It has been exactly eighty days since we sat at our McDonald’s for the first time. If I had looked into a crystal ball ninety days ago and seen even a silver of the first few days, I would have taken the crystal back to the fraud who sold it.
It was only a few hours earlier you had reached out to your parents in an effort to get your son out of the mess. You were completely ignored. You spend Christmas hearing you need to go to a half way house. You start to see this reaches farther than you could imagine. You wast days trying to get anyone in your family to see how insane this is. You do not know they are the insanity.
Orders of protection are filed. You are floored with lies they say so easily. You start to put things together. Times and dates are making more sense. You ask for a hearing on something you do not care about. You want to know if they went into your private papers. You have your answer. You cannot believe they thought they could spin it into something. You keep waiting for Ashton from MTV’s Punked to walk out.
You still get emails from out-of-state saying they hope you can get some help. Your weeks out and you wonder exactly what kind of help they think you need. You learn information that makes it crystal clear how this started. You could kick yourself for trying to explain anything to your parents. They are so past not helping, they are growing tired of kicking dirt in the hole they threw you in. You start telling them to back off.
They keep coming at you. The poor little Saturn that has gotten you everywhere deserves a break. You get money to get your Explorer running. They find out. They lie to the tow company, it is abandoned they say. The email says the charge for day one is the same for day 10. They lied. You tell them to back off.
An email sent to you sarcastically saying “what did we do, what did we do”. You wonder at what point will they see this for what they made it into. You will never speak to them again. They are concerned about your son. They are asking others questions, trying to find out any information. They want him. You remember when they would not take him. They will never see him again. You know the picture they are trying to build of who you are. They think they know you. You know they don’t. You tell them to back off.
You watch your son as he opens the door for her, his voice deep talking about hot fudge sundaes. You think about the past eighty days and know there nothing you cannot do. You know God does not give you more than you can handle. He knows you are a Bad-Ass. You tell them….. BRING IT ON…