I don’t tell him that Chris wasn’t skipping class because he was already expelled. I don’t think that will help anything.
“What did they do?” I cling to hope that “vandalism” means the same thing to this officer as it did to Chris’s principal. Does my son just have a strange obsession with cherry bombing public restrooms?
“They swarmed the store at around 10:50 this morning, Chris and seven other boys, and they started ripping juices and milk out of the back fridges, smashing them on the floor. Chris ran down the aisle and cleared the racks of chips and junk, sweeping it all onto the floor. Then, when the other boys started to run off, Chris knocked over a newspaper rack into the store window, shattering it.”
Okay, so not cherry bombs then. Holy shit. What is going on with him. I open my mouth, but my throat is a desert so all I can do is make a strange clicking sound.
Officer Rogers looks at me with sympathetic brown eyes, “I can see you’re upset. This is probably a lot to take in. The thing is though, we caught all of the boys and questioned them here. It seemed pretty clear that Chris wasn’t just following the crowd on this one, Ms. Brickman. From what we’ve gathered, this little operation was his idea and the other guys were following him. Even the store clerk mentioned that it was your son who broke the most stuff and then also took it upon himself to take out the window too.”
I try to imagine Chris being so violent. Not only heading down a path of self destruction, but leading the pack. Instead, all I can think of is how only two years ago I had a sweet seven-year-old who still told me he loved me when I tucked him in at night. Now, I apparently have a nine-year-old delinquent going on twenty. More like, gonna get locked up for twenty, if I can’t get him straightened out.
“I don’t know what to say. This is, well, I knew he was getting out of control, but this is shocking.” Tears build up in the corners of my eyes and blur my vision. I don’t want to break down right now, but my throat burns as I struggle to keep them from falling.
“I can see that,” the Lieutenant lifts a tissue from his Kleenex box on the desktop and hands it to me. I dab my eyes, sniffling. “Chris mentioned that his father died last year when we were talking to him. It’s the only time he showed any emotions. I’d like to propose that Chris goes to a group therapy session in town here that’s specifically for boys who are tweens and teens who’ve lost a parent. I think that it might do him a world of good to learn to cope with his emotions constructively, and see that he’s not alone in grieving his loss.”
“Is that expensive? I mean, I’ll make it work, but I’m just not sure how …” my thoughts begin to spiral as I start calculating how much I have on my line of credit.
“No, it will be free. I’m going to contact the program co-ordinator and recommend Chris to the sessions like a community service program. That way it won’t cost you anything. Also, if you do agree to send him, I can use that as a deal to prevent the store owner from coming after you personally for damages.”
“Me? Oh my God, I definitely don’t have that kind of money.” The very idea of being tied up in legal litigations makes my head feel like it’s about to split open. “No, of course I do want him to go. Even if it wasn’t for the damages part. I just want him to get help.” Tears roll down my cheeks and I quickly raise my hand to soak them up with the tissue.
“I can see that, Ms. Brickman. I think you’ll find it will make a big difference. Chris is young and he’s troubled but he has a mother who truly cares about him. I think with this group therapy, you’ll see him turn around. He’s already got a lot more going for him than almost every one of those kids he was vandalizing that store with this morning.”
“Thank you, I do care,” my voice cracks. “He’s my world, I’ll do whatever it takes to get him back on track. I swear to you, before his father died, Chris would never have even thought of doing stuff like this. Never. All he wanted to do is play sports, video games and normal kid stuff. Now the only sport he gives a crap about, sorry,” I look up at him, but Officer Rogers just smiles back. “The only thing he still cares about is football, everything else is a wash. I just want my old kid back.” I choke on my words as tears form again, but this time I can’t hold them back. The dam breaks and a stream of sadness and worry flows down my face.
Lieutenant Rogers waits patiently for me to get myself back under control, handing me more tissues. Thankfully, after a few deep breaths, I manage to stop crying.