"Pee in the cup and leave it on the counter." It was a
phrase I never thought would leave my lips. After all, I worked in management
not health care.
He took the cup from my hands and our eyes met. I couldn't decide if it was fear or hurt in his eyes, but I was definitely hurt. Trust is a weird thing, once it's gone, it is hard to regain. For sure it was a risk, but it was a decision I felt necessary under the umbrella of protection.
I leaned against the wall as he entered the bathroom. I fondly recalled him claiming the room as his own so many years ago. I turned and stood at the doorway of his room. My hand ran across the wall with small lines etched on the wall along with dates and heights. He liked to remind me of his proximity to my height these days.
"I can't go, I just went a few minutes ago." The bathroom door was half open with his head hanging out.
"Just do it. I don't need a gallon, just fill it to the line. Something will come out, give it another try." I spoke without turning to face him. I wondered if he was stalling or being truthful. It was a common question lately. The door slammed as his grumblings echoed in the small bathroom.
I turned and reviewed the rudimentary growth chart again. I had initially objected when he wanted to make the first mark since we had just painted the room in the previous weeks, but his smile quickly changed my mind. Actually, he had helped with the painting. The memory of his small body covered with specks of blue paint made me smile. He had been so proud of the work. The day spent correcting his mistakes was worth it.
I took another step into the room and the musty smell of an active teenager filled my lungs. Sneakers, clothes, and gadgets filled the room. There had been many unauthorized (his word not mine) searches of this room over the years. He had actually invited me inside only a few years ago, but those days were long gone. I blamed the lack of trust on my dad, but who knows where it originated.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing, just waiting." I turned to meet his still hard to read face.
"This is my room." He squeezed past me and held the half full plastic container in an outstretched arm.
"Yeah, I know, I didn't touch anything." I resisted the usual response of pointing out it was or is my house. I carefully accepted the container of yellow liquid since I didn't want to add urine to the many smells in the room. "I told you to leave it on the counter."
"And I told you I didn't do anything, so nobody listens around here."
"If so, you shouldn't have anything to worry about." The sarcasm in his voice was obvious. He constantly tested the boundaries these days.
I returned to the bathroom and opened the tiny booklet to read the directions. The glasses slid down my nose as I moved to get more light. I tore open the pouch and dropped the stick in the liquid. The instructions said to wait ten minutes. I couldn't decide if I wanted to be right or wrong. The problem was instructing him on right and wrong.
He took the cup from my hands and our eyes met. I couldn't decide if it was fear or hurt in his eyes, but I was definitely hurt. Trust is a weird thing, once it's gone, it is hard to regain. For sure it was a risk, but it was a decision I felt necessary under the umbrella of protection.
I leaned against the wall as he entered the bathroom. I fondly recalled him claiming the room as his own so many years ago. I turned and stood at the doorway of his room. My hand ran across the wall with small lines etched on the wall along with dates and heights. He liked to remind me of his proximity to my height these days.
"I can't go, I just went a few minutes ago." The bathroom door was half open with his head hanging out.
"Just do it. I don't need a gallon, just fill it to the line. Something will come out, give it another try." I spoke without turning to face him. I wondered if he was stalling or being truthful. It was a common question lately. The door slammed as his grumblings echoed in the small bathroom.
I turned and reviewed the rudimentary growth chart again. I had initially objected when he wanted to make the first mark since we had just painted the room in the previous weeks, but his smile quickly changed my mind. Actually, he had helped with the painting. The memory of his small body covered with specks of blue paint made me smile. He had been so proud of the work. The day spent correcting his mistakes was worth it.
I took another step into the room and the musty smell of an active teenager filled my lungs. Sneakers, clothes, and gadgets filled the room. There had been many unauthorized (his word not mine) searches of this room over the years. He had actually invited me inside only a few years ago, but those days were long gone. I blamed the lack of trust on my dad, but who knows where it originated.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing, just waiting." I turned to meet his still hard to read face.
"This is my room." He squeezed past me and held the half full plastic container in an outstretched arm.
"Yeah, I know, I didn't touch anything." I resisted the usual response of pointing out it was or is my house. I carefully accepted the container of yellow liquid since I didn't want to add urine to the many smells in the room. "I told you to leave it on the counter."
"And I told you I didn't do anything, so nobody listens around here."
"If so, you shouldn't have anything to worry about." The sarcasm in his voice was obvious. He constantly tested the boundaries these days.
I returned to the bathroom and opened the tiny booklet to read the directions. The glasses slid down my nose as I moved to get more light. I tore open the pouch and dropped the stick in the liquid. The instructions said to wait ten minutes. I couldn't decide if I wanted to be right or wrong. The problem was instructing him on right and wrong.
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