Trouble, trouble, trouble. I had to throw that in there, Abby loves Taylor Swift. She’s always singing some pop song.
This week over at The Today Voice, the question is what did you do growing up that got you into trouble. My friend Kathy is Thursday’s Voice over there, and I enjoy reading all the writers’ different takes on the same theme each week.
I didn’t get into much trouble that I can remember until my sister was old enough to fight with. We fought like cats and dogs.
One of the best ones was the day before the Sadie Hawkins dance, when I was a junior in high school. She blacked my eye with a Sonic & Knuckles Sega cartridge, and I knocked her into a wall, leaving a huge hole. And yes, you can see the black eye in my pictures from the dance.
They have to happen to somebody, right?
You know my youngest brother, now fifteen, has been in and out of trouble since he was twelve. Stealing, breaking and entering, smoking pot, growing pot, selling pot, fighting.
My mom called me tonight. She had my stepdad take my brother’s girlfriend home after church this morning because she found out he got a tattoo. On his chest. Of a spider. From a friend. Hand-sized. I can only imagine what it looks like.
He told my mom he was going to kill his dad and then himself. He told her he had a gun. Then he went upstairs and got it, showed her it was loaded, and put it to his head. She talked him out of it, and he went out back and threw the gun in the canal.
My mom called my stepdad and told him and asked him to call the cops. When they showed up, he jumped in the canal, and they had to chase him all over the neighborhood before he fell off a roof and onto a pipe.
They had to take him to the ER for some X-rays, but I think he must be okay, because they took him to a mental health/substance abuse hospital halfway between there and here.
I talked to my mom last night, and she thought he was doing better. He hadn’t broken curfew all week, and he and his girlfriend were back together.
Some days life just keeps piling it on, doesn’t it? Nobody knows how long he’ll be there yet. At least it’s closer to us, if it’ll be a while. I love my brother, but I feel so helpless and far away.
Ah, yes. The second day and I’m ready for home.
My fourteen-year-old brother just got caught sneaking out. Not physically, but my stepfather just discovered his absence. He’s not supposed to leave the house.
I hope he gets home safe and doesn’t get killed when he does.
I wish I knew what was going to happen.
I wish my family weren’t so screwed up.
I’m tired of worrying about everybody.
Update: He’s home safe, for now.