So today the kid lost it. I mean screaming, throwing things, kicking furniture, call the police lost it.
I got nominated to call the cops. Lucky me.
Three of them show up, looking at each other like they can't believe they're in the right place (they later confided in the kid that they normally spend their time in the projects with the cockroaches and he has it pretty good). They talked to him, to me, to everyone in the house (there were five of us) and determined he wasn't in danger of hurting himself or any of us. I couldn't honestly say "Yes, I fear he will come after me tonight," because I don't think verbal assault is what they're looking for.
In the end he went to my brother's for the night. Yeah, the same brother he had been screaming about going with in the beginning.
One of my biggest fears has always been calling the cops. Beyond the embarrassment of saying, "I can't handle my kid", there's the fear of having the police actually believe something this kid says. Our cops seemed to be on top of it, and one of them actually talked about fetal alcohol syndrome, and that the kid seemed to be suffering from it. Bingo. Could I hire you as his psychiatrist?
So all in all the kid goes with his uncle. The younger one and I get a nice long nap...longer than mine should be or I wouldn't be up at 3 a.m. writing this entry. But it's the calmest, least depressed I have felt in days. I actually feel like I can handle my life.
And hence, from the scary things can bloom something good.