“Thank you,” I mumble from behind a handful of crumpled Kleenex.
“Certainly,” he answers with a friendly smile. “If you’re ok, I can take you to the other office to pick up Chris now?” He doesn’t stand up or try to rush me out of his office, even though I’m sure he has other things to do today. Instead, he waits for me to answer.
“Yes, thank you. I’d like to take him home now.” I blow my nose and throw the tissues in the trash bin at the side of the desk.
“Great, ok, follow me. And remember, Ms. Brickman, your son is clearly dealing with a lot right now, but your little boy is still in there. Don’t give up on him, take him to those sessions, I think you’ll find the kid you miss before long.” His looks at me softly and I swallow the lump in my throat before it has a chance to rise and spill over into another bout of crying.
“Thank you, Officer. I will.”
“And you are going to march into your grandmother’s house and apologize to her and your aunt for what you’ve put everyone through today. Do you understand me, Christopher?”
He shrugs without breaking his stare out the passenger window. The tears I spilled in the Lieutenant’s office a few hours ago have long since been steamed away by my anger.
After spending the better part of my day at the police station, filling out forms for my son’s upcoming group sessions and to get him released into my custody, I’m kinda over the crying thing.
I pull the car into my mother’s driveway and throw the car in park. Chris doesn’t move, still staring out his window.
“Let’s go, young man! Now!” I bark at him, but he moves with sloth like speed to unfasten his seatbelt.
“Whatever.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I know he’s testing me. I have no idea why, but it’s clear as day that he is. Instead of giving him the reaction he’s clearly searching for, I just leave the car and wait outside the door. I send a silent prayer up to God to give me the strength I need to deal with my boy.
Chris reluctantly joins me as I walk up the short path to my mother’s front door. Before I have a chance to grab the handle, the door flies open with my sister, Chelsea standing in the doorway.
“Oh my goodness! Ma! It’s Chris and Lauren. Are you alright, Chris? What happened, Lauren? I’m so glad you’re home!” she rambles, blocking our entrance to the house.
“Everything is sorted out, for now. You wanna let us in?” I gently remind her to get out of the way. Chris, on the other hand, pushes past his aunt like a linebacker.
“Chris! Apologize to Chelsea right now. You don’t push her around.”
“Sorry,” he rolls his eyes. I can feel heat rising up the back of my neck as I try to keep the flames of my temper extinguished.
My mother walks into the living room with us, with worry etched on her mahogany face. “Oh, Christopher! I’m so glad you’re back. You gave me a real scare today. What were you thinking?”
Chris just shrugs, refusing to look any of us in the eyes.
“Apparently he was thinking that him and his friends should go trash a 7-11 for fun and the cops picked him up. They told me that if it wasn’t for the minimum age for delinquency charges in Colorado being ten, Chris would be looking at real charges right now. Luckily, they made us a deal so I won’t have to pay for the damages he caused, like smashing out a window,” my mother and sister gasp.
“Christopher!” Mom interrupts.
“Yeah, so if he goes to a group therapy thing in town, the police are going to kindly let it drop.”
“Wow, Hun, what’s going on in there?” Chelsea rubs his head affectionately.
“Leave me alone,” Chris shoves her hand off his head.
“Christopher! Apologize right now.” I barely grit the words through my teeth.
Chris sighs exaggeratedly, “Sorry. I’m soooo sorry. Sorry for being alive, ok? Is that what you want? Can you stop being such a bitch now?”
Rage prickles my skin and my mind flashes red. My open hand swats him on the back of the head and everyone stares in silence. I’ve never hit my son before. Never. It’s the one thing I’ve never done.
“I hate you!” Chris’s voice cracks and he flees the front door and stomps down the sidewalk to the car. The passenger door slams and I burst into tears.
“Hey, it’s ok. I would’ve smacked him too with that mouth. He’ll come around, don’t beat yourself up,” my mother wraps her arms around me and I cry into her shoulder.
I don’t know what to do. It’s like everyday that passes is just pushing more distance between me and my son. I don’t even know him anymore.