e. I seized both of those fists, and dropped her, like a suitcase, onto her waiting mattress. Disgusted, I exited, black-and-white Louis in hand.
It was not ten minute s later that I got the knock on the door. I squinted out the peephole. L.A.’s Finest. Again.
This time, they were not alone. In their train was a thin social worker and an African-American lady from the Department of Mental Health. I wanted to a sk her if she w ould commit me. The two women went into Aurora’s room, held a secret conference, and emerged.
“She claims that you hit her ,” the social worker intoned . These people were all the same: young, earnest, no makeup, doing a bitch of a job for very little money. No wonder they always looked constipated.
“She tried to hit me!” I laughed in the face of this farce. Where was Hesse when you needed him? I could see that Swiss sanatorium , beckoning from the top of t he Alps . Hans, w ait, I’m coming!
“Look,” the black lady, squat as a truck, gave me a no-nonsense stare. “I’m Rose, from Chicago. I’ve seen a lot of these kids. I get your daughter. She’s a straight-up liar and manipulator.”
I could have hugged her, but the collision of breasts might have led to a 6.0 earthquake .
“What do I do?” I was desperate. “ We ’ve never gotten real help – not in Washington and not here. We had a social worker come to North Bend every week – useless . Aurora was in Seattle Children’s for suicidal thoughts, but she release d herself after two day s . She won’t take any meds . She won’t see a psychologist. The only way I can get her there is with duct tape and chloroform!”
Suddenly, this woman was my messiah , like Rabbi Schneerson to the Hasidic . I looked at her with hope.
“I can give you a list of state-approved therapists,” she said.
“But Aurora won’t go!”
“She says she will.”
“ She’d say she’s Dr. Phil if she had to!”
Rose looked at me with real pity. “You got dealt a tough hand here, Mom.”
“Please.” I grabbed her shoulder. “Help me. I don’t have the skills to deal with this.”
She nodded . “Who does?”
PLANNING MY OWN FUNERAL
Remember when I said this could be A Very Dark Ride? Well, we’ve come to that part.
Th e follies with Aurora continued. Nigel came down to L.A., determined to meet with Pico Pico High. He fancied himself an educator , since, like me, he had a B.A. from the University of London, and, unlike me, a Master’s . His degrees did him no good . If only he could have focused his intellect inward – if only he could have followed Socrates’ stricture and Known Himself -- he would not currently be labeled a pedophile and a nut.
The Pico Pico meeting was another Molière farce . Aurora claimed she didn’t know Nigel was coming, even though h e’d been invited by the school. W hen he appeare d in the Admin Office, a n unprepossessing figure with his slight build and distended hip, she turned into Sarah Siddons , diving under the counter and pretending to shake with fear . My old friends the LAPD w ere called, and promptly locked Nigel in handcuffs. Now, whatever else his faults, he had been asked , and Aurora made the cops dance like the Great Pup p eteer she was. Nigel was humili ated, as humiliated as I’d been a t being slugged in public . Did Aurora feel bad? Ha! She gloried in her power – one not granted t o many fourteen -year -olds . But the State of California had practically made her Governor. A n old hand of The System, she knew exactly what button s to push.
“Ha! You should have seen him. He was yelling at the cops to unhand him . Too bad they didn’t tase him !”
“C’mon Auro ra, this is taking it too far.”
“I hate him. Hate his guts! I’d like to smash his body parts over the floor, so I can stomp on them and shove them up his ass !” She mimed this grisly action.
I shut my eyes. The world was closing in on me, becoming the size of a box . Incredibly , Aurora
It was not ten minute s later that I got the knock on the door. I squinted out the peephole. L.A.’s Finest. Again.
This time, they were not alone. In their train was a thin social worker and an African-American lady from the Department of Mental Health. I wanted to a sk her if she w ould commit me. The two women went into Aurora’s room, held a secret conference, and emerged.
“She claims that you hit her ,” the social worker intoned . These people were all the same: young, earnest, no makeup, doing a bitch of a job for very little money. No wonder they always looked constipated.
“She tried to hit me!” I laughed in the face of this farce. Where was Hesse when you needed him? I could see that Swiss sanatorium , beckoning from the top of t he Alps . Hans, w ait, I’m coming!
“Look,” the black lady, squat as a truck, gave me a no-nonsense stare. “I’m Rose, from Chicago. I’ve seen a lot of these kids. I get your daughter. She’s a straight-up liar and manipulator.”
I could have hugged her, but the collision of breasts might have led to a 6.0 earthquake .
“What do I do?” I was desperate. “ We ’ve never gotten real help – not in Washington and not here. We had a social worker come to North Bend every week – useless . Aurora was in Seattle Children’s for suicidal thoughts, but she release d herself after two day s . She won’t take any meds . She won’t see a psychologist. The only way I can get her there is with duct tape and chloroform!”
Suddenly, this woman was my messiah , like Rabbi Schneerson to the Hasidic . I looked at her with hope.
“I can give you a list of state-approved therapists,” she said.
“But Aurora won’t go!”
“She says she will.”
“ She’d say she’s Dr. Phil if she had to!”
Rose looked at me with real pity. “You got dealt a tough hand here, Mom.”
“Please.” I grabbed her shoulder. “Help me. I don’t have the skills to deal with this.”
She nodded . “Who does?”
PLANNING MY OWN FUNERAL
Remember when I said this could be A Very Dark Ride? Well, we’ve come to that part.
Th e follies with Aurora continued. Nigel came down to L.A., determined to meet with Pico Pico High. He fancied himself an educator , since, like me, he had a B.A. from the University of London, and, unlike me, a Master’s . His degrees did him no good . If only he could have focused his intellect inward – if only he could have followed Socrates’ stricture and Known Himself -- he would not currently be labeled a pedophile and a nut.
The Pico Pico meeting was another Molière farce . Aurora claimed she didn’t know Nigel was coming, even though h e’d been invited by the school. W hen he appeare d in the Admin Office, a n unprepossessing figure with his slight build and distended hip, she turned into Sarah Siddons , diving under the counter and pretending to shake with fear . My old friends the LAPD w ere called, and promptly locked Nigel in handcuffs. Now, whatever else his faults, he had been asked , and Aurora made the cops dance like the Great Pup p eteer she was. Nigel was humili ated, as humiliated as I’d been a t being slugged in public . Did Aurora feel bad? Ha! She gloried in her power – one not granted t o many fourteen -year -olds . But the State of California had practically made her Governor. A n old hand of The System, she knew exactly what button s to push.
“Ha! You should have seen him. He was yelling at the cops to unhand him . Too bad they didn’t tase him !”
“C’mon Auro ra, this is taking it too far.”
“I hate him. Hate his guts! I’d like to smash his body parts over the floor, so I can stomp on them and shove them up his ass !” She mimed this grisly action.
I shut my eyes. The world was closing in on me, becoming the size of a box . Incredibly , Aurora
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