Installation 28: Higher Powers previous
Eventually, Penn Bradley, Assistant Curator of Drawings, found Phoebe in the staff room, leaning against the plexiglass of the Coke machine, drooling and incoherent. The museum-wide search was called off and Terry Dugelman from HR was elected to help her get on the evening bus.
“Seriously,” Terry said as she tried to help Phoebe walk . “You’ll want to stop using so many drugs at work.”
News of Phoebe’s latest “slip-up” spread quickly around The Museum, making it impossible for Sharon Rossi, Director of Human Resources, to ignore. After a brief conference with The Director, Phoebe’s fate was decided.
Carlotta was dispatched to give Phoebe the bad news.
“I’m afraid,” Carlotta said. “That you’re going to have to attend Chemical Dependency Counseling or lose your job.”
“What?” Phoebe said.
“Oh,” Fern chirped from her desk. “How devastating.”
“Your dependency is interfering with your work,” Carlotta explained. “It’s been decided that if you voluntarily submit to several day-long counseling sessions, you can keep your job, provided you show marked improvement in performance and behavior.”
“I see,” Phoebe said.
“Don’t worry,” Carlotta said. “It’s not just you. They’re cleaning house. Everyone with a suspected substance abuse problem is being given the same deal. Administration has turned a blind eye for too long.”
“When does this begin?” Phoebe asked.
“Tomorrow,” Carlotta said. “I’ve been instructed to tell you to wear loose clothing and to bring a snack that doesn’t require refrigeration.”
“Don't worry,” Fern said. “I'll be happy to take over your duties while you’re being counseled.”
Phoebe turned the volume on her radio up past the "acceptable for office" level Carlotta had marked with a Sharpie.
The next morning, Phoebe arrived at the Renaissance Conference Room promptly at 8:00 wearing yoga pants, a sweatshirt and no make-up. She carried with her a container of snack-size pudding and a plastic spoon.
The room was dimly lit and a soundtrack of loons played softly from a portable stereo in the corner. A semi-circle of chairs was neatly arranged in the center of the room. In one chair, a very deflated Phillip Mantou sat staring down at the carpeting. In another, at the opposite end, sat Karrie Thompson, biting her lips.
A woman in a maroon track suit turned from one of the conference tables. She was in the middle of filling Dixie cups with apple juice.
“Good morning,” the woman said. She was neither fat nor thin and hovered somewhere right in the middle of beautiful and plain. “I’m Holly Jean.”
“I’m Phoebe,” Phoebe said, eyeing Phillip and Karrie, who both continued to look elsewhere.
“Ah, yes,” Holly Jean said. “They told me about you.”
“I think you should know,” Phoebe said. “That I don’t have a problem with drugs or alcohol.”
“Well, let’s think this through,” Holly Jean said, as if she may actually be taking Phoebe seriously. “You’ve disappeared at work twice. Twice you’ve been found either unconsciouses or impaired. You’ve missed at least ten days of work in the past month…”
“All of this can be explained,” Phoebe said.
“Juice?” Holly Jean asked and held out a tiny paper cup.
Phoebe shook her head and sat down in the semi-circle, between Phillip and Karrie.
“What are you guys here for?” Phoebe asked.
“Drink,” Phillip said in a tone and manner that suggested Phoebe ask more questions at her peril.
“OK,” Holly Jean said. “We’re going to get started with a Sun Salutation. Does anyone know what a Sun Salutation is?”
“Is it this?” Phillip asked and extended his middle finger at Holly Jean.
“No,” Holly Jean said, her voice perfectly calm and reasonable. “Not quite. Let me show you.”
Holly Jean began a series of stretches, extending her arms up to the ceiling, dropping down so that her hands touched the floor in front of her feet, going forward into a lunge, pulling her ass up into the air while facing downward and somehow ended up lying down with the top half of her body extended up into the air.
“Feel the sun warming your face,” she said. “Now you all try it.”
“I can’t do this,” Phillip said. “I have a bad back.”
“This is perfect for a bad back,” Holly Jean said.
“Not if you have a bad back and the shakes,” Phillip said.
“Oh, just fucking do it,” Karrie said.
“We don’t curse in here,” Holly Jean said.
“Fuck you,” Karrie said.
“I can see I have my work cut out for me,” Holly Jean said, completely ignoring the fact that Phoebe had just completed a near-perfect Sun Salutation and was bravely holding herself up, faced turned to the recessed fluorescents in the ceiling of the conference room. “Let’s all sit on the ground and rap for awhile.”
“Christ,” Phillip said. “This is a very poor way to go about convincing someone he doesn’t need a drink to make it through a workday.”
“Let’s each tell our story as honestly as we can,” Holly Jean said. “I’ll go first. I was a meth addict. These teeth? Not my own. Not after meth got through with me.”
“I don’t have a story to tell,” Phoebe interrupted. “I don’t have a substance abuse problem.”
“Yeah, right,” Karrie said.
“Karrie, would you like to share your story?” Holly Jean asked.
“I drink a lot,” Karrie said. “But I enjoy it. It’s my hobby. I go to a lot of parties and bars. My only mistake was getting involved with that lush over there.” She pointed to Phillip.
“Sour grapes,” Phllip hissed.
“Can I play devil’s advocate here for a moment?” Holly Jean asked.
“If that’s your clever way of asking if you can be an asshole, go right ahead,” Phillip said.
“Could it be that the two of you - Phillip and Karrie - are co-dependent?”
“The only thing I depend on Karrie for,” Phillip said. “Is a trip to the sack after I’m good and soused.”
Holly Jean pulled out paper and boxes of crayons from a plastic bin and passed them around.
“Sometimes our anger and fear is buried so deep under all the layers we can’t talk about it,” she said, looking at Phoebe. “Its embarrassing. Its scary. So what I want each of us to do is go off to a corner and draw. I want you to draw a picture of your addiction. How does it feel to you? What does it look like? Then I want you to draw a picture of what freedom might look like and feel like to you.”
“Shall we tap into our inner child for this exercise?” Phillip asked.
“Please, Phillip, just give it a try,” Holly Jean said.
Phoebe moved off into a far corner of the conference room with her paper and crayons. For a long time she sat and did nothing, stunned by the injustice of the entire situation. Then she picked up a brown crayon and drew a very shaky circle, which she labeled “Oreo.” Then she drew a picture of a very pretty dress with strappy shoes and matching purse. Then she crawled forward into a Child’s Pose and sobbed in frustration.