Miracle at Santa Anita Chapter 1 Houston July 30, 1984 West Oaks Rehabilitation Center Justin Briggs took

a long breath and stared at the blank white wall, wishing he were anywhere else as long as it meant he could have Crown with a shot of Coke and a bowl of salted peanuts. The four hours of sleep last night hadn't done much to quell the throbbing inside his brain or erase the dark circles under his eyes. Four hours actually wasn't too bad for him. He couldn't remember the last time he slept longer than that. "Are you alright?" asked Shelia the substance abuse counselor. Another version of him might have found her light brown corkscrew curled hair and golden flecked green eyes attractive. Not today though. For one thing, she knew more about him than he ever wanted anyone to know. For another, her heavy Texas drawl grated on his nerves, what little were left of them anyway. He never understood how some people could put out a thick accent and others like him had no discernible dialect. "Sorry, I was just thinking," he said, hoping she wouldn't press him for details. His mother was supposed to be there for a session and she was going on twenty minutes late. "About your mother?" she asked while pretending to focus on her Rubik's cube. Solving it was somewhat of a goal for her. He nodded and glanced at his watch. It was just yesterday that he phoned her with the news of his exit from rehab and the invitation to his final therapy session. She questioned whether he was ready to leave and suggested staying awhile longer, just to ensure his victory over the demons he'd inherited from his father. He assured her that he was fine and ready to move to the next phase, whatever that may be. "I'll try" was the most he could get her to commit. "Can we talk about something else? He pleaded. They could talk about the thousands of previous times she failed him, but it would turn him in to Luke Skywalker. Not the heroic Jedi knight of the final movie, but the whiny little desert brat of Star Wars. Their narrative was inflexible. She would always be an ice-cold bitch and he was forever fucked up from her callous brand of parenting. He wished his father had stuck around, but at times he didn't blame him for leaving her. Shelia fiddled with the heart on her silver charm bracelet and asked, "What are your plans?" Justin gulped. His plan was to ask his mother if he could stay with her for a month or two, just long enough to find a job and save up enough for a crappy little apartment. At least he had a ride. His best friend Tyler was supposed to pick him up in the morning. Shelia's eyes narrowed as she tucked a curly wisp of hair behind her ear. "I'm not sure that you are ready to leave," she said. "You need support to be successful and I'm not sure that you have it from anyone on the outside."

"I've made it thirty-one years without it," he said. I learned how to cook when I was ten. It might look bad, but I promise you that I'll make it. I dont really have a choice. She wrote down her office phone number on a pink Post-it and handed it to him. She jotted down a couple of items for her notes and said, "Please call me if you even think about having a drink. Also, I have a parting gift for you." She reached inside the middle drawer of her desk and pulled out a light green Clinique box. "What the hell is that?" he asked. She tossed it to him and said, "Concealer for your eyes. Those dark circles need to go byebye." He scoffed and tossed it back. "Thanks, but I don't wear makeup." She laughed and said, "Jesus Christ, its just concealer. My boyfriend even uses this stuff for his under eye circles." "Are you sure your boyfriend isn't gay?" he asked. Exasperated, she threw the box at his head and he ducked at just the right moment. "You're something else," she said. I haven't quite figured out what that is though." He picked the box off the floor and shoved it into his pocket while saying, "Thanks, maybe I'll give it a try someday." "Such a liar," she said, chuckling. "Cold spoons help too. Just stick some in the freezer for ten minutes and hold them under your eyes." "Why do you care so much?" he asked. "It's my job to care. You're a decent looking guy. Sooner or later, you'll find someone you want to date and those blackened eyes are not going to attract anyone other than a raccoon. He stood up and turned to leave, but paused and said, "Give me that damn thing." She obliged and he twisted the cube around until all the colors were lined up, as they should be. He then set it on her desk and winked at her before leaving the room.

The hands of his watch ticked away and the sunlight sent him back inside like a vampire. He wasn't sure why he thought Tyler would be punctual. He worked on an oil rig and didn't even own a watch. Time only mattered to him when the Dukes of Hazzard and Dallas were on. By the time he arrived, Justin was pacing back and forth outside the rehab center and smoking his third cigarette of the morning. He rolled the passenger-side window down and shouted, Sorry Im late.

Justin opened the back door and tossed his duffel bag into the back seat and said, Just get me out of here. Tyler handed him a small white bag. You want a doughnut? he asked. Justin shook his head and said, Drive me to hell. The Houston skyline loomed ahead. Justin thought of all the office workers putting in their time at jobs they despised. He knew he would have to find a new job. His old one was cut off when he burned a critical bridge. Starting over was exhilarating and terrifying. Im not looking forward to seeing her, he said. Asking his mother for help was beyond his comprehension. She had all the compassion of an executioner. Tyler shrugged and said, Maybe shell be sympathetic. Justin laughed. No one had less sympathy than Margaret. She once grounded him for failing a math test even though strep throat kept him out of school for three days of instruction. Okay, maybe not, said Tyler. I was trying to be positive. Bryan Adams sang through the speakers and assaulted their eardrums. Justin turned the volume down and said, I am one hundred percent positive that this is going to blow.

They arrived at Margarets yellow Victorian home. The lawn was as perfectly manicured as her nails. As attractive as it was, Justin was never comfortable growing up there. It was built in the early 1900s, so it creaked and moaned like a senior citizen well past their expiration date. Justin decided a long time ago that some lady had gone nuts and hacked up her whole family there. His mother blamed his dark imagination on lack of positive influence, so she signed him up for Vacation Bible School. Little had she known, like-minded mothers had similar plans for their rebellious sons. Travis, his former best friend, was also dropped off at the church with barely enough time to get out of the car before his mother sped off to whatever she deemed more important at the time. The boys played their roles in church, but that didn't stop them from sneaking off to smoke cigarettes or catapult crawfish across the football field. Justin was both awed and disgusted by the image of their fragile bodies coming apart in the air. He made his way up the walkway, being careful not to step on the landscaping. In truth, he could care less about her flowerbeds. She tended to her precious flowers more than she did to him. The roses were a palette of reds, pinks, and whites. Not a day went by that they weren't nurtured. They were as vibrant as a painting at the art museum, he thought as he examined his pale hands and holey jeans. He rang the doorbell three times. Tyler gave him a thumbs-up sign from the car. Justin pretended to slash his wrists. The door opened. His mother greeted him with a subdued hug that made him gag from her liberal use of perfume. She only wore Chanel No. 5 and the smell was his second least favorite smell in the world. The top honor belonged to the farm he spent a portion of his childhood on. She stepped back to inspect him. Hed skipped shaving the past couple of days, much to her dismay.

Hello, Son. How are you? she asked, after their chilly embrace. Im alright, he said. She showed him to the tastefully decorated living room, where he sat down on the couch. She brought him a glass of water with a wedge of lemon. So, whats your next step? she asked. Im going to take it easy for a week and then start looking for a job, he responded. Shouldnt you make looking for a job a top priority? It will be. But first I need to relax a little bit. Where will you stay? I was hoping you could help me with that You cant stay here. The icy words cut through him with surgical precision. He wasn't sure why he thought she would be more helpful. She commandeered his room a week before he left for college. Actually he didn't really leave. Rice University was still in Houston. Still, he was going to the dorm and she wanted a sewing room despite the fact that she didn't even sew. The old sewing machine handed down by his grandmother still lived in his old room with a protective layer of dust. It wouldnt be long, maybe a month at the most. I cant do it. Steve and I are gone all the time. Were going to Italy next week. It just isnt practical. Justin stood up with his glass in hand. He glared at her. Practical? He threw the glass against the wall. Margaret flinched as it shattered, sending water and ice cubes all over her polished hardwood floor. The lemon landed on the Oriental rug. I always thought that glass was ugly. Hows that for practical? Her face collapsed. Justin, youve always had issues with anger. You really need to talk to someone. I dont need a fucking therapist! I just need a mother who gives a shit about me. He turned and left out of the front door. Rather than trying to stop him, she began picking up the shattered remains of the glass. Tyler started the car. Justin went to his side and motioned for him to roll the window down. Let me drive, he said. You lost your license. Just down the fucking street. Then you can take over.

Tyler exited the car and climbed into the passenger seat. Justin backed out of the driveway, narrowly missing a tree. He punched the accelerator, which caused the tires to squeal. They took off like a horse out of a starting gate, leaving a nasty skid mark in the road in front of the house. Justin slowed down to a stop at the end of the street. He put his head on the steering wheel. So howd it go? asked Tyler. I need a place to stay for a little while. You can stay with me for now. Theres room in the townhouse. They switched places and Justin ate the remaining doughnuts. He caught the reflection of his weary eyes in the makeup mirror. Shelia was right, of course. He'd try the freezer spoons before going anywhere near that concealer. "I need to find a job," he said. Tyler shook his head and said, "You need to get laid before you do anything." "How about find a job that requires me to get laid." Tyler sighed and adjusted the rearview mirror. "I think that would create a whole new world of problems for you." "I'm joking," Justin hissed. "Where the fuck did you sense of humor go?" Tyler glanced sideways at him, trying not to swerve into the next lane. Justin sensed something. "What is it?" he asked. "Spit it out." Tyler gripped the steering wheel as though it were a life preserver. He hadn't planned on having this conversation so soon. "I proposed to Heather over the weekend. We're getting married next year." Justin gazed ahead with his teeth clenched shut. He let a moment pass before he said, "No wonder your sense of humor went AWOL."