Detention Confessions

Chester Jurgen sat on the steps of his ordinary suburban high school waiting for the bus. He was amongst seven other classmates that Saturday morning, along with the schools disciplinarian, Dr. Kraus and the schools nurse, Ms. Wells.

It was the fifth straight Saturday morning detention Chester was attending and his eleventh of the school year to date. He wasn’t a traditionally bad kid, or problem child but he routinely skirted the rules and quietly made choices against typical school policy. Hair kept too long, facial hair present, black shoes instead of brown and spending more time sitting on the bench of the schools coy pond area than I the classroom itself.

Most of the teachers gave a pass to Chester on the count of all he’d been through in his young life. At just 7-years-old he found his father with three bullets in his chest and to one therapist he could vividly describe the wet suction of his fathers attempt at a few final breaths and the truly eerie silence that followed.

His mother had developed an alcohol dependency problem after that. The woman had never drank a day in her life but sought comfort in the bottle before acquiring not one, but two DUI’s. Given the circumstances of her life, the judge opted for community service and an outpatient rehabilitation program as he believed her stay in county would be more harm to an already immensely challenging childhood for her only son, Chester.

The judge’s empathetic ruling went on to be taken advantage of as during Mrs. Jurgen’s community service hours, she met Lance. Lance was a career loser and fly paper for the disturbed. He had just enough charm and swagger about him, along with a perfect set of teeth, a true rarity amongst the folks in programs, the widowed Mrs. Jurgen took a liking to him.

Lance was a generous man in that he always shared a bag. To him it was about the company. The connection. And above all else, a chance that if the high went south, someone was there to roll him over to not choke on his vomit and he could live to see another day.

Third Saturday into community service, Lance floated the idea to Margaret Jurgen about getting high together. Margaret didn’t need a whole lot of convincing after the subtle charm and flirtation she received from Lance on their service days. It had been years since she garnered the attention of a man since her husband’s untimely death.

“You boardin’ this thing, Chester? We’re not waiting around all damn day. The junior high lockers aren’t gonna polish themselves!” Dr. Kraus, said.

Chester picked himself up, along with his Jansen sport backpack, the same one his father gave him for just weeks before he passed. The bag sat in the corner of the dining room of their two-bedroom townhome. The same room he found his father that fateful day. The strap that hung from the left side of the back still had a stained corner of dried blood that had run from his fathers torso. Chester routinely ran his thumb over the spot, a tick he’d carried since the day.

“Yes, sir. Sorry. Must not have slept too great is all.” Chester said whilst boarding the bus.

The students of Bentley High on the bus that morning were tasked with various school district approved cleaning and light maintenance projects to make up their typically well earned detention hours. That day, the junior high on the other side of town was getting their lockers polished. A cleaning that would last all of 48 hours before those rambunctious adolescent hormone happy knuckleheads would surely destroy the work.

#

DR. YOUNG – MARRIAGE AND FAMILY THERAPY

November 11, 2011

Age 15

Dr.: We’re going to try something new this session, Chester. Have you heard of EMDR? It stands for eye movement desensitization and reprocessing.

Chester: No, ma’am. Does it hurt?

Dr.: No, Chester. It’s a technique we use to treat PTSD for returning vets and folks who have hard challenging experiences in their life that cause them to get stuck.

Chester: Okay. And this will help me not miss my dad?

Dr.: Well, it will help us learn what part of that day is stuck for you. We will work together to access the memory of that day.

Chester: I don’t want to remember. I want to forget. (A young Chester begins to cry)

Dr.: It’s okay to be scared. I’m here and we’re safe. Your father’s passing and the circumstances around it would be challenging for anyone to process fully. You were just a kid, Chester. Hell, you’re still just a kid.

#

Chester unraveled his headphones and plugged them into his iPod touch and went to his favorite playlist, Wood Working Jamz w/ Dad. He sunk into his fifth-row seat of the bus, closed his eyes and pictured his dad in their garage, sanding down the legs to a new set of dining room chairs. He could smell the burning of the belts, the dustiness of the wood shavings that made the air dry and harsh to breathe in. He was just a kid, but he used to watch his old man out there for hours. Even if nothing looked different to his child eyes, his dad was always there to tell him all good things take time and settle in their own ways. He smiled to himself, if only for a moment.

Pulling up to the junior high, Dr. Kraus walked through the aisle and gave each student a sheet with a section of the school and a set of numbers for lockers that each was responsible for. He assured each of the students that a bucket with all of the necessary cleaning products and equipment would be at the first locker on their list. Lunch was going to at 11:30 AM in the cafeteria and he would be walking around the school checking in on the students as they worked.

One by one the students filed out of the bus, each passing a still eyes shut Chester. Upon doing the quick count, Dr. Kraus noticed Chester was still on the bus. He instructed Ms. Wells to take the other six students into the school and he would get Chester.

“Chester. Bud. What are ya doing? We’re here.” Dr. Kraus, said.

Chester had been running his thumb over the strap of his backpack and lost in his dad’s mix he took from burnt cd’s and converted to mp3’s on the school’s computers to load into his iPod.

The backpack sat on Chester’s lap and had it’s share of mismatched patches loosely sown over holes that continued to tear. The bag wasn’t built for high school textbook weight, but he never could part with it.

“You know, you wouldn’t have to be here if you cut your hair. Gave yourself a shave every once in a while. Went to History and Lit instead of the coy pond. You’re not a bad kid, Chester. You don’t belong wasting all your Saturday’s here.”

Dr. Kraus for as physically imposing of a human as he was, truly took to his students. He cared deeply for the development of the human beings he and his school were entrusted with guiding and preparing for the world. There were lost and hopeless souls that walked the halls of Berkley High, but Chester Jurgen was not one of them.

“I know. But it beats being home, Dr. Kraus.”

It was a heartbreaking tone and simple statement provided with such defeat. Chester had watched his father bleed out nine years prior and had seen his mother become an absentee parent with a parade of low-life men in and out of the house.

Despite his poor classroom attendance and lack of adherence to the schools dress code, Chester never did miss a test or a project. He maintained a 3.6 GPA and was kind to everyone who tried to interact with him.

#

DR. YOUNG – MARRIAGE AND FAMILY THERAPY

March 5, 2013

Age 17

Dr.: Chester, I want to go back to the day your father was killed.

Chester: Okay.

Dr.: There’s been an element of that day we’ve never been able to recover.

Chester: I know. I’m sorry.

Dr.: You have nothing to apologize for, Chester. These things take time. And you have done wonderfully here.

Chester: Thank you, ma’am.

Dr.: You once said you felt you could have seen someone there that day. At the house. And that you feel they may have seen you, too. You also said you felt you were spared, but didn’t know why. Do you remember talking about this, Chester?

Chester: Yes.

Dr.: Good. That’s good. I want to talk about that moment specifically. Do you think you can try really hard to walk through that moment with me once more time?

Chester: I could try. Yea. I guess so.

#

Mrs. Jurgen made a rare appearance picking her son up from therapy that week. She was thin, her skin was grey, and her hair was a wiry mess. There was a shiver to her body that she couldn’t shake, and she wore a shame her life was never meant to know.

In another life, Dr. Young was her therapist first. A trusted woman who molded the fabric of a once failing marriage to be the successful one that Chester always knew. It was hard for Mrs. Jurgen to be in the offices. To have Dr. Young and her staff see her this way.

That night, there was a chilling reason for her appearance. The last shred of motherhood and care showed itself in the most gut-wrenching of ways.

“You have to take him from me, Anna. You have to call CPS. I’m fucking it all up. I’m fucking everything up.” Mrs. Jurgen cried to a now much older, much greyer Dr. Young.

In her hands she held clenched a one-day chip. She wore a broken sense of self and a pair of clothes that smelt of no less than seven days worn. She had taken the first step through the doors to sobriety, and all she had to show for it was a chip that clenched in her left hand felt more like a stolen set of soaps from a hotel room that she didn’t belong.

“Margaret. He’s okay. You will be, too. I’m not taking him away from you. Not yet. You need each other.” Dr. Young, said.

Dr. Young ushered Mrs. Jurgen to the exit and sternly grabbed the frail, boney shoulders of the once vibrant and voluptuous woman. She smiled and gave a gentle nod to Chester outside, leaning on their car with earbuds in, at peace.

#

Chester was done the first three sections of lockers. Dr. Kraus gave him the newest set installed and with that, very little elbow grease was required. At the end of the hall, the junior high’s janitor was walking with Chester’s disciplinarian. The janitor walked passed pushing his nearly half a hallways wide dry mop, carefully picking up all the dust balls, crumbs and debris the kids made throughout the week.

“Hey, bud. Lunch in 15-minutes, okay? Really flying through these lockers, eh? Don’t tell the others I gave you the new installs, okay?” Dr. Kraus, said.

Kraus left, whistling through the nearly empty hall, skip jumping to the opposite side to avoid the janitors weaving dry mop. Chester was grateful to Dr. Kraus and all the teachers for being so kind to him. It was true, he was never a bad kid and always the utmost respect for people around him. Something his father always lived by. You’d think his father served with his yes sirs and no ma’ams, but the truth was, no one in his family had. Flat feet. Polio. Back injury. A catalog of reasons the Jurgen men never found their way into the service, but for each of them, respect and decency were of the utmost importance.

Just once, though Chester wished someone would yell at him. Someone would tell him that skipping class was wrong and that basic rules like cutting your hair and wearing the right color shoes weren’t suggestions. He was so sick of being tiptoed around by everyone. For god’s sake it had been almost a decade since his dad was killed!

Whackkk!

The janitor had run his broom into the bucket of rags and projects next to Chester. The guy was lanky, but fit. He was handsome as well; a characteristic Chester didn’t ordinarily associate with cleaning crews.

“I don’t give a fuck why you’re here kid but move the goddamn bucket. If I gotta be here longer because you can’t get the hell outta my way, it’ll be your last detention trip, I promise you that.” The janitor, said.

Chester, never having been spoken to like that before, smiled. A bizarre sense of gratitude coursed through his veins, and he felt compelled to shake this mans hand. His eyes swirled as his smile slowly continued to grow, his heart pumped so much he could see the bounce through his shirt.

“Thank you! Thank you, sir. You have no idea how much I needed that. I’ll move straight away, sir. Thank you.” Chester, said.

The janitor carried on with his dust mop down the hall in one direction as Chester, nearing lunch walked the other. All the way thru the junior high halls, Chester wore a grin in response to his five seconds of normalcy.

With lunch wrapped up and only an hour left at the junior high, Chester went to the restroom to wash up and get back to his set of lockers. Whilst washing his hands, in the mirror, he saw the janitor mopping out a stall. After drying his hands and going to leave the room the janitor called to him.

“Hey. Kid.”

Chester turned around slowly. His chest was filled with tension and throat puffed the taste of bile.

“Listen, I’m sorry man. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. Truth is, man I’m just having a bad day.” The janitor, said.

“Bad day?” Chester, responded.

The janitor racked his mop in the bucket and removed a towel from his pocket and wiped his hands.

“Yea. Listen, it ain’t you, kid. I’m 30-years-old and a janitor at a fuckin’ junior high. But I’ve made some mistakes in my life, and this is part of that penance. I’m determined to do better. Got a kid on the way, too. I can’t be yelling at him like I yelled at you, right? Hah, anyway, you go ahead and clean your lockers. I’m sorry I yelled, man.” The janitor said.

Chester’s heart rate calmed, and the bile retracted itself before he gave a nod to the janitor, a friendly smile and turned to leave the restroom. “I forgive, sir. For everything.” Chester, said.

Walking the halls of the junior high, Chester’s central nervous system gave signs of a total reboot. He went from burning hot to ice cold, to burning hot again. He took a knee as he tried to blink away the stars he was seeing.

In between the stars, flashes of his father, his childhood, his mother pre-drugs, his mother now, like an imperfect and unbalanced flip book of images. Then the ringing of his ears. First dull and low, before piercing and violent.

#

“There he is. There ya go, Ches. You’re okay, bud.” Dr. Kraus, said.

Dr. Kraus was hovering over Chester with Nurse Wells on the opposite side. Chester had suffered a panic attack in the east wing hallway.

Kraus and Wells carefully sat Chester up, with Kraus rubbing his back and Wells opening a bottle of water. Behind them was the other six students, mixed with concern for their classmate and gratitude that his episode likely cut the rest of their punishment short that day.

#

DR. YOUNG – MARRIAGE AND FAMILY THERAPY

March 15, 2013

Age 17

Dr.: So, your school said you suffered a panic attack the other day?

Chester: Yea. I guess.

Dr.: Do you want to talk about it?

Chester: No thanks.

Dr.: Okay, Chester. Well then, what would you like to start with today?

Chester: I met the man that killed my father.