Visits- July 2004 by Jessica L. Scharbor My eyes can’t quite open, as they are still too heavy and not ready to wake up. I lift my legs and begin to stretch them until they touch the metal footboard. I reach for my phone. “Shit…I overslept again. I have to be at work in thirty minutes.” Since I work in Little Rock, live in Conway, and haven’t showered, this is impossible. I jump out of bed as if a cannon shot me out, run to the bathroom, splash water on my face, and brush my teeth. The clock seems to be taunting me…later…later… Rough morning and the day just started. I drive entirely too fast to work, especially since my mind is not even focused on the road. Okay last visit he talked to us a little. He wasn’t too bad or too mean. Spencer is going with me so that’s good. I can do this. I wonder if my dad will be there this time. How will Josh look? I want him to have fun. I am so worried about him. I snap back and watch the road, just in time to realize my car is almost on the back of another car. Whew…close one. Work passes by quickly. It’s a bank and Saturdays are never dull. In between cars and sending tubes with receipts out to my overly anxious customers, I think about Josh and what I can do if anything to make this trip more memorable, more worthwhile, more beneficial. “Hi, Mr. Adkins, how is your Saturday treating you?” I listen to this strange, but nice old man, who comes through everyday to deposit checks into his wife’s business account. I wonder how his life is, how much I really know about him, and if he faces any family problems like me. “Thanks, Mr. Adkins. Have a good day.” “Mom, you have to come get me, Josh pleads. These people are just horrible—Satan worshippers all of them. They invited me to Black Mass. I hear them chanting Satan’s name. Mom, these guys said they will kill me. They will kill me. Mom…mom…you just don’t care. You hate me, don’t you?” Two more hours until I race home. One more hour. Home! “Hey sweetie, you ready?” I nervously look around to make sure we’ve loaded up everything we need. Dog Leash. Food. Blanket. Presents. “Jess, grab the cd’s you want for the ride,” Spencer picks up Meshach, our dog, who is wagging his tale so much by now that his whole butt is wiggling. He loves road trips. Unfortunately, this road trip to Fort Smith isn’t always the most pleasant. We head out and chit chat about nothing for over an hour. But the Ozark signs haunt me and alert me that the drive is coming to an end, and I am about to face my nightmare—seeing my brother and possibly my dad. “Babe, you okay?” Spencer stretches his right hand over the console and places it on top of mine. “Sure thing.” I lied. Silence enters the truck. As Spencer drives, I stress. Thank goodness I have him here. He is such a support. I look over at him. His blonde curls are the only thing about his appearance that gives away his sweet, sensitive side. The rest of him—all six foot and two-hundred and twenty pounds of him—show his strong, macho side. I love him and love him more each trip we take to Fort Smith together. “So, you think Josh will be better this time?” Although the question comes out of my mouth, the answer is already buried with thirty more questions and soon finds itself sitting in the well—the well of worries and doubts that consume me at this point. We are here. We pull into Josh’s modest duplex. The screened-in porch is covered in holes and wood is scattered along with dust, dog hair, and extension cords. I knock. I wait. I pray. This time will be better. I hear him. Before ever seeing Josh, I hear him rustling his dog, Austi around, gathering beer cans and tossing them aside. I hear him reach out for the door knob. “Josh, how are you doing?” “Fine. Fine. Back dog, Austi back. Back!” Josh grabs Austi, fearing he might run away. He loves that dog. “Hi, Austi!” I reach down to pet him. Spencer, Meshach, and I are hustled in as Josh continues to hold Austi back and open the door fully. “Don’t want to let him run away.” “I know you don’t Josh. I know.” I reach in for the hug that seems so awkward now, although Josh does seem to embrace me and appears ecstatic to see life, since no one ever visits him. I look around the place. It is about the same, the same carpet, the same clothes thrown over the carpet, the same beer cans stacked on the same crate boxes. I wonder, really wonder, if the same Josh is hidden behind all the paranoia. I look in the kitchen to see a huge wall calendar. At least he is keeping up with the dates. As I flip through each month, I see “Austi Pill” marked on the same day of each month. But nothing else fills the calendar. No big dates or plans. No appointments, nothing—just blank like his life seems to be now. I look at the table buried in Bibles and tracks and books about the Bible and see notes spilling from the chairs to the floor. Where did he go? As I fumble through the notes, I see Josh heading out of the bathroom. “Hey, before we do anything, I’m going to dial mom so you can say hi to her,” I say. “Mom, we are here. Here is Josh.” I hand Josh the phone. “Hey. Yes. Yeah. Okay. I did…” After listening to Josh’s simple answers, I hear him say, “I love you.” That’s good. That’s really good. “Jess, here’s Mom.” Josh hands me the phone and heads to the kitchen. “I love you Mom. Call you when we head back.” We play with the dogs and Josh stares, says nothing. I glimpse over at Spencer. His eyes say what my heart knows—this is pitiful. “Okay. Josh, you hungry?” I hop up. “I could eat. I have no money though.” Josh looks around and places his hands into the same black army wind suit jacket he wears every time we see him. As I say, “Don’t worry, we got it Josh,” I notice his sock pulled up with what appears to be cigarettes bulging out of his left one and a small Bible out of his right one. “Let’s head out, Josh.” The car ride to the same Chinese restaurant we go to every time seems to be too depressing. I suggest something different. Get basically no response, so Spencer just drives to the Golden Corral. I try to talk with Josh about something more substantial than work or the weather but what else can I really say? By the time we reach the restaurant, my butt is in pain from sitting on the console the whole way there. We hop out. Fighting back tears and laughter, we head in. Where did he go? “You hungry?” “Ya. Ya. Jesus saves.” Josh looks at everyone and says this to each one. “What Josh?” He just looks at me as if he said nothing, nothing at all. I drop it and we sit down. “Jesus saves,” Josh shouts again. “Josh?” “Ya?” He looks confused. “Nothing.” “Spencer, do you hear him? I’m not going crazy, am I?” “Yes. I hear him, but you know he does this.” “I know.” We have a mediocre conversation. Josh doesn’t talk, and informs us that we shouldn’t either, because God wants us to be quiet and listen. He says, “yay yay and nay nay” all the time. We suggest an activity, because Josh never gets to do anything. He agrees on putt-putt golf. Throughout the game, Josh seems interested, measuring his putter and lying on the ground to place the ball in just the right spot. I ask him how he is and that same despondent look haunts me, sticks with me, and chills me. I watch Josh fade in and out of awareness, not smiling and blurting out, “Jesus saves” a lot. I wonder why he had to leave us. I wonder if I will ever have him back. While watching my twenty-three year old brother lay on the ground in his black- and-white wind suit jacket, oblivious to every one. Paranoid schizophrenic. I wonder if that always means a mental prison—no keys, no way out. “Good job, Josh.” I reach my hand up to wave to him. I wonder if I will ever get something more than “Ya…Ya”. “Josh, you miss Mom?” “Ya…Ya.” He grabs his club. We all load up in the car, talk about the game, and silence enters the truck again. I think about how Josh used to be, about how different we both used to be. We pull into his white run-down duplex. Josh nervously hops out. “Thanks guys. I’ll get you back next time.” “You know you don’t have to. We don’t mind. We’ll come in and say bye to you.” I walk Josh to the door and give him a hug, and tell him that I love him. “You know we will be back for another visit soon.” I close his door and walk to the truck. Spencer already knows that silence is all I want. |
| After my brother became diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia, one of the hardest things to adjust to were the visits. He was so different. The following piece is an excerpt from A Simple Man with a Complicated Life. This piece depicts the differences in Joshua's behaviors and shows my difficulty in adjusting to the new Josh who was surfacing. |
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