by Jenny Wood
I clear my throat and nod; I don’t know what to say to that. Of course, it’s different for Mateo because Jose is his biological father, and given the fact that Mateo is his flesh and blood and not a dick-loving, homosexual, he didn’t treat him the same as he treated me. Mateo is hurting because he’s losing his father, he won’t be the same once he’s gone and my hatred for the man is probably not helping anything either.
“It’s tough for him.” I croak. It’s all I’ve got, and I feel like a fool.
“Right, well, Judge Harpshaw is willing to sign off on his probation and community service in Madison, I understand that’s where he’ll be staying?” She asks, and I confirm. “Good, it’ll be served at the gym over on Glane Street with Gannon Tucker. It’ll be grunt work, but, work is work- it isn’t supposed to be fun. If he’s interested though, Gannon will likely let him play a little too.” She and the Judge shared a look and a smile before she continued. “I’ve also got a card here for you, as well as some pamphlet’s on what to expect. Fee’s and things like consequences if he misses a workday. We’ve gone over all of these with Mateo, but we like to keep things in written form as well, he’s signed the rules and regulations. He tested positive for marijuana, so he’ll require weekly drug tests and Gannon will not tolerate that if he’s caught or tested positive again. Mateo has been informed of that as well. Lastly, on the card, is a family representative that will handle everything in office, so you don’t have to drive up every time he requires a drug screen.” She finishes, then looks as if she wants to say something else. “I would also recommend him talking to someone about all he’s going through. I believe it’ll help.” It was a lot. I found myself getting frustrated again for getting put into this position. For my brother though, I’d suck it up and try to do my best.
“I’m going to put everything in this folder and get you a receipt for your brothers’ bond, and we’ll let you be on your way,” Jessica said, standing and leaving the room. When Mateo walked in, looking worn out and worried, my frustration drained away; he looked like the sixteen-year-old kid that he was.
“You remember what we talked about. I don’t want to see you back in my courtroom.” The judge said to Mateo after shaking his hand. He waited for my brother to nod, and then he walked out, leaving us alone.
“You mad?” He asks me, quietly. I wanted to say, yes. I wanted to rip him a new one all the way back to Madison and let him know how selfish he was and how fucked up this all was. But I couldn’t, because it wasn’t his fault; not really. The judge was right; he is a good kid, he’s just having a hard time of it right now.
“I know you’re struggling, kid. We’ll get through it.” I say, clasping him behind the head and pulling him into my side. He didn’t resist and sank down into me. It was time that I stopped worrying about how badly this sucked for me and realized that sometimes, there’s bigger shit to worry about than yourself. Right at that moment, it was mi hermano.
Murphy
“Ms. McClaren has called twice this morning and would like to set up a meeting. I put her in for nine-thirty tomorrow morning. Can’t imagine what that’s about, the woman hasn’t made contact with her daughter even once.” Donetta murmurs, dropping each file on my desk as she goes over my day.
“The Stevens’ have taken their paperwork to their lawyer; we’re supposed to hear back from her before the week is out.” Drop “Morgan called, wants to have lunch with you but doesn’t want you to tell him no, so he scheduled a lunch date. I told him you truly didn’t have time today, but I’d have you call him, so do that.” She gave me weird, googly eyes but went back to the files. “Marty Bennetti was caught skipping third period and was caught outside smoking. That violates truancy, and his probation officer wants you to log it. You also have a new case coming down from Holton County, today at three; a Mr. Mateo De Marco, driving under the influence of alcohol and wrecking his friend’s car. He’s looking at probation and community service but was released here to a family member, so you’re his point man. That’s it for now.” Empty handed, she stands at the end of my desk and raises an eyebrow, and I thank her so she can go.
“Can you call Ms. McClaren and see if she can come in today? I’d rather see what that’s all about and not delay.” I ask, and she agrees. Opening Marty Bennetti’s file, I see his rather long list of documented offenses. The kid thinks because his last name is Bennetti and it sounds like an old-timey gangster name, that he has to act like one. It’s irritating, and his family is about as straight-laced as they come. At this point, he’s just making himself look stupid. I don’t say that though, I just read the notes from his teachers, some from his probation officer and update my file for the next time his little ass goes in front of the judge. One of these times, they’ll make an example of him, but for now, he’s still just a kid, and it’s not like we can lock him up and throw away the key; as much as I wish we could, some days.
“Ms. McClaren can come in now, is that okay?” The speaker on my phone blares with Donetta’s voice.
“Yes, that’s fine. Thank you.” I tell her, and she’s gone. I put Marty’s file away and those of the others and get out Rebecca’s; I’m hoping for good news, though I'm not convinced that anything her mom is a part of will be. She’s happiest with the Sorenson’s and I’m sad to say, I do think it’s the best place for her. It’s only been a few days since their hearing, and I can’t imagine she’s cleaned herself up this quickly.
I’m so glad that it’s Friday, I’ve never been so ready for a weekend. I even admit that I’m a little excited to be going to the Kennedy’s tomorrow and I’m not even going to pretend it’s not a little bit because I’m foolishly hoping to see Cruz again. It’s stupid, I know that, but it doesn’t make it any less true. And some of their other friends, I’d heard about or met in passing, and I knew they were all friendly enough. Maybe I could come out of it with some new friends if nothing else.
Logging on to my computer, I check my e-mails while I wait for Ms. McClaren; I take care of the urgent ones and answer a couple from one of the teachers at the high-school that work with a couple of my kids. Before I know it, Ms. McClaren is here, and she looks worried. I take that as a good sign.
“Ms. McClaren, come on in. Would you like a water or some tea?” I ask her, as I do everyone who comes into my office.
“No.” She replies but then seems to remember her manners, “thank you.” I nod in acknowledgment and shift her folder open.
“So, how can I help you, today?” I ask her; she isn’t looking at me; matter of fact, I don’t think she has at all since walking in.
“In court, the other day?” I nod again; she seemed to need that. “In court, the judge said that he wanted me to complete a 90-day out-patient program. Is there any way to get out of that? I mean, I’m not a drug addict, I don’t need a program. I just won’t do it anymore.” She almost begs. Sadly, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen this, and I like it about as much as I did the last time.
“Unfortunately, once the judge, unless there are extenuating circumstances, there isn’t a way to get out of it,” I tell her softly, though I hold no compassion for her. I wish I could, but I’ve seen the other side of addiction; the side that it hurts worse, and my compassion is for them.
“Ok, but listen-“ she tries.
“Is there a reason, Ms. McClaren that you can’t complete the 90 days?” I ask her bluntly. She wasn’t expecting it because her eyes dart to mine and I see the panic in them.
“I’m not an addict.”
“I didn’t say you were, but it’s court ordered and a stipulation to get your daughter back, is that something you want, Ms. McClaren?” I’m honestly curious at this point and admittedly losing my patience.
“It isn’t fair.” She pouted. Yes, this grown woman was pouting about attending a drug rehab instead of getting her daughter back. I’m not supposed to react, I’ve been trained to hide my emotion in any given situation, but this woman was ridiculous.
“You know
what isn’t fair, Ms. McClaren?” I didn’t give her a chance to answer, “That your daughter was sent to live with a stranger and instead of worrying about how to get her back, you’re worried about you. If you want to get out of going to rehab, I suggest you get a lawyer and fight it; but I’m gonna’ tell you right now, Ms. McClaren, I am not in your corner. You are on your own.” I shut her file and dropped it down into my desk. “If you’ll excuse me, I have another appointment coming in imminently, and I need to get ready for that.” I lied. She sat with wide eyes before narrowing them at me.
“I will.” She spat, jumping from her chair and walked swiftly out of my office without a backward glance. I dropped my head in my hands and not for the first time, prayed for little Rebecca.
New cases weren’t uncommon since I was one of four social workers in mine and the surrounding two counties, but most of my cases were long-time families of mine. It wasn’t often I got brand new ones.
Mateo De Marco was a sixteen-year-old male, first time offender-though the last couple months he’d been losing interest in school; declining grades, detentions, skipping and was once picked up for curfew violation. Though the officers that picked him up just dropped him at home and let his parent’s sort him out. There wasn’t much in his file about his home life, but his public defender had offered community service and supervised probation-which I would be monitoring; weekly drug screenings and it’s heavily suggested he complete five hours of counseling. Community service was four hours a week, whether he wanted to come in four days a week for one hour or two days a week for two hours or knock it all out in one go, was up to him; but neither the drug testing each week or the four hours were negotiable.
I still had a couple of hours until he was due to come in, so I called Holton County Highschool and spoke with several of his teachers, getting a better understanding of his home life. He seemed to be a good kid in a bad situation. In no way do I think that an ailing father is in any way an excuse to act out or be justified, but I could certainly understand it. Prior to his father getting sick, he made excellent grades and excelled in several classes. His homework was always turned in on time, and his test scores were exemplary. I had faith that we could get this kid back on the right track.
After updating his file from everything I’d learned, I was just about to grab a bottled water when I heard the front office door chime. Making my way out into the lobby, I go to greet my new client and stopped dead in my tracks at the cruel joke the universe must be playing on me.
“I think we’re here to see you.” Cruz wasn’t looking to happy to be here, but he didn’t look as shocked as I’m sure I did right at that moment. How was this even possible?
“Mr. Kinzer?” Donetta prompted, and I tried like hell to shake myself out of it. “Would either of you like something to drink? Water, coffee, tea, soda?” She offered when I made no move to.
“I’d like some water if that’s okay.” The young man says quietly, my eyes snap to the miniature Michael Cruz and I can immediately see their resemblance. They have to be brothers, or cousins, right?
“You must be Mateo?” I walk forward to shake his hand, which he accepts firmly and politely, making eye contact. That says a great deal about his character because most teenagers, especially ones in trouble are sullen and rude. I’m impressed.
“If you two want to follow me, we can chat a little more in my office. Donetta, can you grab a couple of waters for us please, we’re going to go ahead and get started.” She nods, and they follow me into the office. I’d settled for a button up and slacks today, though I had a blazer hanging up in the corner of the room, I wasn’t expecting to be in court today; therefore, I was more casually dressed for the office; but it was there should I need it. Mateo and Cruz were dressed in similar t-shirts and jeans. I tried not to stare at Cruz, but it was proving impossible because I could feel his eyes on me.
“So, first things first, I’m Murphy Kinzer and what I do here, is help you out the best that I can. I’m not a probation officer; I’m not a cop. I will issue weekly drug tests, the first one we’ll have to do today; but I cannot arrest you or detain you or anything like that should you fail or confess anything, though I will have to turn it over to the court system.” I tell Mateo, hoping my voice isn’t as shaky as I feel right now. “In saying that, I see in your court records that on Sunday night you spent the night in the JDC and tested positive for marijuana. I’m aware it doesn’t leave your system that fast, but the way the urine analysis works is, if it shows up faintly then you’re good, if it’s dark and noticeable, I’ll have to assume you’ve done it recently and that’ll violate the stipulation of your supervised probation. Are we clear on that?” I ask, and he nods. Neither of them are chatty, though I should’ve expected that.
“It’s my understanding that you’re transferring to Madison High, have you gotten that taken care of this week or would you like help with it?” I ask, needing to know his start date so I can keep an eye on his attendance.
“He starts Monday.” Cruz answers and Mateo nods in agreement.
“Great, I’m sure you’ll like it there,” I tell Mateo and try for a smile, but neither of the guys smiles back. Writing his start date in his file, I make a point to call the school and make sure they have my information. I’ll request attendance reports and let them know how to reach me, should they need to.
“I’m not gonna’ cause trouble.” Mateo murmurs and Cruz reaches up and cups his head with his giant hand. Mateo sways a little under his playful pressure, and I relax a bit as they smile at each other.
“I hope that you don’t, mano, you’ll break Mamá’s heart.” Cruz murmurs back.
”It’s just that; I get so mad, you know?” Mateo looks over at me, seemingly asking me the question. “Nobody gets it, that there’s this big thing happening and there’s nothing I can do about it. My dad, pretty soon, he just won’t be here anymore. How do you be okay with that?”
“You don’t,” I say softly. “It’s not okay. You’re allowed to be hurt and sad and pissed off. That’s normal. What I don’t want you to do is hurt yourself or hurt your future working through that, ya know?” He sniffs, but nods, unable to look at Cruz or me. I could feel his sincerity, not just because he sounded so sincere but because I was a stranger and he had no problem explaining it to me.
“Why don’t you go on in the bathroom and pee in this cup,” I open my drawer and pull out a plastic cup, in a plastic baggie and slide it over the desk to him. He smirks at my bluntness. “Bring it back, closed properly in the bag please.” He nods and stands as I point to the door that’s closed on the other side of my office. He should’ve used the public restroom in the lobby, but I didn’t figure he’d try anything funny, so I let him use mine.
“So, you’re our guy through this bullshit; I have to say I absolutely should’ve seen this coming,” Cruz smirked. I was uncomfortable, unable to forget being kicked out on my birthday and how humiliating it was and here he was implying ….what exactly, I didn’t know, but I didn’t like it.
“Yeah, looks that way,” I answered. I could refer him to someone else, but for some twisted reason, I didn’t want to. Yeah, it hurt in a deep, embarrassing way to be face to face with him right now, but that smirk and those eyes and the way his voice got impossibly deeper when he aimed it at me, I was a glutton for punishment.
“I’m a dick.” He said to me one again; I’d heard that before from his own lips. I wondered if he was used to saying it; if he thought that it justified him actually being one.
“Seem to be, yeah.” I didn’t lie. No use in sugar-coating it, he was there.
“I should apologize.” He started to say, but it only served to piss me off.
“Do you mean it?” I ask pointedly.
“What?” He looked taken back and confused.
“You said you should apologize, not that you do, or that you want to; only that you should. If you don’t want to, then why do it? You don’t owe me anything, and I didn’t ask fo
r anything. I didn’t then, and I don’t now.” I was trying to say quietly but the more I thought about it, the more humiliated I got. I was tired of feeling that way because of this guy. I’d lost countless hours of sleep over it this last week and arguably more after it actually happened.
“I’m not going to show up at your house or out you to your friends. I didn’t even ask for your phone number or even your last name. I’m not that guy, so you don’t have to apologize. Alright?” I’d lost some of my fire during that last bit; I was being a little overdramatic. People had hookups all the time and then were never heard from again, I was taking it personally when it probably wasn’t. It was probably part of the one-night stand protocols that I wasn’t aware of, due to the fact that I’d never had one before then.
“I mean-“
“Here ya go, here’s my piss.” Mateo joked as he came out of the bathroom and interrupted whatever it was that Cruz was going to say.
“Language, Teo,” Cruz growled. Mateo rolled his eyes and sat the bag with the cup on my desk. I ignored their banter and excused myself as Mateo tried to lighten the mood. I pulled on my gloves and got out the test strips and then took it to Donetta. Donetta had gone to nursing school and was much more comfortable handling this part of my job, and I paid her well enough that she didn’t complain. I watched as she gloved up and made quick work of getting the strips in the cup, hanging over one side and submerging in the other side. Within seconds, a faint blue line for THC lit up, but the rest of the lines were blank. It seems that while Mateo had a faint trace of THC in his system, it wasn’t anytime recent. Or it was just terrible weed. Either or, I thanked Donetta and went back to a now smiling Cruz and a relaxed Mateo.