A FIRM GRASP ON NOTHING PART 2
“Little snot steals my car.”
As I read part 1 (if you haven’t you better cuz this isn’t going to make sense otherwise) to remember the context of the “adjustments” I made to the story, I realized I didn’t get into what living with her was like. It sucked.
115lb’s of depressed misery. She also desperately needed a medical procedure and was not being responsible about it. And if you think that patience, kindness or effort was being rewarded with as much as a “thank you,” you would be high.
As she was still a ward of the state, it wasn’t a money issue, but just getting someone who had survived day to day and trusted no one to do something they need to for the rest of their life wasn’t a regular priority. And medical stuff is scary.
A couple of days before the procedure (middle of the worst it had been around her) in the middle of the night we had an earthquake. If you live in LA you have those. But, it had been a while, and this one was big. She came running in my bedroom. This moment was important.
Prior to her running in she was just bitchie and demanding. Her running in was not the arrogant POS living under my roof, trying to dominate things, fighting for space and territory, but a scared little girl. Ten seconds that illuminated why I was putting myself through all this. An acknowledgment that I wasn’t fighting off a hungry bear 24/7, but saving a puppy.
The morning of the procedure, we get to the car, and my key won’t work. I ask her point-blank if she took my car, she said “no,” I knew she was lying, but she needs to get this done, so I let it go. However, taking my car without asking is the end of all this. I had only a couple rules, and I’d evaluate to ensure I didn’t overreact, but if she doesn’t respect the few rules, she’s out.
It takes hours. The lead detective stops by to say ‘hi’ while I was waiting. I have to say, the money we pay these overworked people and the care they bring to this job is nothing compared to what they deserve. I can’t imagine taking that job home every day. It takes a combination of a saint and a bloodthirsty murderer. Every day they go to work knowing it’s very possible they may either drag a screaming four-year-old from a woman with a needle hanging out of her arm or have to shoot someone pimping out a 15-year-old who, “ain’t going back.” By contrast, I may get yelled at by a producer.
The moment she was released from the medical facility, she saw it in my eyes. I didn’t want her to have to deal with it right then, but it was happening. We couldn’t avoid it. And I will admit, I was pissed.
About 30 feet from the car, she sat down in the street, and she starts crying. There’s no attitude, its the puppy. In the road, refusing even to stand up. Balling. This goes on for 20 minutes, and it’s sad, but I’m furious about the car and I’m over this.
Oh, I skipped something earlier.
I have two speeds of intense. The voice goes up a little, ‘I’m fucking serious’ but that’s 4th gear. Most people accuse me of being scary and yelling in 4th. 5th gear is what I consider yelling. I got to 5th once with the dog and glanced back at Emma, who was terrified. No not terrified, traumatized. Not a Dr. but she has PTSD. How do I know, I know. Because of this, I have yet to come close to 5th gear since that moment. If my ex-wife ever sees this, she will be very unhappy to know I had that much control over it.
So when someone who I have taken in does something as awful to me as she did its logical I would be upset. Maybe even 5th gear upset. Actually, in any other situation like this with any other person, I would go right past 5th.
She’s in pain and hungry. I’m pissed, it’s hot and she keeps saying, “Just leave me. I’ll be fine, I always am”. I wish she was trying to play or manipulate me. I wish the night she was shaking, it wasn’t authentic. I wish I wasn’t standing next to a sobbing teenager on Wilshire Blvd at rush-hour. It is what you might call a “bad situation.” I moved the car around because she wouldn’t get up from the curb crying. I get her into the car and start driving.
I (as calmly as I am capable) start questioning her until she says, “why are you asking if you already know?” “We both knew this was temporary, get it over with.”
“Fuck……..fuck FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!!!!!” (internally)
I start processing what I’m dealing with. I have committed, I told her I committed and she doesn’t believe me. Not sure I believed me, but here I am. She’s staring out the window and looks like and holds her body like a 13-year-old child. Tears still coming but past the sobbing.
I can’t let this go; I have to honor my own rules, especially if she won’t. I wasn’t unclear; she’s just a little snot. This will happen again. “No one cheats once”.
Then her situation with the courts and such pops back into my head. I kick her out, does she see her next birthday? Hell, even if all that blows over does she see her 21st birthday if things go her version of ‘smooth’?
“Other than when you were 13 when have you had your own room or space?”
-”never.”
I won’t give a bunch of her personal details, but I know this to be true. She had a few other situations and wasn’t an angel, but I know for a fact she never had anyone who voluntarily take her in. Can you imagine what that would be like at 13? So much rejection. I was a nightmare from 15 to about 18 I can not imagine what trusting strangers, especially after I had been hurt by so many, would have entailed. However, she’s fucking 18. I’m registering her to vote. She’s not 13. Of course, she’s not a version of 18 anyone reading this would recognize. This dilemma would make a hell of a thesis, too bad I’m living it in real-time with living breathing carbon lifeform.
So, it’s back on me. I have an out. She knowingly broke one of the rules she couldn’t brake. And she always expected my involvement to be temporary at best. At times she’s like a feral dog. If you beat a feral dog to get it out of your trash can, it’ll just come back once you leave. Learned behavior once in survival mode is tough to break.
Then there is something else. I never wanted kids. I’m an only child and prefer being alone most of the time. Was married, had lived with a couple of others, but that ‘person constantly there’ doesn’t do much for me. And having her wandering around bitching about everything wasn’t doing much to change my mind. But the weekend before she had a friend over. She referred to me as her “dad”. The context inferred ‘foster dad’, but it pertained to my helping her study for the GED. Applying structure. It was jarring at first. And there wasn’t enough time passed for that to have too much impact, but there was a moment when it felt a little like all the crazy bullshit I’d been dealing with was the right thing to be doing. Doing things the right way, and keeping my word was valuable to someone who really had things work against her most of her life. Maybe even restoring a little bit of hope to a hopeless situation.
“I’m not kicking you out.” “But you are in so much fucking trouble.”
(to be CONTINUED)
