Reese resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She turned to the young man who had said it. He had arrived just a few days ago and was still angry that he was there. He was trying to make her uncomfortable, but he didn’t realize that Reese was excellent at redirection. She also knew his DOC was cocaine. “Did you know that male cocaine users are more susceptible to erectile dysfunction because their vascular system can’t get enough blood flow to get an erection? Or that you have an increased chance of developing priapism, where an erection lasts for more than four hours?”
Someone snickered, but she pressed on. She stared unflinching at him. “It’s apparently very painful and can cause permanent damage. Do you know how they treat it? First, they try medication that is administered directly into the penis with a needle. If that doesn’twork, then they take a bigger needle, stick it into the penis, and draw the blood out. I don’t own a penis nor would I ever want to, but I feel like Fun Friday sounds more enjoyable.”
He swallowed hard, looking away from her. Now he was the one uncomfortable and had learned that she was not easily rattled.
“Anyway, today we’re going to activate our feel-good endorphins with a little art therapy and music. Jayvon is getting the playlist ready. We’ll play it while we work. Can I get a volunteer?”
Blain stepped forward, arm reaching up. “Awesome. And can I get that roll of paper over here?”
The roll was brought to the center. “Could you unroll a good length? It needs to be longer than Blain is tall.”
She walked over to the table where they had scattered markers, pens, crayons, paint, and paintbrushes. She selected a black marker. “Blain, lie down.”
He did as he was told, grinning up at everyone when he was flat on his back. Reese handed the marker to Tim. “Arms flat, Blain. Tim, please trace an outline.”
Blain all but giggled when the marker brushed against his ribs, making others chuckle. When the outline was traced, he popped up admiring the paper. Reese grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the paper. It was longer than she was tall, so she held it up high, pointing at a roll of tape. “Someone taller than me hang this on the wall, please.”
John hung it up on the closest wall. Reese then drew a line down the center from head to crotch. “We’re going to use our imaginations today. It’s probably been a long time since some of you have painted or colored. I want you to decorate these however you want, but the catch is that one half has to be you during active addiction, and the other is what recovery would be for you. It can be all colors, like angry red on one side and calm blue on the other. It can be a sad man on one side and a happy one on the other. Whatever active addiction and recovery look like to you. While you work, we’ll play your songs and have some snacks and some coffee. We’re just going to hang out this time.”
“This sounds boring. No offense, Ms. Reese,” complained another young man.
“Just humor me, okay. It won’t kill you.”
The key to getting the reluctant ones to get involved was often one-on-one attention. People were shy in group settings. Reese was not. She was in her element.
Once the music started, things really began to liven up. Since electronics weren’t allowed, getting to listen to music was a treat. Each man got to pick a song they wanted to hear. Some was rap, some country, and a healthy dose of rock. The younger ones playedsongs Reese had never heard of and hoped not to hear again, while the older ones went with more classics. There was something about music that could connect them all.
Each man had their own paper hung and media selected. The music helped ease them into opening up with their art. The snacks helped boost the mood even further.
“Ms. Reese, how do you spell disease?”
She walked over to a man named Walker. He was probably about her age and on Kerrie’s caseload. “D-i-s-e-a-s-e. What do we have here?”
The paper was filled with words. Words like "hell," "despair," and "lonely" were on one side, and the other was filled with more positive ones like "loved," "happy," and "family" on the other. She nodded approvingly.
“This is good. I really like it.”
“You do?” he asked, surprised.
“I do. It’s creative and shows you’re really thinking it through. Are you going to put any color on it?”
“Yeah, I think I’ll make the addiction side gray and the recovery side yellow. Yellow is a happy color.”
“I agree. I can’t wait to see how it turns out.”
She moved around the room, asking questions and encouraging them. It wasn’t lost on her that they were more at ease with a woman when it came to opening up. She wasn’t a threat to them.
“Ms. Reese, which one of these is red?” Blain asked, holding up red and orange coloured pencils.
“Color blind?”
He shrugged. “Sorta. I can see some colors better than others.”
“The one in your left hand is red. Can I see your work?”
“Sure.”
Reese’s eyes widened at the sight of his work. It was beautiful. He had turned his simple outline into a work of art. One side was a devil with pointy features and black wings. A large gash was in his side. On the other was an angel with soft, round features and fluffy wings. The gash was healed, leaving only a scar. “Oh wow, Blain, this is fantastic!”
