I wonder if you’ve considered having Brian talk with a someone, a therapist or psychiatrist…”
They couldn’t afford it, but Claire didn’t tell him that. She merely thanked the principal for his advice, and agreed that two days’ suspension seemed fair.
The school secretary asked Claire to fill out some paperwork, and they stepped into her office. Through a narrow window by the door, she could see the waiting room, and Brian slouched in a hard-back chair. He caught her eye, then glanced away, visibly ashamed. He reminded her of Charlie, the same wavy, golden hair. Claire had to take a couple of deep breaths to keep from bursting into tears. She started to fill out the suspension forms.
“My daughter, Kim, is in Brian’s homeroom class,” the secretary said. She smiled at Claire. She was a slim, pretty Asian woman. The name plate on her desk read: Ms. Soyon Wright. “He’s a handsome young man, Mrs. Ferguson,” she continued. “And very popular. You know, they have that dance class for the freshmen on Thursday nights. Kim tells me Brian is one of the best dancers there. All the girls want to dance with him.”
“Really? I had no idea.” Claire stopped writing, and stared at Ms. Wright. She wondered what the school’s secretary was getting at.
“You know, kids can be awfully cruel. There are a couple of girls in particular, who are frequently the butt of jokes, and they’re picked on. One of the girls, Sally, she has a weight problem. And there’s another freshman, Jessica, she just doesn’t fit in. Well, high school kids can be pretty vicious.” She sighed. “Mrs. Ferguson, I think you should know something about your son. At dance class, the boys still choose the girls for most of the dances. Like I said, all the girls want to dance with Brian. But every class session, your son always picks Sally for at least one dance and Jessica for another. My daughter overheard some boy ask him why in the world he did that—when he could have his pick of any of the girls. Do you know what your son’s answer was?”
Claire shook her head.
Ms. Wright smiled. “‘I just feel like it,’ he told him.” She set another form in front of Claire. “I only need your signature on the bottom of this one. Anyway, don’t be too hard on him. He has a good heart.”
Claire kept telling herself that. She tried to remember Ms. Wright’s story two months later when a call from the police woke her up. Brian and two friends—upperclassmen—had been arrested for trespassing, being drunk and disorderly, and indecent exposure. With two six packs of beer, they’d jumped the fence at a private country club, then went skinny-dipping in the club’s pool. A night watchman had seen them, and telephoned the police.
Five weeks later, Claire received a call at work. Brian had skipped summer school, and was one of four passengers in a stolen car, stopped by a patrolman down in Tacoma. The kids in the vehicle were on their way to the beach. Two bottles of liquor, a two ounce bag of marijuana, and various drug paraphernalia were also found in the stolen vehicle.
“What exactly do you want me to do with you?” she asked Brian later. “Would you tell me? Because I don’t know how to handle you any more. You’re out of control. You were in a stolen car! And there were drugs! Who are these jerks you’re hanging around with?”
“I won’t see them any more,” Brian muttered, tears in his eyes. “I promise. And I didn’t have anything to drink—or smoke. I swear. I’m sorry, Mom. I just wanted to go to the beach.”
“I’m terrified,” she admitted. “Brian, I keep thinking the next call from the police is going to be the capper, and you’ll end up in some correctional facility for minors. Is that what you want? Because that’s where you’re headed…”
Two months later, Claire got another call—in the middle of the night. It was from the nurse looking after her mother.
After the funeral costs and medical
They couldn’t afford it, but Claire didn’t tell him that. She merely thanked the principal for his advice, and agreed that two days’ suspension seemed fair.
The school secretary asked Claire to fill out some paperwork, and they stepped into her office. Through a narrow window by the door, she could see the waiting room, and Brian slouched in a hard-back chair. He caught her eye, then glanced away, visibly ashamed. He reminded her of Charlie, the same wavy, golden hair. Claire had to take a couple of deep breaths to keep from bursting into tears. She started to fill out the suspension forms.
“My daughter, Kim, is in Brian’s homeroom class,” the secretary said. She smiled at Claire. She was a slim, pretty Asian woman. The name plate on her desk read: Ms. Soyon Wright. “He’s a handsome young man, Mrs. Ferguson,” she continued. “And very popular. You know, they have that dance class for the freshmen on Thursday nights. Kim tells me Brian is one of the best dancers there. All the girls want to dance with him.”
“Really? I had no idea.” Claire stopped writing, and stared at Ms. Wright. She wondered what the school’s secretary was getting at.
“You know, kids can be awfully cruel. There are a couple of girls in particular, who are frequently the butt of jokes, and they’re picked on. One of the girls, Sally, she has a weight problem. And there’s another freshman, Jessica, she just doesn’t fit in. Well, high school kids can be pretty vicious.” She sighed. “Mrs. Ferguson, I think you should know something about your son. At dance class, the boys still choose the girls for most of the dances. Like I said, all the girls want to dance with Brian. But every class session, your son always picks Sally for at least one dance and Jessica for another. My daughter overheard some boy ask him why in the world he did that—when he could have his pick of any of the girls. Do you know what your son’s answer was?”
Claire shook her head.
Ms. Wright smiled. “‘I just feel like it,’ he told him.” She set another form in front of Claire. “I only need your signature on the bottom of this one. Anyway, don’t be too hard on him. He has a good heart.”
Claire kept telling herself that. She tried to remember Ms. Wright’s story two months later when a call from the police woke her up. Brian and two friends—upperclassmen—had been arrested for trespassing, being drunk and disorderly, and indecent exposure. With two six packs of beer, they’d jumped the fence at a private country club, then went skinny-dipping in the club’s pool. A night watchman had seen them, and telephoned the police.
Five weeks later, Claire received a call at work. Brian had skipped summer school, and was one of four passengers in a stolen car, stopped by a patrolman down in Tacoma. The kids in the vehicle were on their way to the beach. Two bottles of liquor, a two ounce bag of marijuana, and various drug paraphernalia were also found in the stolen vehicle.
“What exactly do you want me to do with you?” she asked Brian later. “Would you tell me? Because I don’t know how to handle you any more. You’re out of control. You were in a stolen car! And there were drugs! Who are these jerks you’re hanging around with?”
“I won’t see them any more,” Brian muttered, tears in his eyes. “I promise. And I didn’t have anything to drink—or smoke. I swear. I’m sorry, Mom. I just wanted to go to the beach.”
“I’m terrified,” she admitted. “Brian, I keep thinking the next call from the police is going to be the capper, and you’ll end up in some correctional facility for minors. Is that what you want? Because that’s where you’re headed…”
Two months later, Claire got another call—in the middle of the night. It was from the nurse looking after her mother.
After the funeral costs and medical
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