Mel and I were quietly conversing about our substitute staff member while idly standing by the game of horse.
Mel said, “You gotta admit, that’s a fine looking woman right there,” nodding toward Angelina. “She got some tig ol bitties!”
“Absolutely,” I agreed. “I’m with you on that one. I can go for a plus size woman every now and then.”
“Whatchu mean, ‘plus size’?” Mel cocked his head and squinted.
I said, “You know. A little extra here and there.”
“Why you gotta call her fat?” asked Mel.
“I’m not calling her fat. Don’t get me wrong, I like it, she’s a good looking girl. I’m agreeing with you.” I knew that Mel had a penchant for larger women, so I was surprised that he was taking this angle.
He said, “But you’re saying she’s too fat for you? Dude, that’s just wrong.”
“Damn, Mel, she’s not too fat at all! If I met her at a bar or something, I’d totally do her. I’m just saying she’s plus size. Not skinny. You know.”
“So you’d have to be drunk?”
“Mel, what the hell?”
Mel started smiling, “Dog, you just don’t know, do you?”
I asked, “What it’s like to be with a plus size girl?”
“Nah, man.” He said, “Me and her, we’re together. We be goin out and shit.”
I was embarrassed. “Come on, Mel, give me fucking break! You gotta let me know before I go off and call your girlfriend fat! I would never have said she’s got a great big fat ass if you’d told me before. Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
Mel was laughing now. “You know, that’s just not something you go around saying here. The boys find out, you know they start freakin or talkin out loud about it. But damn! You know why I been volunteering for those overnights lately though, huh?”
“I know now.” I said, “Getting a little late night action between units.”
Mel nodded, but was quiet for a minute. I imagined that they secretly met each other while they were each doing overnights at the respective units. I had heard of staff doing this before, but I didn’t really want to ask him about it. That way, I don’t have to lie if I’m ever asked about it by Admin.
Mel stepped closer and said in a quiet voice, “Dude… You ever been with a girl who didn’t take care of her business… downtown?”
“Downtown?”
“You know,” he continued. “Doesn’t trim or nothin?.”
I laughed. “Oh man! Do I need to know this? So you’ve got a little issue going on, huh?”
“It’s not a little issue.” Mel was still whispering. “It’s a big hairy issue. I can see if she don’t wanna shave it clean, but man, maybe just a little trim here and there.”
“Well just ask her Mel, I’m sure she’d do it if she knows that’s what you like.”
“Damn dude, I did! I keep on saying something about it. You know that girl’s Italian. They’re not foolin around down there!”
I was covering my mouth, not wanting to laugh out loud. “Oh my god, Mel. You’ve got your work cut out for you.”
He said, “I just don’t wanna be crawlin through the Amazon Jungle just to get to the river.”
Toby burst through the back door in his typical, latex glove-wearing, authoritative fashion. “Gentlemen, we have a problem.”
I said, “What, did we run out of laundry soap? What are you gonna do for the rest of the day?”
He was unfazed. “Fuck you. Chris doesn’t have any underwear. Not one. No clean or dirty.”
Toby was right, this was a situation. But to understand why, you have to understand Chris. Chris has anger issues. He came to us 6 months ago at age 10 after enduring physical and emotional abuse from his single, heroin addled mother. He had been prostituted out at times to her “associates.” It would be natural for anyone who has been through this to feel extremely angry and to feel like you have no control over what’s going on around you.
But Chris doesn’t normally act out with violence, he takes his anger and control issues out internally. It seems that he feels like the only thing he can control is his body, specifically what goes in and out of it. Chris can hold on to his shit for days, refusing to let it out. Apparently, taking a dump is something he sees as out of his control, so he refuses.
This has caused a few problems, some for him, some for us. He’s hurt himself by holding so much shit in. And when someone does that, the shit gets huge and hard, which damages the colon when it inevitably has to come out, and this is what happened to him. So it’s imperative that we make sure he’s taking proper dumps. The doctor has prescribed laxatives, so now it’s not a matter of IF he’s going to take a shit, it’s a matter of when and how he does it.
He’s still in the refusal mode, so he’d rather shit his pants than ask to go to the bathroom. I suppose there’s some feeling of power for him in this strategy, too. When he shits his pants, he won’t admit it, and even goes to great lengths to hide his poopy undies. We have numbered all ten pair of his underwear so that we can keep track of them at all times. If we can’t find numbers 6 and 7, say, then we know he’s had an accident and we can record it. It’s useless in asking him about it because he lies.
So when Toby says we have a situation, he is absolutely right. Mel is Chris’s special counselor, so he took the lead in trying to get to the “bottom” of this.
I followed Mel into Chris’s room, where Chris was sitting on his bed in his jammies, seemingly indifferent.
Mel said, “Hey Chris, where’s all your underwear?”
“What underwear?”
“Chris, you know your program.” I was happy that Mel was taking a matter of fact approach to this. Some counselors get so frustrated with Chris, but I see that as a result of Chris being passive/aggressive. “First of all, you know that if you have an accident, you’re supposed to tell us. Then you’re supposed to give the underwear to Toby because he loves doing laundry. That way we can keep track of your underwear and your accidents. Cuz you have a hard time telling the truth sometimes, don’t you?”
“I don’t know. But I need some underwear to get dressed.”
Mel went on. “So we need you to tell us where you hid the underwear so that we can do some laundry. That way you can get dressed. So where are they?”
Chris said matter of factly, “My roommate always steals my underwear. Can he have consequences?”
I said, “Nobody would want to steal your poopy underwear. Now Toby says that all of them, 1-10 are missing, is that right?
“No. I mean yeah. I didn’t do it.”
I said, “Chris, I know you’re trying to make me feel your anger by being passive/aggressive…”
“You always say that!”
“…And I refuse to become angry over this. If you’re feeling angry, you know you can talk about it with us or your therapist. But don’t take it out on your undies. Are you going to tell us where they are, or do we have to find them?”
“I don’t know. They’re nowhere.”
Mel and I started our usual search; under the bed, in his closet, in his book shelf. In the past, we’ve found them outside in the bushes, in the bike shed, jammed up the rain gutter.
Mel said, “I’ll look in the bathroom,” and opened the door and turned on the light. “Damn, Chris, is your fan busted? Not working.” He was turning the lightswitch on and off, trying to get the fan started.
Chris said, “It never works. It’s been busted for a long time.”
Mel got a chair and was looking up into the fan. “Chris, did you break it?”
“No!”
Mel was pulling the grill off the fan housing, looking up into the darkness, mumbling, “The hell? You broke it? Something jammed up in there…” He pulled the grill off and an explosion of shit covered underwear fell onto his face. He was momentarily shocked, stunned that he had just endured a waterfall of shit falling onto his head and now stinking up the bathroom. He recovered his wits and shouted,
Goddammit Chris, the fuck you thinking? What the hell is this!”
Chris said calmly, “I didn’t know they were there. I knew my roommate stole them.”
Mel was pissed. “The hell he did! You damn liar, I swear to God you gonna get some consequences!”
I said calmly to Chris, “Chris? I refuse to let Mel get angry because you want to be passive/aggressive. I’m going to switch off with him so that he can go take a shower, get something to eat or do whatever the hell else he wants to do for the rest of the day. But I’m going to be your special counselor for the rest of the day.”
This upset Chris. “No, Stokie! I don’t want you to be my special counselor! I want Mel to stay!”
I said, “And you know what we’re going to do for Special Time? I’ll tell you. We’re going to get some laundry soap and some latex, and we’re going to wash out each and every one of those underwears by hand right here in the toilet. And when I say ‘we,’ I mean YOU.”
This pissed Chris off. “No! No! I hate you! You don’t care about kids! You just want to torture them!!!”
I said, “I think we’re making progress, Chris. You SHOULD be pissed, and you SHOULD be saying those things. Only not to me.”
The rest of the day went smoothly for most of the kids. Mel took a shower and calmed down. I stayed with Chris and had him angrily clean out his dookie. At final count, there were 10 of his own underwear, 3 of his roommate’s underwear and one shit covered sock.
That night, after the kids had gone to bed, I was quietly writing in the house communication log, while Toby, Angelina and Mel were writing in the kids’ daily logs. The tv was on one of those damn Hollywood gossip shows. It was getting late and we were all looking forward to the end of the shift.
The tv cut to a commercial and wouldn’t you know it, a bikini wax ad came on. Mel exaggeratedly sat on the edge of his seat and put his fists under his chin. I thought I noticed Angelina silently squirming in her seat. Mel became more animated, sighing loudly, scooting his chair up closer to the tv.
Then he turned to me, cocked his head, squinted his eyes and sarcastically said, “Hey Stokie, what do you think that stuff’s for?”
Angelina jumped out of her chair and yelled, “Dammit Mel! Why don’t you just tell the whole world? You can do the rest of my logs!” She plopped her logs into Mel’s lap and stomped out the door, back to her regular unit. I buckled over in laughter while Mel just shook his head.
Toby looked up and said, “Did I miss something?”
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