Laurence

It was a warm day in May in the mountains. I was working from my office with the view of the pines out of the window when I received a text. It was from my ex-wife. "Zoë was choked out at school. I'm going to go pick her up." I texted back. "What happened? Is she okay?" I responded. A few minutes went by, and Karen called. "Some kid choked her out twice," she said. "Zoë said she lost consciousness twice. I want to file charges."

I met Karen and Zoë at the restaurant they wanted to meet me at so I could help them file the police report at the Sheriff's station in Twin Peaks. "Are you okay?" I asked my daughter. She was my youngest. "Not really. Laurence tried to kill me," she said while holding back tears. "We ate in the cafeteria when my friends left for the restroom. Laurence told me that I was so annoying and that nobody likes me," she said. "I told him to fuck off and stop using drugs. I also called him a fatass," she said. "Then he choked me, and I almost passed out." Zoë took a bite out of her beyond burger. This place catered toward the LGBTQ community and had some of the best vegetarian dishes in the mountains. Unusual for a place that's mostly Trump country. "I tried to get away, and he followed me inside."  Zoë held up a video one of her classmates took of her screaming at Laurence. "You're fucking crazy! You're on drugs! Nobody will ever love you!" Zoë screamed. One of Zoë's friends, Daria, laughed in the video. The next video Zoë showed was of her being choked out for a second time and almost losing consciousness. "They don't even teach that in law enforcement; it's too dangerous and likely to lead to death," I told her. "A former Marine is being charged for killing a homeless man in the same manner in New York City."

"It seems like your friend Daria loved watching you melt down for the camera," Karen said. "Did you see the way she was laughing at you?"

"Yeah, I think she put Laurence up to attacking me," Zoë said. "I think Laurence has a crush on Daria."

After finishing a late lunch, I met them at the Sheriff's station. "I'm sorry, we can't take a police report right now because our systems have been down for over two weeks," the Sheriff's receptionist told me. "That's crazy," I said. "How do you guys book people?"

"We have to do it by hand on paper and typewriter," she said. "I suggest calling our dispatch, and they will connect you with a Deputy, and you can file the report that way."

We went back to Karen's house. "Who is this Laurene kid anyway?" I asked. "He's a trans kid. He used to be Lisa." Zoë said. "He lives down the street Karen added. "He threatened to do something to the school next October 31st," Zoë said. "Okay, we need to get a restraining order," I said. "That's what the Principal suggested we do," Karen said.

The following day I called Zoë absent from school, and we headed the twelve miles down the mountain to the City of San Bernardino to file a restraining order at the Superior Court. As I got onto the highway, I noticed a homeless encampment on the side of the entry ramp. "In all my travels, I've never seen so many homeless people anywhere else," I remarked. "The homeless population has increased exponentially since I left for Afghanistan two years ago," I told Zoë. "You notice changes when you leave for a while and return," she said. "Another thing I noticed is the extreme disrepair of the California freeway system. There are potholes in the middle of the highway, and I've read stories of bridges falling into rivers inside major cities."

"Yeah, it's pretty bad," Zoë said.

"Also, the crime rate seemed to have increased," I said. "In Qatar, you could leave a bag of gold on the train and return an hour later, and it would either still be there, or someone would have turned it in."

"That's cool," Zoë said.

"I stayed in a three million dollar villa, and we never locked our doors. Americans have a skewed view of the Middle East. Part of a concerted propaganda effort, no doubt." I laughed, half joking, but I knew it was true. I've met no better people than those I've encountered in the Middle East. "The people of the Middle East are some of the best people I've ever met," I told Zoë. "Sure, some of them are backward, but no more than any other region. You can find many backward people in the same town we live in. The Trumpers that fly huge American flags from the backs of their trucks Taliban style, for example."

"Yeah, they've taken something away from being a Patriot by their lack of honoring the flag," Zoë said. She was very aware as a sixteen-year-old kid.

We had to park across the street from the Superior Court. After going through the metal detector, we climbed the stairs to the second floor. It was an open-designed building with many windows, allowing plenty of light to shine. On marble benches lining the hallways, dozens of people waited for court processes or their court dates. We approached a window with a sign saying, "Civil Filings."  I handed the lady the restraining order I pre-filled. She looked at the form like she had never seen it before. She walked into a back area with the papers only to return a short time later. "You're at the wrong place. You must go to the Juvenile Courts about four miles from here." She said.

Zoe and I drove to the Juvenile Courts only to be told we had to file the restraining order back at the Superior Court, where we just went from. "Government bureaucracy never fails to amaze me," I laughed. "Hey, let's grab a sandwich at the Green Shack," I suggested. "It's this weird place in San Bernardino with a liquor store, an insurance office, and a copy and fax store all under one roof, and the same guy owns it all. It has the best fucking sandwiches, though!"

"How can I help you today?" the woman behind the sandwich counter asked. "Is this your first time here?"

"No, I used to come here occasionally," I said.

"Do you know what you want?" she asked, her voice both pressing and gleeful. She was an older woman who seemed to glide around behind the sandwich bar, and her voice had a sing-song quality. She seemed to be dancing, taking orders, and posting tickets for the sandwich makers. A long line of blue-collar workers waited for their orders; construction workers, linemen, general contractors, and public works employees were familiar, and the random federal agent blended in with everyone as in my case, but I'm retired now.

We sat down with our sandwiches on the enclosed back patio. "What do you think?" I asked. "This is delicious!" Zoë said. "You know, I've been thinking. I know Laurence choked you out twice and was suspended for a few days, but do you think it's a good idea to ruin his life with a restraining order? It will become a permanent record." I said. "Why don't we wait and see if he does anything else," I added. "Okay," Zoë said.

A few weeks went by, and I received a text from Zoë. "Dad, Laurence was suspended for bringing a knife to school."

"Holy shit!" I texted back.

"He's also been walking by the house and looking at my bedroom window." Zoë texted.

"I can fix the cameras if you want," I texted.

"That would be good," Zoë responded.

After being attacked by Laurence, Zoë became isolated at school. She takes her lunch alone in the library. Zoë tried to befriend a girl named Bella, but it didn't work out. Zoë is a good kid. She's a talented artist, and her social skills have not yet developed. In many ways, she doesn't understand how cruel people can be, especially in High School. My oldest daughter, Dauphine, had an easier time of it. She was a popular kid when she was Zoë's age. Dauphine often advises Zoë at family gatherings, but Zoë tries to hold onto her childhood. I feel I'm partially to blame for all my travels for work, and I missed two years of her life when I was in Afghanistan and Qatar. I moved back to the mountains to be close to my daughters and be a Dad.

"I think you should work things out with Laurence and try to make friends with him," I said day while taking Zoë to Universal Studios in Los Angeles. "Daria is manipulating the entire situation because I suspect she's a narcissist and is getting fuel from pitting you and Laurence against each other."

"Dad! That asshole choked me out twice! No!" Zoë said. "In my day, that's what we did," I said. "We didn't hold grudges, and we didn't shoot up schools. We fought, of course, but we made up and became friends afterward. We didn't take shit so seriously. Besides, if you team up with Laurence, you can expose Daria for the narcissist she is."

A few weeks passed. I received a text while working. "Dad, there's a rumor that Laurence killed himself." Zoë texted. "What?" I texted back. "Try to find out."

I received a text about two hours later confirming the worst. It was from Karen. "Laurence killed himself last night." She texted. I was in shock. I can only imagine what Zoë felt. She had gone to school with Laurence since they were in Kindergarten before he identified as Laurence. They rode the bus together for over a decade. The school announced the death of Laurence on social media without naming him. Social Media posts by the family on the local mountain page deadnamed Laurence, stating they are setting up a donation site for their lovely daughter, Lisa. I found out that Laurence lost his mother three years ago. Afterward, he began to identify as a trans man and went by Laurence. His father remarried and had a newborn baby boy, Laurence's half-brother. From what people have told me, Laurence's father seemed like a twit to me. A fight on social media broke out between strangers and the family about them deadnaming their child on the donation site. Other strangers who knew nothing about Laurence started talking about trans people being bullied at school and that the bullies and the parents of such bullies should be held accountable. Laurence's stepmother told everyone he was confused after his mother's death. As a people, we love our tidy little black-and-white narratives that serve as sound bytes for one political position or another. Adults don't do that. Children do.

Despite what narrative you support, a sixteen-year-old child took their own life. I can only imagine the isolation and despair he must have felt after his mother's death. His obtuse father focused on his new family, leaving Laurence in the cold. When Laurence was suspended for choking out my daughter twice, I expected him to apologize to us, for that's what I would have done. Instead, he left tragedy to her own devices.

Zoë, a troubled teen herself, took off a week from school. When she returned, Daria assaulted her in the school library, shouting, "Stop talking shit about Laurence!" she struck Zoë with her fists. Zoë is beyond upset with Laurence's death, and Daria knows she had much to do with it with her manipulations. Nobody will ever know what pushed Laurence over the edge, but if I were a betting man, I would suspect Daria was on his mind in his final moments.

I lie awake at night thinking about Laurence, about how isolated he must have felt, with nobody to turn to. I reflect on how Laurence will never overcome his alienation or have a chance to grow into a decent person or find the love of his people, or become stronger for his challenges. For Laurence, death was the only option. A permanent solution to a temporary problem. Laurence took his own life while grieving over the only person in this world who loved him unconditionally, his mother, who left him at the worst possible moment.

A loss that could never be reconciled.

The End.