Car Sales Confidential

Chapter 2 Self-Medicating

SELF-MEDICATING

Luke was now in high school and on this snowy March day he'd decided to play hookie. Lana and I were seniors and wouldn't think of skipping, but Luke, missing classes regularly and getting high on his own supply, was now stoned most of the time.

On this particular Thursday the house was empty, Dad was now working in a factory assembling tractors and Mom had a gig at the local mall managing a nut concession. Mathew had long since relocated to New York City to pursue his dreams of being an upscale designer of both furniture and stage sets. Luke, when stoned and drinking would quickly get hopelessly bored. What to do—stop in for a visit to our Uncle Carmine. Why not just stop by, he thought. Uncle Carmine was in his 70s and ambled slowly behind a walker, but in his younger, better days he and Luke were close.

Uncle Carmine had given Luke his first car, an old 1947 Chevy that he'd had as a young man, kept around for sentimental reasons, had the engine rebuilt, and because it was a stick shift thought Luke would enjoy driving it. Not only the car, but whenever Luke needed money and didn't want to go to Mom and Dad for it, he'd show up at Uncle Carmine's doorstep and in the past had always been welcomed in, even though Luke was often drunk, stoned, and sporting mean and angry hate speech ranting on and on about all the things about America that were under Satan's influence. Why was Uncle Carmine so understanding?

Carmine wasn't exactly on the autism spectrum, but he did have some quirks. He'd never been diagnosed, but if you walked through his apartment you'd see all his clothes lined up in the closet exactly spaced an inch apart. In his kitchen you'd find all the cans in his cupboards had the labels facing forward and perfectly organized. Also, if you watched him closely you would notice that he might wait a few minutes until an exact turn of the clock, at the hour or half hour before initiating a task, like let's say getting up in the morning or going to bed. Yes, Uncle Carmine had OCD or Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

Having his own form of mild mental illness, and being an educated retired college professor, he could see what Luke was dealing with and had always been sympathetic, wanting to help. But how—Luke had always been such an enigma for Carmine and the entire family. These days, however, Uncle Carmine was a feeble, elderly invalid and it was a problem for anyone to just stop by unannounced, without setting up an appointment, but Luke had difficulty worrying about anyone else's feelings, wants, or needs except his own. So on this particular day, having skipped school, he just showed up at Carmine's front door.

Luke rang the doorbell, and as always impatient began pounding loudly on the heavy wooden door. Carmine was inside, but long retired and used to sleeping late had barely even gotten up much less had time to wash up and dress, but no matter, Luke just kept pounding. With nothing better to do on a day when he was playing hooky, he simply parked himself on Carmine's porch chair, pulled out a flask, and started drinking hard liquor.

It wasn't as if Luke had a circle of friends to do things with. He tended to alienate anyone who even tried to get close to him, and that sadly included girls he might want to date, so though in high school there he was intending to pass some time with one of the only human beings other than his immediate family who understood him enough and could tolerate his difficult Rain-Man personality. It wasn't as if you could have any kind of a useful conversation with Luke—his mind was always tracked exclusively on whatever topic he was preoccupied with at the moment and the more intoxicated he was the darker were the words that came non-stop spewing from his mouth.

Finally responding to the pounding, Carmine peeked through his window blinds, saw it was Luke sitting quietly on the porch, and proceeded to take his time dressing and even had breakfast before going to the door.