the street, skating in and out of the commuters trying to avoid the PCH traffic on their way home to their $5 million dollar homes in Malibu or the Palisades, after a hard day of pretending to read scripts, yelling at their underpaid assistants, and eating free-range, organic lunches on an expense account. [No I am not bitter.] I zoom down the alley trying to get to him so I can make my heroic rescue. My heart is pounding. Of course I pick the longest alley in the entire town. Ok, back on the main street, honk, screech to a stop, he hops in on top of all my boxes of files, furniture, junk, from the office [see previous post about me losing my job that day] -- out of breath, sweaty, crazed.

"Go!" I accelerate as though Tony Montana is behind me with his "Little Friend." When did I become the star of a Tony Scott film? This is not a role that I relish. (And yes, I know that Brian De Palma directed Scarface not Tony Scott.)

Okay, so that was November 17 the day I thought was the worst day ever. The reality is that it was actually December 7.

That was the day I found him passed out in his bedroom, covered in sweat, gurgling, black and blue marks on the inside of his arm and syringe poking out of his pants pocket. The gurgling sound was the worst. I'll never forget it. Of course, he told me later he was just "snoring." The ER doc thinks differently.

So, not only did he not quit smoking the heroin it appears that he has "graduated" to the needle. Yippee. This movie just keeps gettng better and better.

I had arrived home from grocery shopping to find him in the bathroom, a friend in his room (not DEVIL DAMIAN but he is involved of course; more on him later). Max broke the house rules again (no one over when I am not at home; all his "friends" are druggies and thieves) but I decided to put away the groceries then kick the friend out (he's sort of decent this one).

10 minutes later, the friend comes out of Max's room and tells me there is something wrong with Max as he "fell asleep." The friend seems concerned and volunteers that he only smokes pot and whatever Max is doing is not pot but that he hopes he gets healthy. He seems scared. Friend bolts, I run into his bedroom and there Max lays gurgling, sweaty and unconscious.

After several attempts to wake him up, I slap him. Hard. So hard it leaves a red mark on his face. Nothing. Call 911.

Paramedics and cops arrive. Off to the ER he goes. I am oddly calm. Hot paramedic asks if I want to ride in the ambulance with him. "No I'll drive." I do drive. An hour later. Finished putting away the groceries first. Was that wrong? Again, feel oddly calm. Maybe I am in shock?

Get to the ER. He's crying hysterically. So sad, he's so pale, tiny, but alive. Hugs me and keeps calling me mommy and tells me he wants to get sober. We both believe it but I know that the drugs are stronger than he is.

His mood shifts over the next 6 hours from sobbing like a little scared boy to sleeping again, to hostile "WHY are YOU doing this to me??? Get me out of here! I hate you! You're a horrible mother!" He even accuses me of abandoning him and not feeding him. [I am a gourmet cook; he will only eat chicken nuggets.] He tries every possible tactic to get out of the ER because he knows he is headed back to the psych ward again.

He is still in the psych ward 6 days later. I have no money, no job, no energy. I know I need to send him far, far away (to the land called UTAH) but it's $10,000 a month which I do not have. What to do? Oh, his dad did send me a check since he heard I am out of a job and kid is killing himself. It was for $65.00.

So, back to the drawing board. What's next? I don't know. I just hope it doesn't involve planning a funeral.

Sincerely,
Me

*the one chasing him apparently is the son or grandson of a very famous 1980s junk bond king. So replace, Tony Montana with small white Jewish kid.

Worst. Day. Ever.

November 17, 2010. A day that SEEMED to be the worst day ever. [Insert male movie trailer voice.]

It started with a trip to Smart & Final. "I will feed the masses Hot Dogs today and they will love me for it!" Feeling good about providing a zero nutrition, nitrate filled "hot lunch" to the staff today. (Flashback to 3rd grade: Pomorado Elementary School Cafeteria. Lunch ladies with hairnets and plastic gloves serving up my favorite: fish sticks. Oh how I loved those "hot lunches!" My mom always packed my lunch so it was a special day when I got to actually buy a "hot lunch." So strange because my son has never had a "hot lunch" in his entire life. He's always been a picky eater. Ironic when you think about the things that he WILL put into his body: heroin is ok, fish sticks are not.)

So feeing good: no turkey sandwiches today gang! They're gonna love me. (Food=love, right?) Setting up, the word is spreading.... "hot dogs today, yippee!")Excitement abounds. (It takes so very little to make this staff happy. Well, for the most part. There's always that ONE GUY that has to whine and moan and complain about everything. But I digress, as usual.)

My junk food bliss was interrupted by: [insert serious (usually bitchy) female Australian voice] "ALL STAFF TO THE THEATRE NOW." Uh oh. That can't be good. In four years that only happened ........... uh, never. The upbeat hot dog vibe now replaced with a guilty verdict/life in prison sentence for a crime you didn't commit vibe.

We all gather, glumly. "We filed for bankruptcy today. The company is closing. You will not be paid on Friday. Pack up but don't steal too much." WTF? I can't quite process this. (Maybe it's why it has taken me all these weeks to write about it.) There is a general sense of sadness, disbelief, time stands still, what do we do now, huh? Some people bolt, laptop in hand, others frozen like a pillar of salt.

Should I finish making the hotdogs? It's sort of a blur. Where is my staff? Does the parking guy understand what just happened? He's gone already? Ok, I guess he got it. Right, we are not getting paid for our time so we're off the clock. But the hot dogs will go to waste! No, people can make their own lunch if they want. I have things to pack. Shit, so many personal things in this crazy disfunctional building/company where to begin?

To my office, that's where. Personal photos, artwork Max drew when he was in rehab, my party supplies I brought in for our last wrap party, my footstool I brougt in from home... so much stuff. My files! I must protect and save my files and thank you cards and awards from famous clients. Someone needs to guard this stuff right? I'm sure we'll open again sometime in the future and we'll need this stuff. If I leave it all the bank will just toss away all this history so I will be the protector of the memory!)

Call my son. Tell him the bad news. He's sympathetic but strong and supportive. Ok, we can get through this.

3 hours later, still packing, lingering, hiding from the rest of the remaining staff afraid I might burst into tears. I am scared. But, my son was strong so I will be too.

My cell phone rings. It's him. Max. Can't understand him. He's out of breath... is he runnning? Odd, he never exercises since he became a drug addict.

"MOM! HELP!"

"What?"

"I'M IN AN ALLEY AND THEY ARE CHASING ME WITH A KNIFE!"

"What? Huh?" [heart beating, grabbing purse, heading toward car]

"SAVE ME! THEY HAVE A KNIFE! THEY ARE GOING TO KILL ME!"

Ok, this day just keeps getting worse. But there is more. So much more.