The Day I Met Your Father
Just another day, of me doing domestic work for people just come out of hospital, with broken legs in plaster, arms in slings needing help for a few days to do the basic things. First on the list, one Thursday morning was the man who is your Dad. He had broken his leg. He lived in a two story townhouse, not as untidy as some – I was happy to do the housework – he seemed like a very nice man. He said he would go upstairs and wait in his room, while I did downstairs.
When I finished, I went up, knocked on the door of his room – it opened a bit and I saw him lying stretched out on the bed. His face looked flushed, he looked in pain. I thought I had better go in – see if there was anything I could do.
I could not believe my eyes – there was a torn strip of material – it was pale blue, tied just above his elbow, his lower arm looked puffed up and red – and in the crook of his arm, hanging down, I saw an empty plastic syringe, plunged into his skin.
I would have screamed, caused an uproar – but in the instant that I saw him there, I felt no emotion at all.
I simply stood and observed – his eyes were rolled back, unseeing, I moved forward, kept punching him on the leg, saying, wake up, wake up and tell me – what drug you have taken. Is it insulin? His eyes rolled back into some sort of focus, he stared at me, seemed to be alert.
No, he said, don’t worry, it’s nothing and lapsed back, eyes both fully closed. I pounded him on the leg again and said tell me, what have you taken, what did you put in the syringe. He looked back at me once again. This time he seemed pretty dazed, said what are you talking about – everything is alright.
I said no way, it’s not ok – you’ve got tape tied on your arm, a syringe stuck in with a needle. He looked vaguely at the syringe and as if surprised, started to tug and pull it out from his skin.
He suddenly sat up, fell forward, face crashing down into the bedside table. I hit him again and again on the leg, said tell me what you have taken. Was it meth, or coke, or what. Should I should call an ambulance.
No, he said, it’s all ok, nothing, don’t get stressed, I’m sorry, I’m sorry – you should not be seeing this. I asked again, I wanted to know – what have you used, I said – was it heroin?
He said speedball – that I knew was coke and heroin.
At first he had not seemed to be breathing, but now he was sitting up, breathing quickly, in short gasps, holding his hand to his heart, his eyes again rolled back in his head.
Then he seemed to relax said he was real sorry to have put me through this. And do stop hitting me on the leg – will you please stop hitting me.
I stood back, closed my eyes and I took a deep breath.
Next time I looked, I saw that he was now lying, stretched out on the bed, peaceful, relaxed, and breathing strong, deep breaths.
Something told me he would be alright, there was nothing I needed to do. I told him I thought it might be best if left and went on to my next job. He said yeah, and looked so peaceful. I said sorry if I spoiled your trip, sorry for keep hitting you on the leg but you had me worried. I didn’t want you to die.
No, he said, nothing wasted at all – he seemed to be breathing steady, so I decided to quietly leave.
We got on fine next time I went in to do the cleaning, we got to talking about the dope, how long he had been using. Then one day, he said that he had suddenly seen the light – wouldn’t use dope any more. We parted the best of friends, never expecting I think that we would ever cross paths again.
It was two years later and I had passed my exams for final year furniture design – no more cleaning. I was signed up to start a traineeship with a big furniture company. No one was further from my thoughts than your father on that day that all us students that were taken up by the company got an orientation tour.
As we walked by the accounts department, I couldn’t believe my eyes - there he was, sitting working at a computer – I called out his name, he looked up, with enormous surprise. But it didn’t take long, he ran over to me, got me to meet him for dinner.
The rest follows on like a fairy tale – except that it is all real. He’d gone into rehab, got completely recovered, become a trainee accountant. Had always hoped to see me again, to show me how he had recovered.
I have never told this story to anyone – only written it down on paper. It’s a kind of preparation in case I ever want to tell the story to our kids.
We’ve talked to them already about saying no to drugs – but I have in mind a plan. If I ever see any of them looking like they might take an interest in drugs – I’m going sit them all down and tell them the truth - about the day I met your father.
