on Lockdown

I get a call at 12:10pm. It's Kathy at CNS. In so many words, this is what she told me. "Hi Annie, okay so your Dad won't leave the house. He's locked himself in - and Angela, Karla, and Jennifer are all outside. He wanted to drive his car and when Angela told him he couldn't he got really angry and agressive. We think it would be dangerous to take him in to CNS even if we do get him to cooperate, but he's not listening to anyone and he's starting to act out." oh man, I'm thinking. damnit Dad, damnit! why can't you just cooperate and go?!!!! These people aren't trying to hurt you!!!! This place is nothing new! Just fucking get with the program!!! and dear lord PLEASE don't hurt yourself in the house alone! I take a breath, "okay - um... okay i'm on my way." Kathy suggests, "maybe try and call him, and talk him down a bit." "okay - yeah. I'll try that first but I'll start to head over regardless." I hang up. I dial home. The phone's off the hook. Oh man. I slam my laptop closed - 4 pages from finishing my neverending script - grab my keys and bolt out the office. Another call, "Annie it's Kathy again - okay so your Dad's disconnected the phones." No shit. "yeah I just tried. okay i'm on my way - i'll be there in 10 minutes." "Drive safe." she says.

I'm on the 134 freeway - speeding - having flashbacks to the night I was enroute that same direction after the heart attack. Rehearsing that same monologue in my head in case I got pulled over. "officer I'm sorry, it's my Dad, he's in danger at home, I know i'm speeding just please follow me and write me the ticket when we get there." Meanwhile I'm thinking all these horrible things. What if he does get the car to work? What if he starts feeling aggressive towards himself? Should we have hidden the keys better? Should we have hidden the kitchen knives?! Ahhhh! Who knows what his damaged brain can come up with?! All it knows is it's not happy, and feels trapped. And therefore, it's trapped my Dad's body inside his house fending off these people who are trying to take him somewhere against his will, out of his control.

I finally get there - whip my prius into the driveway -and see Angela crouched on the curb by the garage, and two other therapists from CNS sitting on the porch. The garage door is open, all doors locked. I go inside. "Daddy? It's me..." I hear Dad's voice, sounding soft and surprised: "oh are you here?" "hi I'm here." I find him, shaking, he's almost crying. then he gets angry. "OH GET THESE PEOPLE OUT OF HERE!!! they're calling the police on me, they're trying to get me. they're gonna shoot me. I'd shoot them if I could. get them away!" deeeep breath. "it's okay Dad, let me talk to them, it's okay. " "NO IT'S NOT OKAY! DON'T YOU DARE TALK TO THEM." it was as if he was upset that I would even try and reason with these imposters - that I wasn't on his side fending them off. "it's okay, it's okay." I shut the door slightly behind me and get the story from Karla and Jennifer on the porch. Then I hear the door slam shut and I think oh fuck don't lock me out too. So I tell them - "thanks, guys I got it from here." and I race around to the back and run inside. "ARE THEY GONE YET?!" "they're leaving now..." i say calmly. "THEIR CARS ARE STILL HERE!!!!" "they're LEAVING NOW I PROMISE!!!!" I say back, firmly. He watches til a car pulls away - "Bye bye fatties." Dad says.

I go into the kitchen and give him space. Mom calls - he's still furious and rips the phone out of my hand, then hangs up on her. the evil monster is still in him. I just go into the kitchen and let him lay there in the living room, steaming. Silently waiting - not knowing what to do - what will set him off - how extreme this evil monster could behave, I stand leaning on the kitchen counter, scooping a spoon in a jar of peanut butter, wondering when I make an entrance again. I decide to set the tone. I turn on "I Love Lucy" and stick a bag of popcorn in the microwave. three minutes later, just before the last pop, Dad walks in -- "what's going on?" he says, timidly, softly. I decide to say nothing. I just take the bag of popcorn out, and wave it in front of my face, smiling in delight and looking at Dad through the steam, the buttery smell floating up, waving the bag in front of me like a pendulum so as to tempt Dad a bit. "ooooooohhh can i have some?" "most definitely" I say. I pour the popcorn into a big bowl. He reaches in -- "wait!!!" then I pour an extreme amount of melted butter over the top. Dad reaches his hand in again. he takes a big scoop, and starts to feed his face. "Ohhhh it tastes sooo good!" he says whimpering, the warm comforting taste breaking the evil and bringing him to tears. "Aww, I know Dad. Popcorn makes everything better." "almost everything" he says.

We take it in the living room, stretch out on the couch and relax. The evil has subsided. For who knows how long.

And now I sit here, wondering when or if we'll leave the house today. Meanwhile, I know my Mom's at work, with the same pressing issue at the front of her mind, more present and serious than ever: Bakersfield.