Karma's here

The first time I met Clive Black, he was a five-year-old spitfire running up and down our quiet street, collecting neighborhood kids to play kickball. Later that same summer day, I wasn’t shocked to hear my son, of the same age, claim this energetic, friendly boy was his new best friend. They remained that way for years. Inseparable. Weekly slumber parties, little league baseball teammates, and even school locker partners. Wherever Clive went, my timid, quiet son Hudson followed. Our own neighborhood Batman and Robin.

The opposite personalities meshed their friendship perfectly. Clive’s active imagination created games, and Hudson’s brain regulated the rules and goals for each activity. They were entertaining to witness, and their energy was addictive. Clive’s mom, who became my close confidante, and I’d joke about what a great team the two of them would make in the business world one day. We imagined Clive spearheading the marketing and creative side of a company while Hudson handled the logistics. We had high hopes and aspirations for their futures and never considered for a moment that their adult adventures wouldn’t include one another.

Our two families became tight spending weekends and holidays together. They were our chosen family. A mini gang. It wasn’t unusual to find one of their family members in every aspect of our life.

Unfortunately, during their awkward teenage years, the two boys grew apart. While Clive excelled at sports, Hudson focused on academics. When Clive hit a home run for the high school baseball team, Clive won a chess competition. Each boy made new friends and led separate adventures. Their distinct differences pulled them apart. Of course, they were cordial to each other and remained friendly, but the closeness and bond they shared drifted into a distant memory.

Simultaneously, I felt Clive’s mom pull away from our friendship as well. She became too busy for a coffee date and never returned my phone calls. I understood but was saddened by her absence. Little did I know that her distance had nothing to do with our sons. I discovered her betrayal at the same time I learned of my son’s addiction.

One night during Hudson’s senior year of high school, I couldn’t sleep. My prescribed Ambien wasn’t working, and I feared doubling the dose because of the many warning labels associated with the drug. Fatality. Depression. Changes in mental state. Hallucinations. While my insomnia was crippling, the side effects were dangerous.

I tiptoed down to the kitchen for a glass of water. As I sipped my drink, I looked out of our kitchen window and noticed a tall, familiar figure duck into the side door of Clive’s garage. I glanced at the clock. It was one in the morning.

What was Hudson doing?

My son was a wholesome, strait-laced student. Hell, he was the captain of the chess club. He didn’t sneak out at night or come home smelling of alcohol. He hadn’t caused any gray hairs… yet.

During one of our last conversations, Clive’s mom confessed that Clive was spending time with a rough crowd and rebelling more than usual. Even though she didn’t reveal specific details, my heart ached for my friend, but I’d be lying if I said I was relieved that the boys weren’t hanging out anymore. Clive hurt Hudson when he abandoned their friendship to hang with the popular crowd. Maybe karma was paying Clive an overdue visit.

Knock. Knock.

Seeing Hudson sneaking into Clive’s garage filled me with mixed emotions. On one hand, I hoped this little middle-of-the-night rendezvous would reignite their friendship, and Hudson would no longer feel replaced or discarded. Plus, he could stand to have a little adventure in his life.

On the other hand, I worried. I didn’t want my son to get into any trouble. Hudson was scheduled to graduate at the top of his class. He had a bright future ahead of him.

As I put the empty glass in the bottom of my sink, I flipped on the entryway light for two reasons. First, I didn’t want Hudson to stumble and fall when he sneaked back in, and secondly, I wanted him well-aware that I was watching.

*

Subtle changes in behavior are hard to detect when you see a person every day. We are distracted by other things or people in our lives. When Hudson began morphing into the snarky, know-it-all teenager, I figured we had it coming. He’d been angelic up until then. We’d been lucky. What I didn’t notice was that his pupils were dilated, that he hardly ate, that he retreated to his room more and more, and that his grades were dropping. Everything happened gradually. It didn’t happen overnight. It was subtle.

During the same time that we were losing Hudson, my marriage was suffering, but I couldn’t find the energy to care. My idyllic life unraveled one strand at a time. My son. My marriage. My best friend.

By the time we discovered Hudson was using drugs, he’d already graduated from a simple joint to hardcore pills. His personality changed as well as his appearance. In retrospect, it’s obvious, but while we were living it, we made excuses.

He’s stressed about his future.

Being a teenager is harder than ever.

It's only natural that he distances himself from his parents.

But it wasn’t Hudson who was pulling away. The Drugs were. His addiction was in control, and it couldn’t thrive and grow under our parental thumb. Drugs were to blame. If I focused on the root of the problem, I’d be able to save my son.

The drug dealer introduced this havoc into our lives. He offered. He supplied. He’d be punished.

It didn’t take me long to figure out who the dealer was.

Clive Black.

The boy I helped raise, whose bloody knee I bandaged, who called me for a ride when his parents were stuck in meetings. The boy who’d I loved like a son.

When I confronted him, he didn’t lie or deny what I knew was the truth. He laughed in my face. Laughed. He saw me as the overprotective mother from next door. He found humor in the fact that I used our long-standing relationship as leverage for why he needed to stop doing what he was doing. He was better than this.

Before I showed up at his door, I knew there was a chance that he wouldn’t see reason. He was, after all, a teenager, and teenagers knew everything. I figured he might deny everything and lie to me, but I had not expected him to look me straight in the eye and disrespect my concern as we stood in the garage, below his little apartment.

After he dismissed me and climbed the stairs to his apartment, I set my plan in motion. Honestly, his disrespect made it easier to go through with my plan to right the universe for my son, who’d been irreversible damaged from the drugs that Clive slipped into his hand. I opened the refrigerator where I knew he stored his post-workout drinks. Each one was labeled for the day of the week.

The four sleeping pills that I’d crushed dissolved quickly into Friday’s drink.

On Friday night after his daily workout, I heard the thump of his too-loud rap music playing from the stereo speakers in his car as he drove down our quiet street. After the garage door shut, I imagined him grabbing his drink and heading upstairs to shower before going out to sell his ‘party poison.’ I snuck into the side of the garage just like I’d seen my son do months before. I started his car and made sure all the windows and doors were shut. The sleeping pills would make him sleepy, causing him to nap before going out, and the magical carbon monoxide would bleed into the vents to his apartment. Problem solved.

Yes, I could’ve turned him over to the authorities rather than taken matters into my own hands, but how would that help my other problems? By eliminating one person, I was stopping the drug supply and hurting the woman who was sleeping with my husband. I killed two birds with one stone.

Knock, Knock.

Karma’s here.