Burrito Boy

I’m sitting in my car with tears streaming down my face. Boy is sitting on the curb with his skateboard asking if I have a tool so he can tighten his trucks. I’ve just pleaded, “I can’t do this anymore.” That’s when my voice cracks and tears break through. I watch a smile flash on Boy’s face. Then he looks down. We remain like that for 10 minutes. Then, I tell Boy I will buy him a burrito if he gets in the car. After another 10 minutes of silence, Boy stands up and opens the car door.

My day started at 3am when Boy walked in the door. I hugged him and told him I was so worried about him. He didn’t respond. I asked him to take his medication and brush his teeth. He did. We talked for awhile. Mostly Boy talked and I listened. He talked of being depressed and scared. He wouldn’t tell me where he had been all night. Earlier, I spent two hours driving around looking for him. He wasn’t in any of the usual places. By 5am we where were both in bed. I zipped off an email to work requesting the rest of the week off and drifted off to sleep.

I finally prodded Boy out of bed at 2pm. I tried at noon and again at 1pm, unsuccessfully. This is Boy’s first Mental Health day of the new school year. We did some Geometry and then Boy met with his psychiatrist for an hour. He walked out of the clinic two minutes ahead of me and disappeared. At this point, I am determined to keep him at my side for fear that he will disappear for hours if I let him out of my sight. I call and text his phone. No response. My blood pressure is rising. I am getting angry but trying to hold on to my patience. I’m losing my grip. Suddenly, it starts to rain which is totally a “god thing”. Boy calls me. He wants me to pick him up so he’s not caught in the rain. If nothing else, he has the good sense to get out of the rain. I scoop him up half a mile away and ask him to stay with me.

We stop for an errand and he tries to wander off. I ask him to get back in the car. He refuses. I try to wrestle him back in the car. I see the brief smile. Something about the struggle is pleasing to him. I demand his phone and music player, he becomes angry. We tousle and argue. He runs away. If I thought he would cool off for a couple hours and return home, I would let him go. But he has not come home before midnight in quite a while. He has school tomorrow and I intend to get him there fully rested.

I drive around looking for him. I’m not hopeful. If he doesn’t want to be found, he can easily hide from me. After some time, I return home to see if he’s there. I find him sitting on the curb with his skateboard. I ask him to get in the car. He refuses but he doesn’t move. He complains and swears and yells but still doesn’t move. I am at a loss. I’m frustrated and I don’t know what to do next. My gut tells me to leave him there. My heart tells me to stay. I ask him again to get in the car. Again, he refuses. My frustration mounts. With my voice cracking I call out the window, “I can’t do this anymore.”

After a burrito, we return home and tackle World History homework which is painless for both of us. Boy answers the questions and I write them down. We move on to Geometry and make good progress. By 10:30pm, Boy is showered, medicated, and in bed. As I climb into bed, I exhale.