| Okay, so everybody can relax. It's business (and relationship) as usual this morning. I was letting a bit too much vodka, lack of sleep, Depo mood shifts, and probably the insurgence of my cycle to cloud my mood. It doesn't help that I seem to be coming down with a version of the cold that the family has been sharing, either. And it was midnight. And Calvin had taken a drive to clear his head, and that always makes me feel insecure for some reason. It shouldn't, but it does. Anyway, bygones. I'm writing this, he's reading the paper, we're sipping coffee, and everything's fine. It was a weird night, the contents of my last entry not withstanding. After dropping Marie and her friends off at the ice arena, Calvin and I went to John Henry's for dinner. We were in the beginning stages of sniping at each other, and so sat in sullen silence for a while at the table. He growled at me about something, I emoted about it, he apologized, and we recovered after a bit. This place was fancier than we realized, and we were two of very few patrons who were wearing jeans. I mean, the host pulled out my chair and put my napkin in my lap - it was that kind of place. So we were somewhat outside of our comfort zone, to say the least. Ah, well, the food was good. Lobster bisque followed by Mahi Mahi and filet of sole stuffed with lobster and shrimp for me. Prime rib in a wine sauce and buttery roasted potatoes for Calvin. Summed up with creme brulle for dessert (excellent, with pineapple and a toasty sugar glaze) and coffee. And yet we were still "off" when we left the restaurant. Which spurred more discussion, and inspired the previous entry. I tried reading. I tried going to sleep. Calvin was playing music in the living room. We weren't connecting. He decided to go for a drive. I decided to "write myself out". I heard him come home at about 12:30. At 12:45, the phone rings. I remember thinking "Gee, Marie's friends are calling rather late." Then I heard Calvin get on the phone. "Yes, this is Michael's dad." My heart leapt up into my throat. It was the police. But was it bad news, or horrifying news? I heard Calvin huff. Aggravation and anger, not upset. So my heart settled back to it's normal position, and my stomach clenched instead. I remember detachedly thinking how odd it is that emotions can affect me in such a physical way. I closed up my laptop and went out into the kitchen to find out what was going on. Calvin was just hanging up, and told me to get dressed. As I was doing so, he explained that Michael (who was out with friends) was pulled over for going 100 MPH in a 55 MPH zone. Since Michael is a juvenile, and *only* because he's a juvenile, he was to be turned over to us instead of going to jail. Because this is his fourth speeding ticket in a year, and his third criminal speeding offense. We headed over to the area of the freeway where they were pulled over. On the way we discussed how fortunate we were that it was a call saying he was speeding, not a call saying he was in an accident. But it's hard to think of how it could have been worse, when it was bad enough in the first place. Calvin asked me to drive Michael home while he dealt with the Camaro. He didn't think he would be able to not say something he would regret, out of anger. We pulled up in front of the officer's car and the Camaro. The officer was a very kind gentleman who was far more lenient on Michael than either his dad or I would have been. He used his discretion to knock the ticket down from a criminal speeding citation (over 40 MPH over the posted limit, which carries a $500 fine, plus a court appearance) to a civil citation (claiming he was going 90, instead, which carries a $250 fine, and no court appearance). The officer suggested that the car was a bit too much for Michael to handle responsibly ("I would have done anything to have a car like that at his age"). And he said he was letting Michael off because he remembered what it was like to be his age. Seriously, at the point we were at last night, we wouldn't have protested if Michael had to spend a night in jail. It certainly wouldn't have killed him. Michael was distraught and hunched over in the passenger side of the Camaro as the officer explained to us what had happened. After signing the paperwork, he got into the back seat of the Suburban and slammed the door shut. Calvin was going to follow behind us, and he said that if Michael gave me any grief on the way home, pull over and *he'd* deal with it. There was the usual protestations of "I didn't do it this time," and "There was no way I was going 100" and "The cop was full of shit". I basically disregarded that, because as busy as the police were last night (a DUI further down the road from where Michael was stopped, a shooting a few streets over, and ambulances and police *everywhere* out on the roads) I'm sure they weren't making this stuff up just for something to do, or to get their ticket quota in. So I did the normal lecturing about how irresponsible he is, how the car is getting taken away from him (which would have happened sooner except that he needed it to get to and from school to finally finish that out), and how he's taking the bus to school. I told him to go straight to his room and do some heavy thinking. Or better yet, stop trying to think and let us do it for him, since he obviously can't seem to make the right decisions for himself. Yep. I was in full Dennis Miller rant mode. After we got home I brought Michael some Tylenol and water, since I know he gets screaming headaches when he gets emotional. I gave him a hug and told him that no problem was so big that we couldn't figure out a solution, and he broke down and cried and said he was sorry. He'll go to the therapist next week, because we're concerned his depression will lead him to self destruction. We'll deal with things, like we always do. And the saga will continue. Welcome to our family. |