Life with Teenagers

Posts Tagged ‘anger

what just happened here?

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“What just happened here?” My girlfriend shuts the front door and stands in the entryway still holding the dog leash and wearing her leather jacket. “I just saw a teen run down the street in his t-shirt,” she says. I’m sitting on the couch looking straight ahead at the other teen pacing in the dining room.
“No, I’m not talking to you until you calm down,” I say.
“Mom! we are talking right now,” the teen bellows.
“No, I’m not,” I reply.
“I’m not moving mom. You are going to talk to me now,” he says, flailing his arms and and trying to remain in a tough guy posture.
“Stand there all night then. I’m not talking,” I say again.
“Right now mom, right now,” he says. He paces back and forth in the dining room. I look over at my girlfriend who is still standing frozen in the entryway. I give her that I’m drowning look and say nothing to her as I start pressing my finger into the apricot pastry crumbs left on the plate on the coffee table. I take one of the empty tea cups and stack it on top of the other. I crumple a napkin. My girlfriend continues to stand in the hallway in her jacket.

“Do you want me to go look for him?” she says. It’s pretty dark out and the temperature has dropped.”
She lets the dog off the leash to sniff around and walk in circles. He stops to lie on his blanket near the couch, but after two minutes, he is back up again. “What just happened here?” he seems to be thinking as he wanders the new surroundings. One minute, I’m on a farm in Georgia and the next minute I’m here with all these strange yelling people. He travels from room to room, his little nails clicking on the hardwood floor as he passes.
“Yeah, thanks,” I say back.

When she leaves, the teen sits beside me on the couch with tears in his eyes hyperventilating.
“So how is this suddenly my fault, huh?” I ask him.
“Mom! you know how he is, you shouldn’t get mad at him,” he says.
“Im tired of you both right now. It’s Sunday. You’ve been playing all weekend. You both know the computer isn’t working right and you wait till 9pm to start your homework. What do you expect? Your brother is mad at himself, not at me,” I say. “So what just happened here?”
“He slammed the door in my face! So I pinned him to the ground,” he says.
“Did you hit him?” I ask.
“No, I pushed him and I pinned him. He was swearing at me,” he says.
“I know, I heard you,” I say. “And another thing,” I start to launch into a lecture. “I haven’t seen you do any homework lately. Want to know what I think? I think things are slipping in your world. There will be no drivers ed classes until I see your grades this semester. You want to be in clubs, want to have a job, want to see you girlfriend all the time? Well, something has to give, bub.”
“You are making too much of my grades mom!” he yells.
“You are damn right I am, it’s a priority.” I say.
“Well its not mine! Fuck this!” he yells.
“You better watch your language right now if you know what is good for you,” I say, my voice starting to raise. The teen loses all self control and punches the coffee table with his fist.
“And I don’t have any money for your broken hand either!!!” I yell back. “Get out of here right now!”

The teen slams his way into the tv room and I remain motionless on the couch staring straight ahead. I take a deep breath and recall the morning brunch with friends. November sunlight streaming through the windows, illuminating the colored candle holders in the center of the table, the four of us sipping port from tiny amber colored bell-shaped glasses and spooning into dense chocolate raspberry triangles, listening intently while our good friend choked out the words to describe an approaching dreaded birthday. “I’m going to be 45,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion, “and I think to myself, what just happened here? How is it that I’ve missed all that time in between?”

I pick up my cellphone and call my girlfriend. “Did you find him?” I ask.
“No, I’m headed back,” she says.

I walk into the tv room and tell the sullen teen on the couch that his brother is missing.
“He’ll be back mom,” he says but he sits up with a worried expression and starts tugging at his bottom lip.
“Well it’s dark, I don’t know if he has his phone, he didn’t answer. I don’t even know if he wore his shoes,” i say.
The teen gets up and grabs for his jacket.
“We’ll go back out again, I know where to look,” he says, just as my girlfriend enters the house again. He takes off out of the tv room with a shot.

I decide to do what any good mother does in a crisis. I walk into the teen’s bedroom and start to pick up laundry off the floor, start smoothing the sheets on the unmade bed, adjusting the curtains, and pulling down the blinds. I pick up the cordless phone from the floor near the desk and dial my ex-husband’s number and get his answering machine. I leave him a cryptic message saying “something just happened” and he should call back when he gets the message. And I think to myself, as I bend over to grab damp towels from the bed and start to hang them back on hooks behind the door, what just happened here? How did I go from having it all together, to the best laid plans for my son’s junior year, for my personal trainer this fall (I notice the exercise elastic with handles strewn across the dryer in the laundry room, the one I bought a month ago and never even touched) to this?

My cellphone starts to buzz in my pocket and it’s the younger teen on the line.
“I’m coming home,” he says.
“Do you realize everyone is out looking for you?” I ask.
“I’m on my way home” he says.
“Call your father from your cell, ok? I’ll let everyone else know. Are you ok?” I ask.
“I’m ok, mom, I’m on my way home.”
“Ok, don’t forget to call your father,” I say. “And tell him what just happened.”

Written by kmguay

November 4, 2009 at 2:04 am