Page 74 of Jackson
He had a demon to conquer. He had to overcome his fear that he’d misdiagnose again, and he had to legalise what he did atPassion.
“You weren’t struck off, were you?” D-Jasked.
“No, I quit. I wasn’t fit topractice.”
“But you are now,” Isaid.
Dexter sighed. “I don’t seem to be having much effect though, doI?”
“Dude, I’d be dead if it wasn’t for you,” D-Jsaid.
“There’s no way you’ll be involved if you aren’t clean, you know that, don’t you?” I said to D-J.
“Yes, and until now I’ve never wanted to, if I’m honest. Maybe this project gives us all the incentive to sort our shit out,” D-Jreplied.
We made plans, we got excited, but more importantly, we had a future mapped out, something we hadn’t hadbefore.
Dexter followed me to my car. “How are you, son?” heasked.
“Okay, I miss her. I need to talk to her at least. Can you ask her if she’ll talk to me? I know you speak toher.”
He nodded his head. I wasn’t entirely sure he did, in fact, speak to her but I didn’t believe she would leave without keeping any form of contact. Maybe that was conceited of me, but she’d want to know how I was doing, I was sure of that. It was my driving force. If I fell, she’d know about it and I’d blow any chance of getting her back. I cranked the music up in the car as I headed for the shack. Alfie wanted a little more art on his ‘restaurant.’
“Hey, my man, Jackson. How the devil are you?” Alfie faked a Britishaccent.
“I don’t know anyone who uses that as a greeting,Alfie.”
He chuckled as he handed over a bowl of rice and somethingunidentifiable.
“Taste, tell me what you think,” hesaid.
“What isit?”
“Taste and tellme.”
I took a small spoonful. “Fuck, Alfie. How much chilli do you have inthis?”
“Toostrong?”
“I’d say so. Jesus, give me drink, willyou?”
He handed over a bottle of water, which did nothing to cool the burn in my mouth. Once my lips had stopped burning, I told him of my plan for the therapy centre. His smile grew broad as I detailed that I’d like to help children express their anxiety through art, D-J wanted to teach them to surf, not that we thought that was actually possible, but he’d be involved somehow. We needed therapists and I’d said that we wanted Dex to apply for his licence to practice in the U.S. I wanted a ‘drop-in’ centre not so much a therapy centre. I wanted kids to be able to walk into a safe environment when life got tough. If they wanted to spray paint a wall to let out their frustration, they could. If they wanted to sit and pencil draw quietly in a corner, they could. If they wanted to scream and shout, to blast out loud music to drown out the noise in their own heads, theycould.
“I think it’s an amazing idea,” Alfiesaid.
I got to work to complete a side of art to his shack. It wasn’t a shack as such, although it was wooden, it was a large beach hut of sorts. People drove for miles to eat his food or just sit with a beer on the sand. If there was ever a party, it was always at that part of the beach. He was a respected man, as was Dex. I remembered when I’d finished the first wall, the local officials had freaked and initially insisted it be repainted, it wasn’t in keeping with the ‘look’ they wanted. The locals had started a petition to keep it. It was exactly what that part of town needed. It was urban, buzzing with a mix of nationalities, not so much a touristarea.
