Learning to Cry (16 page)

Is it possible that some people are so troubled they are only at peace when they are asleep? Interestingly enough, does it make sense that sleep will even bring peace? Would the dreams of a disturbed soul be as haunting as their actions in real life? It doesn’t seem fair that some people never get a break. Shouldn’t everyone at some point figure out a way to breath in and out, just enough to allow themselves to catch up to what life throws at them.

Around 10 a.m., Cassandra ran in and jumped into bed with Melissa. She was oblivious to the smell as only and 8 year old can be. She was used to running in after 10 to snuggle with her older sister. The rule was no earlier than 10, and then only after knocking. She had been knocking for several minutes, but when there was no answer, she ran in anyway. She flipped on the TV and curled up next to her older sister and started watching Hannah Montana. Eight year olds seem to love the singing pop sensation.

Cheryl walked by around 10:30 and saw the two sisters snuggling in bed and smiled. It warmed her heart to think of the two bonding. She was so worried about her oldest daughter, but loved the fact that she still spent time with her youngest. Two sisters curled up in bed after a good night’s sleep was like a Kodak moment. She wished she knew where her camera was so she could take a snapshot.

In the midst of cleaning, Cheryl couldn’t identify the awfully pungent smell that filled her house. She wondered if the cats had pooped somewhere. Once the girls got up she would have to search around and see if she could locate the source. It was horribly foul.

Melissa got up a few minutes later and took a shower. She felt disgusting and wished she could spend the day lying in bed. Apparently they were all going to her grandparents’ house, and she was expected to make an appearance. Her head was throbbing so badly, though. It wasn’t like a normal headache. It felt as if somebody was splitting her head with a hammer from the inside. It was almost like somebody else was in there doing their best so escape.

Her head, the tiny little prison. A thin shell holding the demons at bay.

Melissa

At some point, does a child stop surprising his or her parents with constant failures? After 100 lies, does any semblance of trust dissipate? How about 200 lies? Five hundred? How can a daughter lie over and over again and expect any form of sympathy? It makes no sense, yet, teenagers seem to function on the edge of the abyss. So many of them jump off the edge, trusting their parents to lasso them mid-air and pull them back to safety. The insanity is chaotic and would be humorous were the consequences not so fatal.

Cheryl allowed Cassandra to sleep with Melissa the following Friday night. Melissa had agreed, and her little sister was very excited. The adoration young children hold for their elder siblings is enthralling. The look in their eyes when an older brother or sister acknowledges them is spell-binding. Wouldn’t it be nice to do things all over again to form a tighter bond with brothers and sisters as adolescents. Family will always be there. Even when we sometimes wish they were not.

The two girls spent the night watching TV and drinking soda. It was like a sleepover in the bedroom. They watched romantic comedies, probably not appropriate for an 8 year old, but the third kid always gets the good and the bad of accelerated maturity. The next morning, Cassandra woke up and ran to her mom’s bed to get a few minutes of snuggling in before the day began. It was cleaning time, and the chore of the week was to finally get her bedroom in order. It was a total disaster.

Her mother helped her, and in the process, she went into Melissa’s room to get Cassandra’s clothes from the night before. As little girls do, she dropped them wherever she stood when she changed. As Cheryl bent down to pick them up, she caught a horrendous smell and noticed the vomit from the previous week on the corner of the bed. She didn’t have any idea how long it had been there, but she knew it was at least a few days old. It was on the wall, in the carpet and all down the side of Melissa’s bed. She thought she was going to throw up herself as she shakily rose to her feet.

Melissa was lying there and had apparently been for how many days, smelling the stench of her own puke. It seemed just when her daughter had reached bottom she found a way to sink lower still. Cheryl woke her up and asked her about the mess and as usual, Melissa had no idea what happened. She didn’t know how it got there, why it was there, or why it had not been cleaned up. She begrudgingly agreed to remedy the situation and got out of bed to get a bucket of soap and water.

How often does society pass by the homeless and wonder what happened to them. How can human beings live so freely in their own filth. What happens to a person that allows them to accept urine stained clothes as normal? Bathing is nothing more than a luxury, and even that is readily foregone for a drink or the next fix. Drugs and alcohol take priority, even over personal hygiene. All Cheryl could picture in her mind was her little girl, lying on the street somewhere, wasting away in her own vomit. It would be a mental picture that would remain implanted in her psyche for many weeks to come.

Melissa honestly didn’t remember the source of the regurgitated food . Yes, her room smelled, but she didn’t know the smell’s origin. She hadn’t paid enough attention to even know what was making the putrid stench. She, honestly, didn’t care. She did her best to clean it up, but she almost threw up several times, trying to remove the stubborn caked-in mess from the carpet. She now wished she would have found this sooner. It was like concrete particles, clinging to each carpet fiber It would be impossible to ever remove all of it completely.

After several minutes, she felt it was good enough and went to rinse out the remains in the sink. Cheryl saw her walking down the hall and went to inspect, heaving slightly at the remaining smell still lingering in the room as she entered. She saw the carpet was less than adequately clean, and untouched particles remained all over the wall.

At that point she screamed, “Melissa, get your ass in her here now. I mean right the hell now!”

Melissa dropped the brush and walked in. Jesus, what time was it, she thought. She was so tired.

Her mom berated her for missing some spots, she listened at the words that dropped in the air and floated around for a few seconds before plummeting to the ground below. She, at times, would imagine each word her parents uttered and actually see them mid-air. She jumbled them up and ensured the letters mixed in a massive incoherent pile before ever reaching her. If the words didn’t find their way to her ears, she had a legitimate excuse for never hearing them. This was her logic, anyway.

Most of the day held the same pattern. Melissa cleaned for a while, her mother inspected, her mother yelled, and the cycle would continue. Wash, rinse, dry repeat. Was that the motto for her life? At times she would take a break and check her phone or change her Facebook status. Staying connected was the most important activity for her age group. Jesus, at that point in time, it was extremely important for most any age group.

On one occasion, Curtis got online, and she spent a few minutes chatting with him. He was the older brother of a boy Melissa had dated in middle school. She hadn’t thought of Curtis or his little brother in several months. They didn’t hang around the same people, so it wasn’t like she saw either of them daily. Curtis was a senior in high school and had been held back. His family was not the best on the block, and Curtis was one of the local pot dealers on the coast.

At some point Melissa might have to assess why so many of her friends were pot dealers or were relatives of drug dealers. Even she thought the connections were growing a little odd. Curtis wanted to come over that night and hang out. He could sneak in her window and they could watch some TV. If she was up for it he would be over around 9 p.m.. Melissa didn’t even think about it – she readily accepted his suggestion. Her mother should be in bed by then, and while she had never snuck anyone in her bedroom, she didn’t see the harm. If her window was truly a door, then it should swing both ways, coming and going.

Like clockwork Melissa’s mother and sisters retired to the master bedroom around 9 p.m.. They turned “Friends” on, and the mindless activity commenced. No wonder kids have such a detached mental capacity for reality. Their primary teacher is a group of adults in their 20s who feign commitment. The treat for the evening was a bowl of microwave popcorn which was probably as harmful to their bodies as TV was to their brains. When will the FDA come out with the inevitable warning telling us how microwaves have been found to contain lethal doses of radiation, and we are all dying? Jesus, our government is worthless.

Curtis arrived around 9:30 p.m. Melissa was happy he had not shown up earlier. He immediately opened up his stash, they lit up a bowl, and before she knew it, she was floating with her head in the ceiling, and Curtis deeply implanted inside her. Is it true that “Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll” go together like the music industry touts? What is that saying from “Love Actually?” “Don’t buy drugs, kids, become a rock and roll star, and they give them to you for free.” As quickly as he started he was finished, and since they were in her bedroom, she decided they should both get dressed. Even for Melissa, there was a level of risk she didn’t want to cross.

He threw the condom on the window sill, and they both lay in bed. He was watching some idiotic show on TV while she stared at the ceiling. She wondered what her fascination was with the white plasterboard hanging above her head in every house she entered. It was just stuck there, by some construction worker years ago when the house had been built. Some day laborer perhaps, making a few dollars an hour had stood in this very room forming it into her haven of security. This was only interrupted by the shrill scream her mother emitted while standing at her now wide-open bedroom door.

OMG, did she really have to scream? Her mom yelled at Curtis, spewed forth curse words faster than an automatic weapon might fire bullets. Her arms flailed, and her eyes focused on the condom, zeroing in on the beacon of guilt just lying on the window sill for all to see.

Curtis asked her to calm down. “Just relax,” he said. “Let’s talk about this like adults.”

Melissa thought her mother was going to pick up any object within her reach and beat him over the head with it. He really should just shut up, but Melissa was now content to let the two of them hash out what the next step might be.

The condom was confiscated in a plastic bag, Cheryl led Curtis to the kitchen, and Melissa stayed in the bedroom with the door closed. The confrontation must have taken longer than she had imaged since it was now almost 11 p.m.  She heard her mother continuing to scream at Curtis, even through the closed door.

“How the hell old are you again?” Curtis must really be stupid because she was pretty sure he had just told her mother he was 19. If her father were here she knew that Curtis would be dead at this point. Holy shit, it sounded like her mother was on the phone with her father right now.

Melissa couldn’t help but wonder why all ceilings were painted white.

Father

Certain things in life are guaranteed, I believe. The sun will always come up each day, the moon has its consistent cycle, the ocean is salty, and my daughter and ex-wife would inevitably phone me at some point in time. I had known this for weeks. I just wasn’t sure of when or what the circumstances would be. In the few conversations I had with her, Cheryl always told me how great things were. How Melissa was wonderful and everything was perfect. My ex-wife always did enjoy the image of tranquility, living in fantasy oftentimes more than reality.

So when the call came, and she told me the story, along with the fact that a 19-year-old boy was currently sitting at her kitchen table, I was not surprised, but still I was shocked. I realize, as most parents should, that children do far more things than we will ever know. The scary thing is when the circumstances you know about are so drastic, they then make the dark corners of your child’s world even more frightening. If she was sneaking 19-year-old boys into her room, what did that mean she was doing we were not even aware of?

After hearing the story, I told Cheryl to call his parents, inform them that we would be calling the police tomorrow and pressing charges. I suggested she get him out of the house immediately and let Melissa be for the night. I would meet them both tomorrow at her house, and we would figure out the next steps, then. Cheryl agreed and we hung up the phone. Having her call me and ask me for advice let me know two things: one, she was scared and couldn’t handle things on her own and two, she still didn’t want her family to know the truth about how bad things were. If Cheryl’s family were aware of the extent of our problems with Melissa she would have called one of them and not me.

The next day I arrived and as instructed, timed my approach to coincide with the local Sheriff’s entrance. No matter what the situation was, I was still not welcomed in the house any longer than I absolutely had to be. I met him on the front porch and informed him of what I knew. We entered together and spent about 20 minutes hearing the full story from Cheryl before he wanted to speak with Melissa. She came in as instructed and sat down at the kitchen table like she was preparing to talk to an old friend of the family.

This was now her second introduction to law enforcement, and it had zero visible effect on her. He asked to speak with her alone, and we obliged. Cheryl was visibly shaken as we both headed back to the bedroom, and she talked nonstop about the incident and recent events. Two things happened when she got nervous. One, she was much more truthful since she blurted things out in a continual flow of facts and two, she continually blurted out facts at a rapid pace. It was like giving the road runner speed and watching how quickly he could run circles around that damn coyote.

The Sheriff spoke to the two of us before we all sat down together, and he was a little in awe, as were we, at Melissa’s lack of intimidation. She was continuing to adamantly deny she had sex with the boy. She thought this guy was gross and in no way would she have ever touched him. She had done nothing wrong. When it was explained to her the seriousness of the situation and the boy in question would be charged with statutory rape, she scoffed at the suggestion. Since they had not done anything sexual, there was no way that he or she could possibly get into any trouble.

She was remarkably calm for a girl in her teens being faced with police questioning. Jesus, I still get nervous when I am pulled over for speeding. How can she not break in a situation like this? I guess if I were looking for a positive in any of this, it would be her self-resolve and inner strength to meet a challenge like this head on and not bend. The four of us then sat down together. I was forcefully opinionated about pressing charges. This asshole needed to be taught a lesson, and if he wanted to meet his idiocy as an adult, we should allow it. Cheryl, of course, was more concerned about what people would think and Melissa’s reputation.

We agreed to leave it open for now, and the Sheriff would take down all the notes and write up a report. An investigator would be calling us in a few days to move forward in whatever direction we chose. He left only a couple of hours after he had arrived, and we then sat down to talk with our daughter. I had not directly spoken to her since I had arrived, and my sense was this would be the hardest part for Melissa to face. She might project a strength well beyond ,her years, but deep down she had always wanted to please me. She knew how disappointed I would be in her for letting herself get to this level.

Before I could open my mouth the phone rang, and it was the parents of the boy in question. They wanted to meet us and discuss the options moving forward. At least they were a fraction smarter than their idiotic son. I am sure they knew how much trouble he might be in, and they were going to do their best to sway us from pressing charges. I would do the same if I were in their shoes. Even at 19 the moronic boy was still only in high school. He had already been held back for a year, so how intelligent could this idiot be?