Demons in his Soul
When I open the envelope I can't believe what I'm reading. This wasn't what I expected. The boys are out for school now, their luck…his luck. I start to ask what went wrong and come to the conclusion: everything. And in this mood I'm supposed to talk to him about his relationship to Marissa. No way. When I'm finished with him, he won't see her the next few weeks.
"Sandy, what's wrong?" My wife asks me and I just give her the letter. She's stunned like I am.
"How is this possible?"
"I don't know. I hoped you could tell me." She shakes her head. How was this possible? The first letter was such a huge surprise and now I'm disappointed. But now his behaviour started to make sense. Learning till late at night, secret visits from Marissa, coming home late after school. This boy has had everything else up on his mind than school.
"And what are we doing now?" My wife asks me. And again it's me who has to find a solution.
"Talk to him." This is the only thing I know right now. But I can predict this conversation will end in a monologue from my side or in a fight. This boy was everything else than easy to handle. It was much more different being his foster parents than only being nice people letting him stay here for a while, thus he can go to school. I'm at a loss. I don't know how to reach the boy or how to build any kind of relationship to him. Nobody does, despite Marissa. On the one hand I'm glad he has at least one person he can open up to. On the other hand I wish it was Kirsten or me, as I don't think Marissa is able to give him the help and support he needs. She's no bad girlfriend. But she's only a kid and I can't expect her to help Ryan with his life. Yes, this will be a relaxed and joyful evening.
The whole day I try to find a plausible explanation for what I have read. But I can't find one. I hope to find something telling me, it wasn't the boy's fault. But there's nothing. And fact is: school is his responsibility. I should have expected from the beginning that he isn't used to take responsibility and that he will struggle with it. But this doesn't match him. He never was lazy. He took care of his business, carefully. But after all what had happened he might be a bit off.
The boys come home. I'm glad my temper has eased off a little. I don't want to shout at the very beginning of our conversations.
"Hey boys. How was school?" I ask. I don't want to go like a bull at a gate.
"Was cool." My own son answers.
"Your reports arrived today." I hand him his report and the changing looks between my son and Ryan tells me, they know what comes up next. Worse of all my son knew and hadn't told me.
"Ryan, can you explain me this?" I ask and then hand him his. He doesn't even look at it. His head ducked. He had figured he had messed it up. And I already feel bad for having to give him some lecture at being responsible and so on.
"Sorry." He only mumbles and this word breaks my heart, every time when they're said.
"C is the best you can achieve? Ryan something went utterly wrong this quarter. There are four Ds. Last quarter there wasn't even a B." I start. He only nods.
"I can imagine that this wouldn't have happened without Marissa's little night visits and if you had come home from school." I don't get a reaction. My own son stays next to his friend ready to help if it was necessary.
"Ryan, why did you lie to us?" I ask again.
"I didn't lie…just didn't tell everything." He now answers shyly. But this is enough to blow my top.
"Damn it Ryan! You're risking your future? Is you're little teeny-revolution worth it?" I start to scream. Since he had been arrived for a permanent stay, he had changed. He was avoiding us … boycotting every attempt to help him or make him being part of the family.
"Don't you realize how much your behaviour hurts Kirsten and me? We do everything to make things easier for you and this is the way you thank us?" I don't know what I'm saying. I don't calculate the effect the words might have as I should concerning his past.
"I didn't ask you to! You just decided!" He now screams back and there it was: a fight, once again.
"Don't start with that again!"
"Dad…I think…you got the whole situation wrong." My son intervenes.
"Wrong? What can I get wrong? Ryan doesn't pay attention to school and this is the result!"
"Would I've been at school for so long everyday?" He screams back.
"Who tells me that's true?!" I scream back.
"The criminal from Chino has to prove everything, what? Don't tell me to trust you, when you don't even trust me!"
"You don't even try to convince us from something different!"
"Fuck you!" He screams and then runs off.
"Wait, where do you think you're going?" I get no answer. I only hear the door slam and then my wife appears in the kitchen.
"What was that?" She asks me.
"Dad had folded Ryan flat before listening." My son answers and I shoot angry glances at him. This was not my fault. He had messed this report up. Not I.
"If it's that way, then explain me what's right." I announce my son.
"He really stayed long at school after the classes, taking supporting curses and all the stuff. He knew he was messing up this quarter, although he learned as hard as he did before. That's why he came home late. He didn't want to disappoint you. And…Marissa was there to help him with history. His teacher is really a bitch and he hates Ryan, from the very beginning of the classes and nobody knows what Ryan had done wrong, despite from not being from Newport. That's all. He did everything to get good grades at school. But no matter how hard he tried…it just didn't work." Shit. Now I start to feel awful. Why hadn't I come to this conclusion on my own? It had been so uncharacteristic Ryan, if it had been they way I accused him for.
"Well done Sandy." Is all I get to hear from my wife. She has all right to be upset. I behaved like the last man on earth. But I'm helpless in Ryan's case and this is frustrating me. I want to help him, being there for him, but he doesn't allow me to.
"Is Harbor too hard for him?" My wife asks my son.
"Don't think so or? I mean his last report was…good." I sigh. Things went worse from day to day and I had no control. I have no idea what to do now. The boy is crying for help, each day more and I can't help him. He not even knows he needs help, still thinking he can handle all on his own.
It's late at night, when I receive Marissa's call. She has found Ryan at the beach and he's drunk. I realize now we're back again from where we have started. He had made progress, only little, but there had been some improvement. And now it was all over. I get into the car and drive to the beach. Marissa is already waiting for me.
"He's here." She says when she sees me coming. Ryan is in an alcohol induced sleep.
"How did you find him?" I ask her.
"Seth had called and told me he ran." She's taking a lot responsibility when she starts to care for him and she doesn't even know.
"Okay, thank you." I go to the boy grabbing his arm, to get him into the car.
"Sandy," She calls after me and I turn around again, "He needs help. He doesn't see it now. But…the whole thing with his brother had hit him harder as he admits it. He's really struggling to keep his life in balance and in order. He'll break down if nobody steps in." Even she had noticed. Now only Ryan had to.
"I know. It's only a little hard to make him understand." I answer and then grab his arms to get him up onto his feet.
"Leave me." He says. He's able to articulate, so I don't have to worry it might have been one sip too many.
"You can't stay here over night. You're catching a cold." I say to convince him.
"Who cares? Maybe you've luck and I disappear over night out of your life." My heart clenches. If he only could imagine what this would mean to us. My – our - world would shatter into pieces if he did. He only doesn't understand.
"Don't talk like that." I say.
"Why not? Wanna kick my ass?" He doesn't trust me in any way. I see Marissa's defeated look. This is a whole new side from her boyfriend she sees right now. I pad her shoulder, assuring her everything will be okay again.
He's out of training. When he came to us first a bottle of this stuff wouldn't have killed him and now I'm afraid he might puke into my car. I drive as carefully as I can to not to disturb his stomach. I feel bad. If I had listened earlier, if I had noticed something earlier, put a finger on it earlier, Ryan wouldn't have gone back to his previous behaviour. In somehow I feel guilty that he's drunk now. I also realize that he had stopped drinking hadn't meant he had found another solution to cope with things. He only had suppressed them. We need to do something about this. We need to figure out what's wrong at school, with this history teacher. There are so many things to be solved and I can't imagine how. When we arrive at home I help the boy getting into the pool house. He's too drunk to notice anything. That's what I thought before he manages on his own to reach the bathroom in time, before make a mess on the floor. Nothing about him makes sense and I can't get this confusion into a plausible order. I hear him throwing up and I enter the bathroom. I try to see it that way: few months before he wouldn't even have a hangover the next morning. I kneel down, rubbing his back. He flinches.
"Kid, what shell I do with you?" I try to make him understand that this isn't easy for me either. I doubt he understands.
"Send me back where I come from?" If he only could feel what I feel every time he says things like that.
"Sorry, I can't. You're too important to me." I hand him a cloth. He doesn't look at me, when he takes it.
"That's what my Mum said, before Trey left. She never bothered to show him it was true." And what about you? Did she ever show you? I doubt it. Otherwise I can't explain his behaviour to myself.
"Sandy? Ryan? Everything okay?" My wife steps in and meets us in the bathroom. The boy leans against the wall. She looks at me and she notices what had happened. She sighs.
"C'mon, kid. Let's get you to bed." I say, before helping him up again and guiding him towards the bed. He fights against my hands and arms, supporting him. I need to be careful. I messed up, I know it. I need to make him trust me, not fight me. My wife pulls the blankets away. When he reaches the bed he curls up into a little ball. Even when he's sleeping he's defensive. My wife tucks him in, carefully.
"Sorry." He mumbles. He means this word. Every time he says it, although it's often – too often. We – my wife and I – can feel it.
"Is okay sweetie. We talk tomorrow." She says, stroking through his hair.
We leave the pool house heavy hearted.
"He needs help." My wife says.
"We should talk to Dr. Kim first thing on Monday." I answer. We need to find a solution for his report mess.
"Sandy, this report card is only one effect of…what had happened to him last months and previous. It's not the school itself. It's his past. He's fighting on to many fronts." And I know she's right. But how to defeat these old demons which have settled in his soul and are reluctant to leave it?