So there we sat, three angry people in a stuffy room on a hot Friday, and it didn’t go well at all. We talked about the stages of escalating anger and how Ash should learn to recognize what pushed her buttons before she erupted at other people. It all made sense, but I didn’t like Bart. He had an oily, patronizing personality and tried to present himself as if he was Ashley’s confidante and best friend. She regarded him dispassionately and wouldn’t talk. Not that I blame her, but this was her last chance to remain at home. If Oakside didn’t succeed, the next step would be to send her away to school. We were off to a great start.
The meeting was short, and we walked to the parking lot. It was early afternoon, and Ashley professed to be hungry. Mike and I had eaten lunch before we left the house, and he told her she’d have to wait until we arrived home. This was another typical Ashley stunt- refusing meals and chowing down on foods like breakfast cereal, frozen waffles, icecream and chips. She was hungry for Del Taco, but we didn’t have money for fast food. She fussed like a toddler until she finally figured out we wouldn’t give in and then went to sleep. Arrived at the house, she and Mike went down to his office because she needed a cigarette. I just rolled my eyes.
Labor Day weekend was hot and humid, as California weather usually is at that time of year. It doesn’t seem to matter how hot the rest of summer is, once the children start going back to school, it always warms up, reminding them what they’re missing outside. Due to the stickiness, everyone was getting on each others’ nerves. It was even too hot to go to the beach.
Ashley was edgier than normal, knowing she was headed for Oakside on Tuesday and dreading it. She was in a bad mood, needling me about getting out of the house. Specifically, she wanted to spend time with her best friend, Christina. Christina is a nice girl who doesn’t drink or use drugs, but earlier in the summer we discovered that sometimes when she and Ashley were together they were in contact with boyfriend Herbie against our wishes. I said no- Christina’s mom wouldn’t let her come to our house, and I didn’t want to drive anyone anywhere.
As the day progressed, Ashley became more irritable. I was mending clothes, and her constant whining was making me restless. Mike was watching a video on the television, completely engrossed as always and barely paying attention to what was going on around him. So when Ashley asked him for the umpteenth time if she could go to Christina’s after I'd already told her no, he distractedly gave permission. I hate being put in the middle like that, especially because such decisions need to be discussed in private and then presented to Ash in a unified way.
I was sitting on the couch and trying to be calm. No, I still refused to take her to Christina's. All of a sudden Ashley flew across the room and slugged me in the shoulder. I sat there in shocked silence as she took off running for the front door. The attack brought Mike to full attention, and he took off after her in hot pursuit. Realizing she couldn’t outrun him, Ashley veered off towards our bedroom where she hoped to lock him out and escape over our deck. Of course our deck is fifteen feet off the ground, but that was a problem she’d take care of when she got there.
I joined in just about the time that Mike caught up with her in the hallway. Ashley was kicking and thrashing wildly, trying to get away. I grabbed for a foot because she was wearing heavy, clunky shoes that really hurt when they came in contact with body parts, and she started pummeling me. Mike told me to let him handle her and call 911. I ran for the kitchen telephone.
While I was talking to the 911 operator Ashley must have made an escape because when I returned to the hall, nobody was there, and shouts were coming from our bedroom deck. Ash had a leg thrown over the deck railing, and Mike was hanging on to her by the waist to prevent her from jumping. Throwing off his hands, she started to go over, but both of us lunged for her, holding her down to keep her from leaping and kicking. A sheriff arrived and found the three of us still on the deck.
Mike was scraped and had bruises on his shins and forearms. My jaw was swelling, and my shoulders had begun to turn black and blue. Ashley didn’t have a scratch, but she immediately launched into victim mode and told a tale about our abusing her. The sheriff eyed her skeptically, listened to our side of the story and called for back-up to transport her to Charleston Hospital. As a female deputy lead Ashley away in handcuffs, the responding officer looked at our injuries and shook his head. “If my kid did that to me,†he said, “there is no way she would leave the house standing. Girls like your daughter need a strong dose of their own medicine.†Mike and I just looked at each other. What the deputy was describing was against the law, and he had to know fully well that any injuries we inflicted on our daughter would be labeled child abuse.
Post-crisis, Mike started flashing me angry looks. Now what? “Nothing!†Only, I didn’t want to hear nothing. How could I change whatever it was that bothered Mike if he wouldn’t share with me? So he started chewing me out for letting myself be drawn into the physical violence that Ashley was using against him. Wait a minute, I protested. She had started this when she slugged me. Well, maybe so, but I had made the whole ordeal that much worse by getting involved in our bedroom when he had events well in hand. I was actually making things worse by feeling I had to come to his rescue. Naturally, this isn’t what I saw- I saw her kicking and pounding on him and trying to jump fifteen feet to the ground. But he said when I got involved it seemed to make her even more upset. So did this mean I wasn’t allowed to defend myself from her physical violence? Or was that supposedly my fault too? The way I looked at it, damned if I did and damned if I didn't.