Houses

Count All This — Chapter 2: an alarming conversation

Just when Jo Kasten’s adult son encounters schizophrenia, she discovers she has breast cancer. Meanwhile, her marriage faces a test. Count All This is a story about love and loyalty, addiction and madness. This is the second chapter. Find the first chapter here.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Camp was later. Let’s go back to the onset of my son’s mental illness, or addiction, or vision quest — whatever we’re going to call it.

A week or two after the correspondence on Instant Messenger, Eddy showed up at the house to talk. He sat on the bed in the back room with his shirt off. He seemed to have lost weight since the last time I’d seen him. I attributed that to his new preoccupation with health food. As far as I knew, he was eating nothing but raisins and almonds at the eco-commune he’d moved to the moment that he turned 18 — just a few months before.

Well, that’s all right. Let him experiment, I thought. Eddy’s been waiting his whole life to become an adult. Now that he was living on his own for the first time, I was grateful that he still wanted to come home and visit us.

His legs were crossed, Indian fashion, and his hands rested on his knees as if he were about to meditate. I admired his flexibility before dropping my stiff, aging body into the circular bamboo chair from Cost Plus that was too big for the narrow room.

“Hi Eddy,” I said cheerfully. “It’s good to see you. How’s it going?”

“Okay, Mom,” he smiled graciously, his dusty brown hair brushing his bare shoulders. He adjusted one knee, settled more comfortably on the bed, put his hands palm up in his lap, like a guru. Then he asked, “What do you think of houses?”

“Houses?” I knit my eyebrows together.

“Yes, houses. What do you think of them?”

“Well…I like our house. I know the neighborhood can be boring here in suburbia, but it’s close to work, and once you get inside…”

“No. I don’t mean our house specifically. I mean houses in general.”

“In general?” I didn’t like getting the answer wrong. Still, I was his mother. I kept trying.

“Well…in general, I think houses are a good investment, particularly in this area. I know buying this house was the best investment your dad and I ever made, that’s for sure. But some say our housing market is so inflated that it’s due for a crash any day now...”

“No, Mom. That’s not what I mean. What do you think of the fact that people live in houses?”

“What?” I hesitated. Was this some kind of trick?

“I think houses are good,” I said carefully. “They’re one of our basic human needs. Food, shelter, and clothing — right? Every human being needs shelter.”

“Did you know that if everyone in the world had a house like the kind we have here it would destroy the planet!?”

“Whoa!” I was taken aback by his sudden intensity.

“No. I hadn’t thought about that, but I guess you’re right. It’s true that our houses have been getting bigger and bigger, while our families are getting smaller and smaller. But our house isn’t really that big, compared to some.”

“Yes. It’s big. It’s fucking humongous!” A tendon on his forearm stood out and the skin on his belly tightened. But if he was irritated, so was I.

“What is your problem, Eddy? Why are you telling me all this? Are you saying that you want us to move to another house?”

Ed laughed. “Sure, it would be a good idea for you and Dad to move, too, but that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying I’m moving.”

“Oh,” I laughed, relieved. “I know that! You’re moving to a co-op in Berkeley this summer, right?”

Eddy was planning to transfer into the University of California at Berkeley as a junior, even though he was only 18. He’d taken an exam to get out of high school early and been attending our local community college for the past year and a half. Presuming he passed all his classes at College of San Mateo this semester, he had guaranteed admission into Berkeley in the fall.

“You’ll be using fewer resources in a big house full of a lot of people,” I beamed.

“No, not to a co-op,” he stopped me once again. “I’m moving to the forest. But I need you to buy me a few things first.”

“To the forest? What forest? I thought you were going to UC Berkeley?!”

“Yes, I am.” He slowed down and spoke precisely, enunciating every word. “I’m going to UC Berkeley in the fall and, in preparation, I’m moving to the forest behind UC Berkeley.”

“The forest behind UC Berkeley?” I echoed, stunned. “You can’t live there, Eddy. That isn’t a forest. That’s a park.”

“A park? A park?!” he exploded. “It’s not a park!!! There are acres and acres of open space! There are other people who live there, and I am moving there, too. I’ve been thinking about this for months, Mom. I know exactly what I need to live off the land and not harm the planet. There’s a lightweight tent I want to buy, a hammock, some cookware, some special pellets that you put into water to make sure it’s safe to drink…”

“Edward.” I tried to lower the temperature with the tone of my voice but felt scared just the same. “Wait a minute. Calm down. What about your classes?”

“I’m going to go to my classes.”

“You are? What about your computer? Where are you going to plug that in? How are you going to do your homework?” I had to work to keep my voice calm. The idea was preposterous. Surely he would see that.

“I can take it to the library, or to a restaurant. There are plenty of places to plug in a laptop.” He spoke in a condescending tone, as if I were an idiot. His insistence alarmed me. And his voice was all wrong — too intense, almost artificial. He wasn’t registering my objections at all.

“Why are you talking like this?” My voice sounded pathetic even in my own ears. “Of course you can’t live in Tilden Park while you’re going to UC Berkeley! What about showers? How are you going to stay clean?”

“I’ll use showers at the co-op. Or I’ll go to a friend’s house.”

“Use the showers at the co-op? But you won’t be living there! They’re not going to let a stranger just walk in off the street and take a shower whenever he feels like it.”

“What do you know?!” Ed scoffed. “Yes they will! I’ve been there. They’re just a bunch of kids! No one’s paying any attention, Mom,” he said my name like an curse. “They aren’t grown ups who have to control everything. They aren’t afraid of anything new. No one will care if I come in and take a shower!”

Eddy looked like he’d swallowed a big balloon of anger that was feeding rage directly into his heart. He was waving his arms like Shiva the Destroyer. His eyes flared.

“Where are you going to take a shit?” I shouted at him, trying to match his intensity, to puncture his balloon.

“In the forest!” he shouted back. “We should all be shitting in the forest!”

I looked at him incredulously as I stood up from my chair. “You’re talking like a crazy person.” I said as I moved towards the door, heart beating wildly and throat closing up. “You sound just like my father used to when he was having a manic episode. Of course you can’t live in the woods and go to UC Berkeley.”

Eddy shot from the bed to stand in front of the doorway, trapping me in the room.

“Get out of my way!” I shrieked.

“I’m not crazy, Mom,” his voice was smooth now, persuasive. “Just because this idea is new to you doesn’t mean it’s insane. Think about it. This is what everyone should be doing. We can’t sustain life on the planet living the way we do.”

“Okay,” I relented, relieved that he had lowered his voice. “You may be right, but this isn’t the time or place for you to do this. You can’t do this in Berkeley, in an urban environment. You can’t do this when you are going to school. Please get out of my way, now. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” I put my hand on his arm to move him aside.

“Don’t tell me what I can’t do!” his volume shot up again as he jerked his arm from my grasp and made himself bigger in the doorway. “I can do this! I’ve thought it through! Every little thing that’s happened to me in the last three months, I’ve asked myself, ‘how would I handle this if I didn’t have an apartment? What would I do in this situation without a house?’ I’ve studied it. I have all the answers. I’m serious, Mom. Give me some credit! Don’t treat me like I’m 12 years old!”

“Fine!” I shouted. “You want to be homeless, be homeless! I can’t stop you. You’re a grown up. But don’t ask me for money to finance your stupid experiment. Now get out of the fucking doorway! Let me out of this room!”

Ed looked down at me a moment before moving aside, then followed as I scuttled off to my room. “I’ve been thinking about this for months and you’ve only been thinking about it for five minutes!” he yelled at my back. “I know what I’m doing! I just need a thousand dollars for some camping equipment.”

“A thousand dollars?!” I snorted as I rounded the corner into my bedroom, where Larry was lying on the bed with his laptop perched on his stomach.

“Eddy wants a thousand dollars to buy camping equipment so he can become a homeless person,” I said before diving under the covers and burying my head.

Larry laughed.

Eddy sat gently at the foot of the bed and composed himself for a moment. “Listen Dad,” he began quietly. “We’re raping the planet. You can’t deny that. But we don’t have to. I just want to live in the forest so I don’t harm anything.”

“Where? In Berkeley?”

“Yes. Behind the campus.”

“What, are you going to leave little pieces of toilet paper on the bushes in Tilden Park?” Larry laughed again. His fingers were still poised above the keyboard, his gaze lifted only slightly from the screen.

“Look Dad. I won’t use toilet paper. I’ll use leaves.” Eddy laughed a little then in spite of himself. “I just need a thousand dollars for a tent and some equipment.”

This time Larry put the laptop aside.

“Look, Ed, if you want to renounce the material world and live off the land, that’s wonderful. I support you. And I think the very first thing you should renounce is money. I’m perfectly okay with that, because, frankly, your mother and I have a lot of things we’d like to spend your college money on anyway.”

“Dad, I…”

“It’s not happening Eddy,” I shot out from my hiding place under the blankets. “Give it up!”

Eddy crossed his arms and glowered at the wall. “You’re not listening to me!”

“That’s true, Edward,” Larry put the laptop back on his stomach. “We’re not listening to you, because this conversation is over. Is there anything else you’d like to talk about? Because if there isn’t, I’d appreciate it if you’d go away.”

Eddy got off the bed and left the room abruptly. We heard the front door slam a few seconds after that.

When I knew the coast was clear, I crawled out from under the covers and went over to the dresser to get into my pajamas. As I pulled off my tee shirt, I saw a small dot of moisture on the fabric.

“Whoa, look at that,” I said wonderingly to Larry. “I must be starting menopause. Or else that was super stressful. My hormones are going crazy. My breasts are leaking. My body thinks I’m breastfeeding.”

“Hmmm,” he intoned, as if he were listening. But his eyes were already glued back on the screen.

That was the second chapter of my novel, Count All This. To continue, follow the free chapter links below or buy the whole digital book on Amazon, where leaving a rating or review will help others find my story.

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