Part Eight: Can You Hear Me Now?
As it turns out, Brian Kelmar, the man I emailed after Mr. Google and I found him, is as much a mensch as Bob Sweeney is.
I’m in the car with my dear friend Sandra, the one who couldn’t get in the house to take care of the cats (what cats?!) until Bob climbed onto the deck with a ladder, got in, fed them and then wisely left the door open so a) Sandra could get in and care for the little buggers on a daily basis because of course she has nothing else to do, and b) so I could get in once I arrived. We’re on our way from Dulles Airport to Warrenton, our conversation laced with “These fucking kids” and “What were we thinking?” and “Why didn’t anyone warn us?” and finally, “But would we have listened?”
Nope.
These kids. They take and take until you’re The Giving Tree stump, letting them sit on the last of you and break what’s left of your back.
But I digress.
If you know anything about Northern Virginia, you know that the route from Dulles to Warrenton is pretty good in terms of a cell signal. But, should you be forced off 29 to detour into the Vint Hill section of Fauquier County (of which Warrenton is a part and which is pronounced, say it with me now, FAW-KEER) all bets are off. Really. If your car dies while you’re wandering, lost, through Brookside? All they’re gonna find is your body and a collection of stink bugs rotting in your glove compartment.
So yeah, the cell signal is spotty.
And that’s when Brian Kelmar calls me.
Poor Sandra. I’m trying to hear him and not sound like a crazy person who’s losing her mind over her kid, and she’s apologizing for the detour and the crappy connection while driving at the speed of light to get us through the “Can you hear me now?” portion of the program. On top of that, she’s narrating it all in her gorgeous German accented English. “I vill get us to the highvay!” and I don’t know what to do first. Cry because I can’t hear Brian Kelmar or hug Sandra because she loves me and my stupid kid so much.
But I’m doubly blessed on this connection-free ride. Sandra gets us to the highway and Brian Kelmar, despite us being cut off twice, hangs on, calls me back and says, praise God, ”I’ve got an attorney for you. He’s pricey, but worth every penny.”
An attorney. A real, live attorney who represents people like my son. And I didn’t have to call every single one on the list Mr. Google pulled up.
I’m so happy, I could cry. Or drink wine. Which I determine is the better idea and suggest we stop at Safeway before heading to my house.
Oh no, Sandra says. Vee should see what he has in the fridge first. Vee may not need to go.
I’m like, Sandra, you know my kid. There’s spoiled milk and half a Red Bull at best, but ok.
We get to my condo. Unload my two pairs of shorts, no sweaters, toothbrush and two pairs of opened toed shoes because I packed for April in Naples and not Virginia, and go inside.
The place looks worse than any dorm room or frat house I’ve ever seen and, thanks to my younger son, I’ve seen several. I can’t believe that this is how my boy lives. It’s as if his bathroom exploded into his bedroom, took out his closet, and then barreled like a king tide across the entire place, depositing video games, controllers, clothes, shoes, cat toys, those rubber bracelets I’d like to shoot Lance Armstrong for, sunglasses, skateboards, sneakers, and at least five of those Yellow Pages size foreign language for dummies books.
Worse still?
It smells like cat. Cat food. Cat dander. Cat shit. The whole cat-n-caboodle.
Sandra and I exchange glances. Hers says, Breathe, it’ll be ok. Mine says, God, give me strength.
I pull open the fridge. It’s packed with food and coffee and fresh milk and fruit. There’s cheese and creamer and, most wonderfully, wine.
She shopped for me.
From the bottom of my heart, I love you, Sandra. You are one of the few silver linings in this situation and I’m so very sorry for mangling your gorgeous accent vith (sorry, couldn’t resist!) my writing. xo
This is part of a piece I’m calling “Life On The Inside.” You can read parts 1-7 here, if you’d like to catch up.
If you’d like to check out my other work, I invite you to visit my website for my books and TED Talk, and if you’d like to join me on Facebook or Instagram, I’d love to see you there.
My deepest thanks to all of you for joining me on this journey. Your notes and prayers mean so very much to me. Thank you also to those who’ve become paid subscribers. I didn’t start this newsletter to make money, but anything I earn here goes toward paying for my son’s court-mandated therapy.
Thank you so much for being here and for encouraging others to do the same.
Susan xo