“Is your client 18 years old or older?”

Yes.

 “Do you have progressive results from at least three formal IQ tests?”

Yes.

“Does his mean result register below a score of 71?”

Yes.

“Does his mean result register between a score of sixty and 71?”

Yes.

“Your client’s IQ does not register below a score of sixty?

No.

“No, as in, your client’s IQ does, in fact, register between a score of sixty and 71?”

Yes.

“Yes, as in –”

Yes.

“Does your client have a legal guardian?”

No.

“Have you completed an application with Legal Services?”

No.

“Then you must complete an application fourteen days prior to the date you anticipate he will receive his unconditional release from the psychiatric ward.”

He was unconditionally released a week before this conversation began.

“Really?”

Yes.

“Into whose custody?”

He was unconditionally released.  He has no guardian.

“But, then—where is he staying?”

He sleeps at his mother’s apartment.

“Then why are you seeking crisis dollars?

I am seeking crisis dollars because assisted living terminated his residency contract.  We want to transfer his existing support dollars to fill a comprehensive foster care home vacancy.

“If he is staying with his mother, then on what grounds are you claiming a crisis?”

The mother’s apartment is not a safe living environment.

“If your client does not have a guardian, then your client has the right to make his own decision.”

He contracts with Developmental Disabilities Services for Case Management, and a Protective Services investigation determined that his mother’s home is not a safe living environment.

“Sir, you may file an application for crisis dollars, but without a court commitment or legal representation, I doubt that the region will consider your client’s case a priority.”

An afternoon drive south from Medford to Ashland, Oregon along I-5 takes only fifteen minutes when the traffic is light.  There are many routes between the cities.  Highway 99, for example, jogs back and forth across the Rogue River for many miles.  In October, the river valley draws clean, vibrant air from the California mountains, and when you are driving through the lowlands of Southern Oregon, if you take the time, you can smell the resinous scent of cedar and red wood.  If you are careful, and choose the scenic Highway 99, you can stretch out the drive between Medford and Ashland for nearly an hour.

Two 

J___ waves me in and out of a narrow alley behind his mother’s apartment, before we negotiate a suitably safe place to park my car.  He is bouncing everywhere with excitement, beaming at me with his blushing, feminine lips, pulling his wild thinning hair until it sticks from his head like a scarecrow’s.   “Hey, buddy,” he calls to me before I can open the car door, and once again when I’m stretching my legs.

“How’s it going, J___?”

“I’m all right, buddy. I’m all right.  How are you?”  The fingers of his right hand tug at his lips.  His left hand is in a cast.  All the truth in J___ comes to a testing on his lips.  He gauges your mood by attempting the tiniest smile, or the hint of anger if he believes it may be warranted.  When we considered J___’s desire to remain his own guardian, we wondered whether J___ had the capacity to judge his own feelings.  You could read your own face by looking at his lips.

“I’m fine, J___.  Should we talk inside?”

“No, buddy, I don’t think that we should.”

“Is your mother home?”

“No, but her boyfriend D__ is in there with all his friends.”

“How is D__?”

“He’s all right.  You know what?  I hate him, I really hate him, buddy.”  With his four right fingers and thumb, he pulls his lower lip up and down, fluctuating between two conflicting thoughts.  Then he laughs.  “Yeah, he’s all right.”

“J___, I talked to the State today about getting you into a foster home.”

“What did they say?  They said no, huh.  I really don’t understand it.  Even after going to the hospital?”

“We’re going to find you a place.  We’re going to get you into the right place.  That’s what we’re trying to do, right?”

“I don’t care.  My mother doesn’t care.  Who cares, right, buddy?  I can do whatever I want.”  But he is angry, now.  He looks at me closely and senses that he has a right to express his anger. But two minutes pass and he's ready to talk about basketball.

He has two choices, and neither has yet occurred to him—though the police, when they escort him back to the hospital later that night, will make the choices quite clear: he can surrender his guardianship to the courts, or he can withhold from smashing windows--from all of the various actions he takes in order to explain to the world that no one listens to his problems.  The world only sees one problem, the conditions of his birth; and no other crisis registers in the charts.

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