"You don't look like the mother...."

Visitation at summer camp is NOT like what you see on television.  Remember, our summer camp is a small county jail.

Visitation is one hour long, split into two thirty minute sessions.  Everybody goes up at the same time for the first session.  You sit on a metal stool, Plexiglas separates you from your visititee and the stools are set up in a U.  You have to put your mouth up to (but not touching) the glass  so you can hear.  I think of the germs on the speakers and I want to throw up. The acoustics are horrible.  And typically, all the stools are taken.  It is so very loud.  I would rather have a pap smear, mammogram and tooth drilled, all at the same time, instead of going to summer camp.


When you become a regular at visitation, you master the system.  You show up late, around 2:20.  Translation, second shift.  You avoid the folks lined up outside the door, smoking like it is their job and the commotion getting in the elevator.  Seriously, it is two floors and would take an extra three minutes max but these people cram into this elevator like they are giving away hundred dollar bills to the first ones up. 

And what happens on visitation day is that you start to recognize people. I mean after all, this is Parent's Day at the County Jail.  Usually, there are mostly moms and grandma's and occasionally, some dads.  And girlfriends. 

And, after you have been at it long enough, you get to know these people.  After all, they are your child's roommates.

Lately, there have been four of us. 

First, there is Crystal Meth Bev.  She weighs about 60 pounds, is wrinkled up like Joe the Camel, is always stoned on something, smokes like a horse and reeeeeeeeks of stale beer and cigarette smoke.  She is tattooed like Kat Von Dee and she rambles on with double negatives, ain'ts and drops the F-bomb and the motherf------word like it is hello.  She is what you stereo type when you think of the movie Deliverance.

Mallory.  A teacher's aid who wears more jewelery than Zsa Zsa and Eva Gabor combined.  She gets all dressed up to see this person that she sees.  I don't know if it is a lover, a son, a nephew but she has perfect attendance and she is so into my business.  She has asked me a million questions and remembers all the answers.  She even mentioned to me last week that my favorite holiday was approaching.  That was right after she asked me if I was on Facebook.  I lied.  Mallory was a cheerleader in high school.  She volunteered this info.  She loved high school.  She said it was the best five years of her life.  I said nothing.  But she is perky and kind and amuses me to no end.  Her and her cleavage.

And then there is the nameless Hispanic lady.  Her eyes are black as coal and big as saucers.  She has the most lovely skin.  And she is immaculate.  She says very little and when she does she is timid and her english is broken and she tilts her head down and looks up.  She is petite, curvy and timid.

Last week, we sat there awhile.  Crystal Meth Bev (CMB) was on a roll.  She got fired from her job (she didn't show up because she "fell into something") and didn't know how she was going to find a new job.  She ain't gotta car.

She looks over at me and asks me what I do for a living.  Okay, I told the truth.  What the hell was I thinking? Immediately CMB and Mallory were all over me.  I swear, just because I said I work for two television stations, I think they thought I dine with Diane Sawyer after she gets done doing the news.  Even the guard started asking me questions. 

And then, came the biggie, "what is your kid in here for?" 

My response, "poor decisions while intoxicated,stoned and or high on prescription drugs, or all of the above."

And I asked, "what about your son?"

Drugs, drugs, and drugs.  All of us were mother's of sons with substance abuse problems. 

And CMB says, Yep, six motherf------ time he's been arrested for drugs.  I told him you aint' gonna get better if you don't quit hanging with f--------addicts.  Look at me, I ain't never gonna keep a job if I don't quit drinking."

And then the elevator opened, the folks spewed out like sausage in a casing.

Our turn.  And my new the BFF's and I  got int the elevator.  I noticed that all three had Kleenex in their hands.  We went around the corner, opened the door and as usual, the stench hits you.  "Dirty ass" as my mom used to say.  Oh, it is awful.

The fellows come out and you nod at the person you have come to visit and you pick a stool.  And the visit begins.

Typically, the second shift seems longer.  Which can be a good thing or a bad thing.  Now that the 'button" is sober, it is a good thing. 

The Hispanic lady and her son were speaking so softly and privately in Spanish.  Mallory, the former cheerleader was going about the trees blooming, etc and CMB and her son were dropping F bombs while they both laughed that smokers laugh that turns into a cough.

I sat there with my son going over numerous things.

And then the guard came out, the boys get up, and we leave.   Immediately, you hear the clanging and the banging and off the boys go to the life that I will never be able to comprehend. I am ALWAYS the first one out the door so I hit the elevator button.  The three ladies come out and they are all crying.  We get in the elevator and CMB asks me, "did you have a good visit?" 

"Yes".  "And you?"

"Yep, he's straight so it was good." 

I looked at her and asked, "How long have you been going through this?"

CMB delivered without hesitation, FOUR F------- years."

I almost threw up in my mouth.  I was either half way done or done, not knowing the answer.

And the elevator door opened.  And instead of dispersing, we contined to walk with one another.

And the little Hispanic woman looks up at me and says, "You never cry, why?"

And, in CMB fashion, I answered, "I have a heart at peace.  I know in my heart that I have loved this son of mine unconditionally, I did everything I could to prevent his addiction, and when it was obvious, I did all that I could do to help him.  I have been a good mother, I am a good mother and I will always be a good mother.  I can only guide, I cannot do."

Mallory asks, "how long did it take you to get to this place?"

I wanted to really answer in CMB and say, "two f-----years" but I didn't.  I just replied, "I don't kow."

And then she said it, CMB, she said to me, "You don't look like a mother of a drug addict."  I don't look like the mother of a drug addict.  She didn't think I looked like the mother a drug addict.

To which I responded, "what does a mother of a drug addict look like?  She looks like all of us."

And she said it, "Hell yeah"

And there we stood.  Four mothers, four drastically different lives but two very common bonds.  Mothers of sons.  Mothers of son's with substance abuse problerms. And despite CMB and her stench, I had a fondness for her.  For all of them.  And truly, these were the woman who could clearly understand what I and how I was feeling.  Everyday.

We finally dispersed.  The Hispanic lady asked me if I could help her find an attorney.  I did.

Today, the "button" called.  He thanked me for "helping out one his cellmates."

"What?"

"You helped out this kid who doesn't speak English?"

It hit me.  I didn't correct him.  I don't even know if this kid is is a serial killer.I didn't help him.    I helped his mom.  His mom.  One of my new "friends."  One of the woman who loved her child like she didn't know was possible.  The mom who after all she loved, his love for getting high was more powerful.   And despite all the motherf------- crap, continues to love.