The
Greaving Mother
Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. -Arthur Conan Doyle
Unfortunately, this bizarre
story is true. I wish I was clever enough to make something like it up. Also, I
did not change names to protect anyone.
…
A friend and I were
destroying robots, running from dinosaurs, and battling aliens. It was the
coolest gaming system around.
My father interrupted the
fantasy worlds by calling and ordering me to "Come home NOW". He had
never been demanding but was clearly angry about something. What could a good
12-year-old have done to make that so?
My friend obviously wanted
to know why I had to leave.
So did I but truly had no
idea.
As soon as I got home, I
desperately asked what was going on but was told it would wait until my mother
got there.
So I sat, confused, in
the living room with my furious dad.
I had no idea how long it
was taking- seconds, minutes, hours.
The whole time I was
wondering what I'd done. No alcohol, no drugs, no girls, no bad grades. I just
sat there, without the faintest of clues but frightened to ask why again.
My mom arrived and they
stood above me as I sat on the couch.
Intimidating.
One of them firmly said,
"Is there anything you'd like to tell us?" I could think of nothing
so I shrugged and remained speechless.
"Mrs. Greaves
stopped by a little while ago. Why do you think she would do that?"
(Mrs. Greaves was the
mother of twins my age- Brian and Paul. They were notorious in town for
consistently acting fragile during school sports. In soccer, the slightest
touch would send either one of them flying and crying, which prompted the mom
to run onto the field screaming at the ref, the coaches, the kids, anyone.
After a while of this (and not realizing the kids were certainly not to blame),
everyone started viciously hitting the boys. If chaos and a penalty would ensue
regardless, why not earn it?)
Back at my house, I had
no idea why Mrs. Greaves would stop by. I wasn't friends with the boys and our
parents had never met before.
Once more, "Is there
anything you'd like to tell us?"
I still had nothing to
express but confused rage so I demanded to know what was going on.
Mrs. Greaves had brought
Paul with her and there were finger marks on his neck. He had clearly been
choked, and I was accused of doing it.
I hadn’t and told my
parents as much. To my frustration, they didn't believe me. Why would they?
Sure, I was their son, but an upset mother had more clout than an adolescent.
I was grounded
indefinitely and sent to my room while they sorted out the details. I was so
scared that I wondered how I could have strangled someone then forgotten about
it. It was the only thing that made sense. I must have done it. His mother was
crying, there were marks on his neck, and they both accused me.
But I didn't remember
doing it! And it would've just
happened!!!
After another
indeterminate amount of time, my parents came in. They gave me one last chance:
I was in trouble regardless but if I confessed, my punishment would be less severe.
I'd taken that road previously but not this time; there was no way I choked
this kid.
Possibly because I'd been
so honest in the past, I felt like they believed me, at least a little bit.
Plus, I likely seemed shaken and nervous instead of defiant.
The night went on and I
was asked a few more times, though more casually. They were angry, I felt
helpless, and everybody was confused.
The next day, my parents
took me to school to meet with the principal. They explained what happened and
I explained what didn't happen.
Surprisingly, she did not
seem alarmed.
Situations like this had happened
before with the twins and their mother. The principal had a thick folder of
accusations and investigations, most of which went nowhere or were deemed
false.
There was no proof, but we
all determined that Mrs. Greaves herself had choked Paul then blamed it on me, which
was curious enough without adding that any quarrels I’d had were with his
brother. Her fatal flaw was picking the wrong kid to strangle.
Regardless, a grown woman
attacked her own son then blamed it on a 6th-grader without any apparent
motive.
The whole thing made no
sense but it was the only reasonable theory.
My parents profusely
apologized to me but I understood their predicament. Though a stranger, Mrs.
Greaves had a strong case and I was 12- naturally wired to cause mischief and
deny it to save myself.
Two more years went by
without incident until the twins went for schooling elsewhere. I've heard
they're doing all right now, so I guess the crazy old witch didn't affect them
as negatively as predicted. I wonder if Paul remembers this story or if it just
got archived along with other unimaginable lunacy.
My point here is that you
should trust yourself but weigh the facts because you just never know what
people will do.
And don't strangle your
kids, unless they deserve it.