We Can’t Leave Him Here

Walking through the door into the police station she takes another breath, draws herself up and walks to the window.

“How can I help you?” the lady the other side says.

“I would like to talk to someone about my son please.”

“OK, I will just come round and we can have a chat.”

She is taken to a small room with a table, 2 chairs and a sofa. Offered the sofa she sits slowly on the edge and the police lady asks her “So how can we help?”

Taking a breath, she starts talking. Soon the tears are falling as she explains what had happened the previous night. 20 minutes of sobbing and a lot of rushed talking she finally stops and takes a breath.

“You do realise that this is a form of domestic violence?”

“Yes. I just want someone to talk to him, someone to explain to him how serious this is getting. This is the 3^rd time I have had to contact the police in the last month because of my sons behaviour.”

“Yes I think we need to send a couple of officers around to have a chat with him.”

“Thank you, thank you so much.”

She smiles at the police woman and for the first time there is a glimmer of hope. A hope that if the officers can talk to him and make him realise how serious his behaviour is getting that he will wake up and return to the human race.

“You’re scared to go home?” the officer asks her.

Shaking her head she says, “No, I’m not scared. I am not sure of the right word. Apprehensive? Weary? I just don’t want another confrontation, another argument. I’m not scared of him, I’m scared for him.”

It is explained that because this is a domestic violence report that they will be out quite quickly. She thanks the officer, leaves her details and goes back to her car. Getting in she stops for a minute and rests her head on the steering wheel. The tears begin to fall again. She is surprised there are any left, she has cried so much over the last month.

Gathering herself together she drives home. Walks through the door. The kitchen is tidy and the washing up has been done. She decides she will still go to her aqua class as it is one thing that is normal  in her life. Gathering up her costume and towel. She goes into the sitting room. The boy is lying on the sofa again, half dressed and under a throw.

“You don’t want your tea then?” he mutters.

“Oh, have you made some?” she is surprised. It has been a long time since he last cooked for her. She goes through to the kitchen and in the microwave is a plate of food. “Thank you she calls, I will eat it after my class.”

Walking down the path she asks herself “Why?” Why can’t everyday be like today? Why can’t he be like that when I get home from work all the time?” Changing the message on her voice mail to let the police know should they call her that she will be home by 8.30 she heads to the gym and gets rid of some of the stresses of the last 24 hours.

Getting home, she discovers they have not been yet. Going to the microwave she looks forward to eating what he made her. But it is empty.

“Where’s my tea?”

“I ate it.” He replied from the sofa.

“Oh”, she gets something out of the freezer and put it in the oven. Then there is a knock on the door. Taking a deep breath she opens it and finds two policemen on her doorstep.

“Hi, come in.”

As they step through the door his face appears around the sitting room door “so you’ve called your piggy friends then!” he calls. In a couple of bounds he is out the sitting room and up the stairs into his room.

“So, would you like to tell us what’s been going on?” the shorter of the two officers said. Standing in the kitchen she recounts what happened the previous night. “I know its such a silly thing to have got to the stage it did. After all it was really originally just over a bit of washing up.”

“So what would you like us to do about it? We can arrest him but you would have to support us and give a statement.”

Sighing “I don’t want him arrested. I don’t want him to have a criminal record. I just want him to realise how serious this is getting. Can you just talk to him?”

“OK”.. they go to head up the stairs and I point out that if they both go up there that he is likely to go out through the window. So one stays downstairs waiting.

“Hi, Its the Police, can we come in and have a chat?” A muffled response

“No, your Mum is in pieces downstairs, I want to talk to you like a man up here. Let me in.”  He had barricaded himself in his room.  “No we are not here to arrest you, we just want a chat.”

After some movement the door is opened and both officers go in. “Right, so why are you being such a dick to your mother?!?!” She listens from downstairs, only catching parts of the conversation. This might well be the first time apart from her, and her father once, that anyone has laid into her son like that before about his behaviour. After 5 or so minutes both officers head back down stairs.

“We have had a chat. He is really very angry.”

“I know. I don’t understand why.” Her son now dressed and hair washed(?!) comes down the stairs and makes to go past the officers.

“Hang a minute mate, lets just get this sorted first.”

“Oh for fucks safe if you won’t let me out the door I will go my other way.” He mutters to them as he retreats back up the stairs.

Looking at her one of the officers says “He is really angry, you can see the adrenalin pumping through his veins, and he is physically shaking.”

They go outside and he is climbing out the window and down the drain pipe. He is greeted at the bottom by the two officers who were waiting for him.

“Come on, you can’t go anywhere yet until we sort this out.”

Squaring up to them “I’m going out. We have talked.” Refusing to back down he makes to go again.

“Please, please stop this.” She begs. “Why are you behaving this way?!”

Putting a hand on his arm the officer says. “Well, if you won’t stay then I will have to detain you.”

Shrugging his hand off and pushing past, her son mutters and walks back into the house, up the stairs and barricades himself back him.

They go back in the house. The officers start talking between themselves.

“We can’t leave him here like this.”

“We will have to arrest him for criminal damage.”

“We have to remove him from the property.”

They turn to her and ask her if she would support them if they were to arrest him. Her mind is a whirl, what was supposed to be just a chat has spiralled out of her control again. He is so angry, and she can see he is scared, but she knows something has to be done, something has to be done to try and make him realise he cannot keep reacting this way. She doesn’t know if it is just a case of him having anger issues, or more seriously mental health or drug related issues. She just knows this is not the normal behaviour or response of a happy human being.  She nods her head and agrees amongst the insanity that that night had become, hoping that this will get him the help he so desperately needs.

The police officers go outside and talk to him from his bedroom window. Telling him they need to take him down to the station after a minute or two he agrees. Finishes his cigarette, un-barricades his bedroom door and stands at the top of the stairs. The officers go up and ask him to come down.

“Cuff me then, then I will go down”.

They place the cuffs on his wrists and he is led down the stairs.

“I love you Mum” he says with no love, no feeling in his voice, cold and calculating.

“I really do love you, more than you can imagine.” She replies

“No you don’t. I hope you are happy now you have got your son arrested.” he spits out to her, “You are dead to me, you will never see me again.”

He walks out the door and down the path to the waiting police car. She stands at the end of her path, straining to see him, closing her eyes and praying that he will be ok.

An hour later and she receives a call. He will be kept in overnight, and questioned in the morning.

“Is he OK?” she asks.

“Yes, he is booked in and has been fed and watered. A couple of other officers will be round to take a statement soon, probably around 10.45.”

She waits up, her mind is a whirl. Thoughts, feelings crashing around in her head. At just before midnight the officers turn up, and for what seems like the 100^th time she recounts what happened. Trying not to forget anything. They take photos of the broken frame and laundry box.

“What do you think will happen?” she asks.

“He will probably get a caution or a caution with condition he pays for the damage.”

“Oh OK”. They leave and she finally heads to bed. Thankful another day is done and she can get at least a couple of hours sleep before heading to work.