The sharp pain sits behind my left eye and closer to my nose than my temple.
D: "Ima just ignore him for 2 years. I hold a grudge better than anyone and everyone knows that about me, oh yes. And karma gonna catch up with him. Haha. Oh, yes. Karma gonna catch up to him and see if I'm there to do anything to help out."
Soreness settles just above the top of my spine and forces me to roll my head around several times.
D: "He's gonna go down messin' with those neighborhood kids again and Ima lock him out next time and then what's he gonna do. He's gonna get his. If he thinks he's gonna talk to me like that then Ima talk right back to him. And I know his day is comin', oh yes you better know that."
I implore my client to lower his voice and calm down if he wants me to continue listening.
D: "He told me that it smelled like I was whacking off down in the basement. No, you don't get away with that and Ima show him what he gets. I wasn't the one that was raped in the butt by my cousin. Nope. That was him. And Ima remind him so he knows his fuckin' place. He's not my flesh & blood."
It's been at least 60 minutes. D is finally calming down in the passenger seat of my car.
D: "Of course I'm not perfect. But I didn't do ANYTHING today. Not this time, no sir. Not this time. All that stuff is past and doesn't matter."
D's younger brother apparently made a few requests today that D found unreasonable. His solution? Threats of bodily harm to his family, quickly rescinded upon my arrival. But the anger lingers. And the cognitive delusion/disorganization marinates everything.
D: "Ima just move and start my career. And my dance studio. My fam is givin' me some money and Ima just get my career started. I'm an artist now and I don't need to be dealing with this shit. And if he thinks I'm gettin' him anything for his birthday, he's dead wrong. He's gonna see."
Mom's way of handling D consists of either screaming and not listening to him speak or literally turning off the power to D's room. Based on the way she treats her other children/grandchildren, I don't think her methods have changed much over the years.
D: "Ima head north to get me some pussy and then back south to my Aunt's house and I ain't never comin' back here again. I hate those fuckin' kids."
I see the 17 year old me in D. Raging. Disillusioned. Possibly dealing with some chemical imbalances. Unable to admit wrongdoing. Able to successfully argue a losing point. A product of an angry household, albeit mine had far more loving and supportive parents. Fun-loving and charismatic when not in the throes of whatever you want to call this. Lacking even the most rudimentary coping skills to deal with escalation.
D: "I gotta do me. That's it. All this other stuff is bullshit."
Eventually D calms down and jokes with me. He recognizes that maybe there's something he can do to change himself. Maybe he can't control others as he would prefer. Maybe there are alternatives to rage and threats and antagonizing younger brothers. But I know I'll be back again soon. And I know D won't be able to maintain good behavior with his mental makeup, social conditioning and poor environment. But maybe we can keep him out of jail. Maybe he'll actually graduate high school. And maybe someday he will get to teach that dance class.
I punch the clock, pop a few aspirin and pray for Kingdom Come. Both for D and for me.
D: "Ima just ignore him for 2 years. I hold a grudge better than anyone and everyone knows that about me, oh yes. And karma gonna catch up with him. Haha. Oh, yes. Karma gonna catch up to him and see if I'm there to do anything to help out."
Soreness settles just above the top of my spine and forces me to roll my head around several times.
D: "He's gonna go down messin' with those neighborhood kids again and Ima lock him out next time and then what's he gonna do. He's gonna get his. If he thinks he's gonna talk to me like that then Ima talk right back to him. And I know his day is comin', oh yes you better know that."
I implore my client to lower his voice and calm down if he wants me to continue listening.
D: "He told me that it smelled like I was whacking off down in the basement. No, you don't get away with that and Ima show him what he gets. I wasn't the one that was raped in the butt by my cousin. Nope. That was him. And Ima remind him so he knows his fuckin' place. He's not my flesh & blood."
It's been at least 60 minutes. D is finally calming down in the passenger seat of my car.
D: "Of course I'm not perfect. But I didn't do ANYTHING today. Not this time, no sir. Not this time. All that stuff is past and doesn't matter."
D's younger brother apparently made a few requests today that D found unreasonable. His solution? Threats of bodily harm to his family, quickly rescinded upon my arrival. But the anger lingers. And the cognitive delusion/disorganization marinates everything.
D: "Ima just move and start my career. And my dance studio. My fam is givin' me some money and Ima just get my career started. I'm an artist now and I don't need to be dealing with this shit. And if he thinks I'm gettin' him anything for his birthday, he's dead wrong. He's gonna see."
Mom's way of handling D consists of either screaming and not listening to him speak or literally turning off the power to D's room. Based on the way she treats her other children/grandchildren, I don't think her methods have changed much over the years.
D: "Ima head north to get me some pussy and then back south to my Aunt's house and I ain't never comin' back here again. I hate those fuckin' kids."
I see the 17 year old me in D. Raging. Disillusioned. Possibly dealing with some chemical imbalances. Unable to admit wrongdoing. Able to successfully argue a losing point. A product of an angry household, albeit mine had far more loving and supportive parents. Fun-loving and charismatic when not in the throes of whatever you want to call this. Lacking even the most rudimentary coping skills to deal with escalation.
D: "I gotta do me. That's it. All this other stuff is bullshit."
Eventually D calms down and jokes with me. He recognizes that maybe there's something he can do to change himself. Maybe he can't control others as he would prefer. Maybe there are alternatives to rage and threats and antagonizing younger brothers. But I know I'll be back again soon. And I know D won't be able to maintain good behavior with his mental makeup, social conditioning and poor environment. But maybe we can keep him out of jail. Maybe he'll actually graduate high school. And maybe someday he will get to teach that dance class.
I punch the clock, pop a few aspirin and pray for Kingdom Come. Both for D and for me.