police car screaming she was innocent. As if somehow that is relevant. Because the only two people who are innocent were sitting in a cold waiting room until a stranger came to pick them up to take them somewhere.
But those words felt like I was being locked up from everything I'd known every single day.
And That Feels Like I Am The One Leaving In A Police Car.
19.
Benji and I sit on a park bench trying to “connect.” A scheduled appointment is what our relationship has become. It’s not fair. Being stared at by a court-appointed adult who watches us the entire time we talk. God–– do I really need a babysitter at sixteen?
"So what’s been happening with you? You keep leaving me hanging."
I ask a question he can't answer. The answer is something too hard to transfer to phonetic sounds and syllables some sort of complicated lulls in time and space. And even if he could say why he acts this way I know it would do no good, not when the real question isn't for him or me or Ms. Francine. Not for Terry or Jess- It’s for the man and woman who left a long time ago.
"At the group home, they're so hard on me. It’s like every time I try and do anything or go somewhere, they make me stay in my room. It sucks. I'm a prisoner, Lou. Take me with you. Please."
His knuckles crack as he shifts his feelings to his fingers. Hoping the sensation will make him feel more alive ready to dive into this hard conversation.
"Benji, I wish I could. It just isn't time yet. And maybe mom will show up this month. And then things would change."
That makes him fidget tap his fingers more focus his eyes on the floor.
"Nothing’s gonna change, Lou-Lou. Not as long as we sit here waiting on them. Why are you being such a bitch about it? We could just leave. No one would ever need to know where we went. We could be a family again."
I flinch when he calls me out for not being the person he needs. As if I’m choosing this life-long reprieve from normal.
I WANT NORMAL.
I don't want to be living with Ms. Francine. But I have something Benji never got. The understanding that sometimes the life you are living is your lot.
"Benji, I'm not picking anything or anyone but you. I want to be with you. That’s why you need to do your best and be real good and then they’ll let you live with me again, in Ms. F's house."
I want to believe in him. But I know the way he’s knocked over the tables in the social worker’s office. I know how school won't let him come back because he’s a learning disturbance. I know that at twelve years old the only time he was told NO and accepted it was from me. Scratch that. NO is not a part of our history. We were always taught to say YES.
20.
He’s scratching his face now. Fighting hard to breathe now. Screaming about the way it used to be now. And the lady at the park the one who watches our moves and makes us talk in whispers so she will approve is making her way to the bench on which we sit. Making her way through the sand to tell him it’s time to go. I just wish she’d see that he’d do so much better if you just let him have his fit. Let him get all those feelings out instead of making him push them back down. Way down.
We get in the car. Benji screaming at everything. Because he can't handle anything the truth that he’s alone And that everyone left him to stand on his own. Own two feet. He doesn't believe he can bear the weight of his body. So instead he crumbles.
21.
Ms. Francine is in the kitchen when I get home.
"How was your time with Benji?"
She asks in the sort of way that makes you feel like she already knows the whole deal. The whole story from someone else's mouth. Like someone is in more