Those kids…

It wasn’t what I was hired to do, keep the kids that no one else can stand. “What’d you do?” I ask them before the days end. 

Most admit, “something stupid” …yeah… well don’t do it again, I don’t want to keep you all day. 

Most agree, but they don’t mind do much, I’m guessing. Because I see them again and again. In the halls they yell out to me. Hey! Mrs! excited because I gave enough of a damn to ask what they did…

I’m just the librarian, I give kids things to read, especially to those whose only friends are in between the pages of those books. 

Three of them today, it’s like a small quiet prison cell. The only sound is the scratching of pencils on paper and and occasional squeak of my chair. 

Those kids, therecthe ones the teachers can’t take one more thing from… I don’t blame them, I’ve been there, that’s why I’m here. I couldn’t do it everyday all day long. I yearned for the solitude. But, maybe just maybe… those kids, needed me. 

I’m no pushover, strong willed, hard headed, tightship. They know it. Yet, there’s enough to give them what they need for the day. 

Those kids, the ones no one wants, those are my kids.. 

“Do you have a book to ready?” It’s going to be a long day! …

Users…

My mother, my brother, step-father, and niece are all drug addicts. Middle class pill poppers,dope-heads, meth-shooters. High functioning, to the naked eye. Church attending, praying, Jesus believing drug addicts. 

I have my own addictions but they aren’t illegal. Nothing that will land me in a cell. Might cause me a heart-attack, maybe some dignity, but I don’t have to steal from others to satisfy them. 

They’ve never caused me to threaten suicide in front of my children. I’ll never forget the day my mother took a loaded gun and ran into the field across the street waving it dramatically, threatening to end it all. Because, we didn’t love her enough. 

This time, 20 some odd years later, same scenario except it’s my brother. He’s suicidal his girlfriend says. Wants me to save him, with an intervention, a letter. 

I suppose I could’ve been more sympathetic but I’m tired of it all. After 39 years of trying to save those around me, I decided,I can’t. 

That’s what I told her, exhausted I said, “You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved”.It’s cliche, really. Just like you can’t make a horse drink water. 

The truth is, their addicts. I’ve never wanted to admit that my family is a bunch of addicts. The way I see it, I married up and out. Not, that I’m better than them. Mind you- I just had different parents. 

Well one. I married him. Sounds sick right. Well it’s not. It’s just reality. My husband married a 16 year old, scared, know-nothing little girl when he was just a little boy of barely 19 years. Because he saw something other than that. What I don’t know.. you’d have to ask him. But, he raised me. Taught me about a better life. Told me I could be something. I didn’t have to be what everyone thought I’d be, nothing. 

I didn’t have to be Strung  out somewhere, looking for a fix, neglecting my kids and myself. 

I’m not trying to make it sound like I got it all right, I’ve made my own mistakes but the difference is- I made them then learned and went on. 

As I drove to work today, I thought about my brother’s children. The ones who are living a life they may never get out of and I dreamed of their future. Hoping that they have enough willpower, or prayer, or fortitude to say- save thy self.