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ROB
Rob sat on the edge of his sagging cot, dressed only in green shorts, strumming mournful songs on his battered guitar. With bushy eyebrows and long curly lashes that would have earned him a job posing for mascara ads had he been a girl, he stared intently at his fingers as he concentrated on choosing exactly the right chord. Sweat trickled down his scrawny chest and settled in the mass of hair just above his navel. His arms and legs revealed a heavy growth of kinky curls as well. Only his face seemed completely without growth, perhaps because he was only fifteen.
A cigarette dangled from his relaxed mouth. If you looked closely, you’d notice that it definitely was not a Marlboro or a Winston. It was hand-rolled, with dried sprigs which were once green, protruding from the end. The strong, sweet odor gave away its identity.
Perhaps a casual onlooker wouldn’t have noticed that as he smoked, his dark pupils grew darker, dilating until they nearly took over the whites of his expressive eyes. He felt the heat intensely and stopped strumming to fan himself ineffectively. At least the fanning scattered the flies. That alone was a relief.
Yet, even in his physical discomfort, Rob remembered to inhale deeply, holding the smoke deep inside his lungs as long as possible to obtain the maximum benefit. During these brief periods, he didn’t exactly forget his problems, but he didn’t notice his stomach growling, complaining of unfulfilled needs. Neither did he remember his parents’ recent separation, nor his father’s yelling and his mother’s crying, or the cracking sound as his father’s hand connected with his mother’s face. His many other problems lurked in the corners of his mind ready to manifest their ugly heads. Yet somehow those obstacles stopped mattering so much, at least for awhile.
It was during these brief intervals that he composed some of his most touching songs. Inspiration seemed to fuse his mind, his lips and his fingers in a sharing of lyrics, harmony and rhythms that belied his troubles and expressed his soul’s deep longings. He knew a release then from his shabby existence, from his less than mediocre circumstances. He no longer saw clearly the couch with its stuffing falling out, the chairless table, the kitchen with nothing but a rusty stove whose oven had long since ceased to function, the refrigerator that no longer offered even a cool drink of water to a parched throat. Rob couldn’t have told you that’s why he smoked reefers. In fact, if you asked him, he’d say that it was cool; he’d say that’s how he made it with the girls; he’d insist that it had no harmful effects and that your Marlboros were far more damaging to the body; If he was not in a good mood, he’d probably invite you, in decidedly impolite language, to mind your own business. He’d ask you why, if advice were so valuable, people were giving it away instead of selling it. He might also suggest that you go straight to a well-renowned hot place.
Of, if he didn’t trust you completely, he would forcefully deny that he was a user and imply that you must have a problem if you thought he was. “Why?” he would ask, “would a junkie be an altar boy?” Why would he tramp hot, dusty miles to conduct missions with the local priest? Why would he sit through endless, boring lectures, by bored, ineffectual teachers, who insisted on teaching something that no one would use in a hundred lifetimes? Rob’s infectious grin, crinkling the corners of his full mouth revealing the space between his front teeth, would make you believe anything he said. That same grin would melt an Arctic glacier, and cause the most cynical observer to absolve him of all guilt, if not nominate him for sainthood.
Sadly enough, the only one who didn’t believe it all was Rob himself. One by one he had seen his friends disappear, afraid of being found guilty by association. This was the ultimate betrayal, his proof that the world was harsh and cold. Only one buddy remained. He was not a young man who would impress the casual bystander as possessing philanthropic, devoted, unswerving allegiance. Yet, he cruised beside Rob with his head held high. He accompanied him as they passed nonchalantly by the local police, talking about the latest fiasco of their favorite soccer team, yet with pounding hearts, knowing what was stuffed in the top of Rob’s sock. It amazed them that the police couldn’t see their hearts throbbing through their thin tank tops.
Occasionally this friend, Nick was his name, would point out the dangers but mostly he just kept quiet. Now and then though Rob unintentionally displayed his real self, and Nick would say a few words. Rob would mutter, “Drop it. You run your life and I’ll run mine.”
“Yeah, sure, buddy. Sorry.”
They’d fist pump and walk on. Long periods of time might pass before Nick would say something again. Rob always protested, but not too violently. After all, Nick was the only friend he had left.
His involvement deepened. First he became an errand boy, delivering threatening messages to non-paying customers or would be defectors. But as his habit intensified, so did his desperation. His meager resources were exhausted. His mother had nothing, his father had moved out; his brothers told him he was old enough to take care of himself. He pilfered the few articles at home worth selling. He went through pockets and sugar bowls while the others slept, but that was soon discovered and the family took better care of their possessions. He didn’t have the guts to rob a store or the stomach to beat up some old woman to snatch her purse. His underlying softness betrayed him, leaving pushing as his only option. Nick discovered this and was even more afraid for his friend. Everyone knew what could happen. Now it wasn’t just the cops he needed to worry about!
But at just about the same time, a school friend who just happened to be a girl and a Christian, told Nick about an all-day event coming up at their church. The theme was drugs. She told him, “In the morning we’ll have a panel discussion by a doctor, a teacher, the police chief from the narc division, an ex-junkie, a pastor and a psychiatrist. After lunch at the church, there’ll be soccer. Then, in the evening, a special service with the former addict telling us how he beat it. There’ll be musical groups too. “Why don’t you come? You can be my guest, but really it’s open to everyone,” Brittany said.
“Sounds interesting. OK if I bring a friend?”
“No problem at all. The more the merrier. The whole idea is just to educate us about the subject so we can make informed decisions. Oh, I forgot to mention, we’ve invited several other youth groups too so maybe you’ll meet someone who’s looking for her Prince Charming,” she teased.
Nick’s mind was whirring. How could be possibly convince Rob? This might be his last chance
to get it together.
Rob’s response was quick and not unexpected. “The police chief from narcotics? What do you want – to see me behind bars? Sweltering in some cell that smells like an outhouse? I can’t believe it. What kind of friend of you?” he raged.
“Wait a minute, pal, I’ve known Brittany for five years. It’s not going to be like that at all. You know I’m not a church-goer, but it sounds interesting. Lotta new girls there too!”
“Suppose, just suppose, you’re right. Suppose I humor you and show up at a church I’ve never entered in my life, and it just happens to be a day they’re talking about drugs. I might as well wear a sign saying ‘I’m an addict’ or ‘Reefers Rock’. You must be trippin’, man.”
“I’ve been thinking about it, and I have a plan I think would work. Every Saturday evening this group has a meeting. Anyone can go. I’ve actually been a couple times, and it was fun. They play games, sing, talk and there’s always a snack. So if we showed up there 2 or 3 times, they’d already be used to us. No big deal.”
“OK, but don’t get your hopes up. It sounds like a trap to me. And give up a Saturday night when I can cuddle up with some swinging chick and spend it with a bunch of squares playing Tiddly-Winks!”
Rob tried to put the idea out of his head. It was crazy! But in spite of his best efforts, the plan hibernated there like a bear in the winter, popping up now and then to tempt him. He really would like to be part of a crowd again. He’d like to be doing better in school. He’d like to make something of himself and have a better life than he had up until now. Maybe he could show his old man that he wasn’t a loser like him. But what about the gang? It was risky. He shouldn’t even be thinking about it. They would not like it at all! Just six months ago they had stabbed Tommy Brown because they thought he had ratted on them. They might think the same about him, and they were known to act first and ask questions later.
Many nights Rob tossed on his cot, feeling the springs through his thin mattress. Rob finally decided to take a chance. He was terribly self-conscious as he walked in with Nick, but Brittany rushed over to meet them.
“Who’s your friend Nick?”
“This is Rob. We’ve been friends forever, or at least it seems that way. Brittany, meet Rob. Rob, meet Brittany.”
“Nice to meet you,” they murmured in unison.
“Hey, let’s join the crowd.” It turned out to be a lot more fun than Rob imagined. Of course, he had fortified himself with some grass ahead of time. Still, it wasn’t half bad for a bunch of squares, and he never did see the Tiddly-Winks! He did see a guitar though which he picked up and started idly strumming. That’s all it took. Everyone crowded around, requesting their favorite song. Rob was embarrassed by all the attention, but secretly he was feeling good.
That night he didn’t notice the way his cot sagged and squeaked. He had glimpsed life without drugs, and it was far better than he expected. This was the night Rob’s double life began. He continued his drug use, and he continued his appearances at church. When the big day came, the group was already accustomed to his presence, just like Nick had said. He listened intently to the panel discussion. They made some good points, but Rob wasn’t ready to buy any bill of goods yet. He really enjoyed the music in the evening service. After all, that was one of his escapes. What really got to him though was the testimony of the former addict. The guy really seems happy, he thought. Either that, or he’s a terrific actor. There was a lot to think about, and he and Nick were both quiet as they made their way up the hill to their homes. Still, making such a decision would not be easy.
So he continued his drugs, his pushing, and his newfound friendships. All the while he was scared that the gang was going to raise holy hell with him any day.
Brittany became more of a friend , and Rob knew that he couldn’t continue to live in two worlds. He had to make a choice. The day he was handed a gun to persuade someone else was the turning point. He surprised even himself as he handed the gun back, sweaty from his fear, and said, “I have no use for this, dude. I’ve been doing a lot of things, but I’m not ready for this.”
The messenger took the gun and stomped off. Rob knew where he was going, and he knew the time was short. He had to get help, or he was a dead man. There was no doubt in his mind. Where could he go? Who could he trust? What could anyone do?
Nick. He’d understand. He’d want to help, but he’d be useless. He wouldn’t even be able to stake him so he could get out of town. Birttany might understand, but he didn’t want to risk losing her friendship. Anyhow, what could she do?
Finally he started home. It was already dark, and Rob sensed he was being followed. At a dark corner, someone grabbed him and dragged him into the bushes. He tried to dig his heels in, but couldn’t do more than slow the progress. Others were waiting, out of sight. The leader’s voice was deceptively quiet, but the kicks and punches were clear. Then he was yanked to his feet and his arms pinned behind his back. He caught the glint on steel just before he felt the knife pressed lightly against his neck. It scraped from one side to the other, cool and merciless in its threat, while someone read him their version of his Miranda rights. He was tied up loosely, and left there to contemplate his options.
He lay there trembling, feeling cold and hopeless. He gingerly touched his neck. He felt his warm blood, but it wasn’t oozing. That was something anyway. They had made their position clear, and he knew that the next time they would not be so merciful. He needed help from someone with more power than he possessed. What could he do?
He twisted and stretched and wriggled until at last he freed himself from the ropes. Then he dragged himself to his feet. He was already sore. Tomorrow would be worse, just like the day after a car wreck or a first day at the gym. He knew that he had to throw himself on the mercy of the pastor. He wasn’t too keen on the idea, but he saw no other options. He willed himself to calm down. Then he headed quickly for the pastor’s home before he changed his mind, his heart thudding in his bony chest. As he raised his arm to knock, he could almost feel the hot breath of his pursuers on his neck. He was ushered in and offered a cold Coke. It quenched his thirst, but hurt as it touched his bruised lips. Haltingly, he related all that was happening. They listened without a hint of condemnation. He ended with these heart-wrenching words: “I have to get out of this town NOW. I know they’ll be back.”
“You can spend the night here, Rob, while we pray about this and see what solution God will show us. We want to help. Does your mother have any idea about all of this?”
“No, I was ashamed to tell her. She knows I’ve been doing some drugs, but she has no idea I’ve been selling too.”
“She has to be told. We’ll go with you if you’d like,” they told him, “but we can leave it until tomorrow. By then, hopefully we’ll have a plan in place. Stay here for tonight. You’ll be safe with us.”
“OK,” he said gratefully.
They got him comfortably bandaged and settled in the spare room, and retired to their room to pray. As they sought God, He brought to their minds the names of friends who ran a Christian camp a few hundred miles away. They decided to give John and Linda a call to ask if they might be willing to shelter Rob for a few months, get him away from the temptations, and away from danger. John said, “Give me until tomorrow morning. I’ll talk it over with the family and we’ll pray about it. Call me about 8:30.”
While they ate some scrambled eggs and toast, the pastor and his wife told Rob what they were
trying to do. They all prayed before calling John.
“We’ll do it,” John said. “Bring him down. We have a room he can use. Hopefully this will be a turning point for good.”
Rob was nervous about moving in with strangers, leaving his Mom and his new friends. But the alternative was worse. They headed for Rob’s house to tell his mother the story and get her permission to get him out of town for awhile. Tearfully, she agreed. Packing was accomplished hurriedly, and they all piled into the pastor’s car. It was scary to stop and buy gas on their way out of town. But there’s safety in numbers – at least they hoped so.
Hours later, they pulled in to John and Linda’s house. The grounds were beautiful. You could see the ocean, blue and glistening in the distance. The green grass, the roses climbing the trellis at the front door, and the sun bright and cheerful. Everything seemed to be silently giving approval to this new adventure. However, Rob was scared. Now it wasn’t a knife cool and sharp against his throat. It was a totally new lifestyle, learning to deal with life without the aid of drugs. He also was being left with strangers, hundreds of miles from home. He was not sure he wanted to do this, or that he could do this. But then he remembered the terror he had felt as he was dragged behind the bushes, the pain, the fear, and the knowledge that unless he complied with the gang’s demands, he could only expect worse. Right now, safety was his top priority. After that, he’d make other decisions, he thought.
John and Linda and their children welcomed him. The boy, Tim, grabbed him and showed him his room. Rob had never had his own room, a closet, a dresser, and a nice thick mattress on his bed. Wow! He could get used to this. They tossed some balls at the basketball hoop until the pastor called him over. It was hard to hug his mother. She was crying, but whispering love and encouragement at the same time. A handshake with the pastor and a hug from the pastor’s wife, and seconds later he was watching them drive off.
Rob lay awake a long time, snuggling into the mattress, tears wetting his cheeks. He was overcome with the events of the last few days. He could still feel the knife and whenever he rolled over his sore ribs screamed their protest. On the other hand, he could hardly believe that total strangers had opened their home to him. He finally drifted off to sleep, and thought he must be dreaming when he smelled bacon frying. His first meal in his place of refuge. All the milk he could drink accompanied the eggs and bacon and hot buttered toast.
John and Tim then took him outside. John explained about the retreat, and how they were in the process of getting ready for three months of camps. He enlisted Rob’s help with the painting and mowing and cleaning. Rob had never done physical labor before so it wasn’t just his ribs that were hurting. He had sore muscles where he didn’t even know he had muscles! Sometimes he wanted to just pack his small bag and hitch back home, but he would soon remember that night in the bushes and start to tremble. At other times, the desire for a smoke was almost unbearable, but he was learning about prayer. Every morning as they finished that delicious breakfast John would open the Bible and read a passage. They would all talk about what it meant, and how it might apply to their lives. Then they would pray. Always Miss Linda would ask God to help Rob understand that he could ask for strength and be able to hold fast. He had already prayed to receive Christ, but he was such a babe yet. So much to learn. He was gaining every day physically; the scrawny body was filling out and he actually had some biceps! Now if he could show some spiritual growth as well!
One evening as he knelt beside his luxurious bed he realized that he had not once remembered drugs all day. What a revelation. What a blessing. His addiction was cured. His zest for this new lifestyle was whetted, but he knew nothing would be changed at home. But he could not stay here forever. He missed his mother. He needed to go home, and just trust God to help him withstand the temptations and keep him safe. He decided to talk it over with John. John agreed with him that he did need to face his fears, and get on with his life.
The pastor came to get Rob soon after. Hot tears escaped his squinted up eyes as he said good-bye to his adopted family. And more hot tears as he embraced his Mom a few hours later. Only one thing was changed. He now looked at his home as a temporary, stopping off place as he continued the new life of freedom he had already begun. In the hard days ahead, he felt confident that God would continue to give him courage.
.
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