Another Suitcase in Another Hall

My clients are interesting people. For the most part, their lives are in flux. When visiting with them, I try to recall the point in my life when emotional upheaval was greatest and then I ask no more of them than I could have handled. The law tends to be blind to these turmoils.

This week I counseled a new client. He is fresh off of a two month stint in parish jail. He is in trouble for harassing an ex-girlfriend. If I had to guess, I’d say he can’t lay off the Old Milwaukee either. Sober, he is a gentle and even timid man. He is full of regret and confusion.

As we discussed the terms of his probation and the year ahead of him, I saw the lines between his eyes crease and quiver. He wanted to talk about the Bible. So we did. I had to dig deep, back to high school and childhood to recall the Old Testament quotes he referenced. The Bible, he said, doesn’t want to people who love each other to be apart. I felt sad for him. Unrequited love sucks. Stalker love lands you in jail. my client was eons away from a probation-successful attitude.

And that is the biggest problem with probation. For success, most of my clients first need counseling. Not from me, although anything probably helps. They need a professional. Instead, they commit to a program they are virtually guaranteed to fail. For probation to work, officer and client have to bend over backwards. We are presumed to be at a starting point that is actually miles away.

At the end of our session, I tried to give my client some tools for coping with the upcoming year. But I’m not trained to do this. I was grasping at straws. See, my client began to weep at the prospect of not being able to speak to his one true love, hunt during duck, squirrel and deer season and boozing. Weep. A grown, proud, southern man. I quickly brainstormed for ways to get through the next twelve months. He doesn’t have any other hobbies. He’s been drinking since age ten. He’s been in love with this woman for ten years. We needed classes. Classes were not on his plea form.

He looked at me for a long moment and then said, “Ms. J, I’ve already served 2 of my 5 months. With credit for my time, I could be out in three. Then, I could see my woman by Christmas and I might not miss the whole season. I think this is a mistake.” The logic of a Cajun often boils down to how to let the good time roll as soon as possible for as long as possible. We are a people of excess. This man knows his limits. Still, it’s my job to encourage him to push those limits further.

After my client left, I began to wonder about myself. What if I loved things that I couldn’t have. What if I couldn’t speak to someone I loved for a year? What if I couldn’t paint or read? What if I couldn’t chase little bugs with my camera? Could I survive? I don’t know.

Avery Island, LA

It’s been years since I visited Avery Island. Mom informs me that my last trip was a disaster. When Jon and I were young, our parents brought us for a springtime tour. The big draw that time of year is the rookery and the hoards of egret-lings. Apparently, it is also the time of year when the alligators are fattest. Picture the croc from Peter Pan splashing his hands in the lagoon. Now picture him holding his mouth open beneath the rookery. Mom said it was a blood bath. I must have been expertly diverted by a parent.

Anyway, today lacked that sort of high drama. Thank god. Instead, Sean and I found loads of agressively interested alligators. I couldn’t help but wonder if Evangeline Maid was on the menu. These guys definitely expected handouts. Only they’re not park ducks.

Aside from a thriving gator population, Avery Island sported crabs, southeastern lubber grasshoppers, golden silk spiders, runers, frogs, newts, cattle egrets, reddish egrets and one immature white ibis. I pretty sure that Sean will never go anywhere with me again considering that I totally ignored his snake phobia and spent half the afternoon stalking the runer. I never got a photo of her, but everything I did snap a shot of can be seen on my flickr page.

Frankenrat

It’s like she can tell that I’ve already had a long week. Nothing like the old zombie rat routine to put a smile on your face.

Process

So far my two new jobs are okay. Although, both leave me feeling terribly inept at times. One of my clients called in a state of hysteria and I was powerless to calm him. Everything I said was returned with suspicious accusations. It was the first time I was accused of trying to strap someone down and inject them with “ccs and shit” …over the phone. Clearly, I did a poor job of explaining what a court ordered psych eval. is.

Later in the week one of my students interrupted a discussion to ask, “Ms. Breaux, why exactly did Mr. Baraka write about Israel in that poem?” Sure, I was so proud to have stimulated a question. I was mildly disappointed that the question was slightly astray of our First Amendment discussion. But I was more disappointed in myself for being unable to articulate some concise and scholarly response that both answered the question and redirected my student to a more relevant inquiry re: free speech.

I find myself thinking almost daily about Elsie B. Michie. She was my Literary Theory professor and she would have an answer to all this. I can recall her stance, her method of speech, her delivery of questions, everything. I can remember exactly what she looked like and how her voice sounded every single class period. She made educating look so effortless. She never seemed to draw discussion out of her students. I compare each lecture to her flawless style. I ask myself: would she have laughed there? Would she have become so casual just now or so formal? Would she have posed the question that way?

My conclusion: guidance is tough work. I feel so imperfect for the tasks I’ve been assigned. How do I impart the significance of staying out of jail if the significance hasn’t already dawned on my client? How do impart the significance of learning for learning’s sake to my students?

I am dreaming every night lately of death and of those dead. I woke from late morning dozing with thoughts of Ash still fresh in my head. I saw a young bunny outside today and I thought of her inevitable death – of the merciless death of prey. I read an article about alligator hunting in the newspaper and felt haunted by my mind’s vivid imagining of thrashing about for hours on a five inch hook only to be shot in the head come morning.

None of these things really matter. Suffering and death are as inevitable as pleasure and life. Still, there are days when they seem bigger and more important than the act of living. There are moments when death overbears. I hate that.

I’ve rearranged my apartment in an effort to shake off these doldrums. I deem it good.

City of God

Wow. Just wow. I know I am probably the last person on earth to get around to veiwing this movie, but I still feel compelled to pen some tardy praise. I recently watched Perfume: The Story of a Murderer. I had high hopes for the film because I hold the novel in great esteem. I knew it was doomed in the first thirty seconds however, when the director resorted to narration style story telling for lack of a better convention. So having put aside a movie with potential that just didn’t work, I turned to City of God...

If any film had more obstacles, I can’t think of it. The story line is complex. The themes are slow-developing – the number of child actors required would drive most directors to tears. And it’s these kids that truly set this film apart for me. Every single actor is compelling. Totally compelling. But the fact that nearly half of the cast is under the age of fifteen, some under the age of seven…Wow. Just wow. These gun toting, alliance driven, child-men are the most amazing characters to step in front of a camera, well, ever. If it were up to me, each one of those little warriors would be encouraged to rip Oscars from the entitled and lazy hands of some of Hollywood’s least deserving actors.

Having just come off of a very extended Deadwood marathon, I was hungry for a story that asked more of the viewer. I was prepared for the raw, the strange, the obscure as long as the characters and the story took me somewhere meaningful. This film stands, aims illegally traded weapons and delivers.

Meet Maddie!