A Plague Year

Lilly shook her head and added, “Wow. Meth. That sounds like the worst drug ever.”

Several kids around the room agreed with her comment, including Arthur, who said, “Amen to that.”

In conclusion, Wendy Lyle produced some gruesome photos from her notebook. The photos showed meth users—people who had lost their teeth, and their hair, and were all covered with red sores. She held up one photo that I couldn’t even look at. It was a man or a woman—I couldn’t tell—who had tried to make meth at home and had gone up in flames. Horrible. Gruesome.

Mercifully, she stashed the photos away. No one spoke for a minute; then Mrs. Lyle changed the topic. “I have been speaking to Mrs. Cantwell about this group and about some things we could be doing. I am pleased to tell you that she has granted permission for us to take our first field trip.”

Arthur muttered, “Must be to that field her husband works in.”

Mrs. Lyle consulted her notebook. But before she could speak again, Ben Gibbons raised his hand. She looked at him and smiled. “Yes?”

Ben really changed the topic. He said, “I have pica disorder, Mrs. Lyle. Have you ever heard of that one?”

Catherine Lyle looked puzzled. “I’m not sure. Would you like to tell the group about it?”

Evidently, he would. “As a little kid, I ate a lot of crayons and pencils and chalk. I still do. I eat wood— nontreated wood. I eat coal—anthracite and bituminous. I eat plain old dirt.”

Arthur told him, “That is messed up, dude.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s why it’s a disorder.”

Catherine Lyle nodded. “I have heard of it. But do you know why it’s called pica?” she asked.

“Pica means ‘magpie,’ in Latin. I guess a magpie will eat anything.”

She thought for a moment. “Well, Ben, that is very interesting. But it sounds like an eating disorder, and this group is about substance abuse.”

Ben looked nervous, like he was afraid she was going to kick him out. “It is?”

“Yes.”

“Well, this pica thing could lead to substance abuse! Who knows what else I might eat in the future? Maybe pills or something.”

“That may be true,” she assured him. “It could be what we call a ‘gateway’ to other problems.”

Ben looked relieved. “Yeah.”

“Gateways are openings that lead to drug abuse. Think about it. Nobody just wakes up one day and says, ‘I’m going to become a drug addict.’ Do they?”

“No.”

Catherine Lyle continued: “The good news for drug abusers is that, with medication and with counseling, they can quit.

“The real problems occur after they quit. That’s when they must face their triggers. Triggers are the temptations that lead drug addicts back to using. A trigger can be as large as the loss of a loved one, or as small as the loss of a football game.

“The big question is, Why do these triggers exert such power over addicts? Why do people go back to drugs when they know they are destroying their lives, as well as the lives of those around them? These triggers must be very powerful indeed.”

She looked at the group. “Who can give us an example of a powerful trigger? Okay, Ben?”

“War!”

Everyone waited for more. Arthur asked him, “War what, dude? You mean like the Civil War? World War Two? Vietnam?”

“No. Like going to war.”

Catherine intervened. “Certainly. People who go to war are under tremendous stress, as are their family members. What are some others? What are some triggers that happen in your lives?”

A senior girl, who I had never heard speak before, suddenly blurted out, “Abuse.”

“Yes. Abuse at home causes tremendous stress.”

Ben asked her, “Do you mean getting hit by your parents? Like a punishment?”

There was a pause. I didn’t think she was going to respond, but then she did. “No. I mean sexual abuse.”

Everybody froze, including Mrs. Lyle. Then she picked up the silver pen and wrote something in her notebook. After a few more seconds of silence, she said quietly, “That is a very powerful trigger, yes.” She looked at the girl. “We should talk more about it.”

Then she looked at the rest of us, “Okay. Can we name any other triggers?”

No one could, until Lilly raised one finger. “What about just… boredom?”

Mrs. Lyle seemed relieved to have a safer topic. “Yes! Boredom can be a trigger. And some people turn to drugs when they are bored. But that doesn’t work, does it? So what are some things that do work against boredom? Let’s hear some ideas.”

Nobody said anything for a few seconds. Jenny finally came up with one. “Jesus?”

“Okay. Good.”

Arthur suggested, “Football.”

“Yes. Those are two.” Catherine Lyle waited for a third, but it wasn’t coming. She finally took it upon herself to add, “Okay. What about dance? Or horseback riding? Or martial arts training, like tai chi or tae kwon do? What about learning how to play a musical instrument? Or taking up painting, or sculpture, or pottery?”

Arthur laughed ruefully. He spoke for the group. “We don’t have a lot of that stuff around here.”

Catherine Lyle didn’t understand. “What stuff?”

“Any of the things you said. We got, basically, football and bowling.”

That got a small laugh. He added, “And Jesus,” and got a bigger laugh.

But not from Catherine Lyle. She replied seriously, “Oh, I’m sure there are many things to do if you look. There certainly are things to do up by the university.”

She stopped there. I could tell by her face that she finally got it. She wasn’t “up by the university” now. She was twenty miles, and a whole world, away.

So she moved on. “Ben, as you suggested, one major trigger is a catastrophe, like a war. Or like what happened on September eleventh. Many people are still very stressed about the events of that day, especially the events that happened near here.”

She placed a blank sheet of paper on the table. “As a result, I have organized a field trip to the flight ninety- three crash site in Somerset County. If you would like to see that site—perhaps to pay your respects, perhaps to face your fears—please sign up for the trip. It will be after school on Wednesday.”

We then broke into our small groups. Wendy looked at me and smiled. “We’re going in my dad’s Suburban. That holds, like, twelve people. Do you want to come?”

“Sure.”

“How about you, Lilly?”

Lilly shook her head. “No. I have to work.”

Wendy moved on. “How about you Arthur? I know your stepfather will be going.”

“Yeah? How do you know that?”

Wendy answered simply, “My stepmom told me.”

Arthur challenged her. “But isn’t she forbidden, by a strict code of confidentiality, from talking about what a client says?”

Wendy was ready for him. “Yes, she is forbidden. Unless the client releases her from that, which your stepfather has done.”

Arthur looked doubtful. “He’s released her? He didn’t mention releasing anybody to me.”

“Well, ask him about it. He also gave her permission to discuss his fears in group.”

Arthur might have responded, but he got distracted.

We all did.

Rick Dorfman opened the door and looked inside. He spotted Catherine Lyle and walked up to her. He said in