Post #125 – Women’s Memoirs, ScrapMoir – Matilda Butler and Kendra Bonnett
Memoir Writing Contest Winner Announced
Women’s Memoirs contests produce important stories. Some are funny. Some are charming. Some are touching. Some are sad. And some are tough — tough to tell and even tough to read because we can feel the writer’s anguish. Today’s memoir contest winner from our May Memoir Writing Contest is Maria Preston. She receives an Honorable Mention – in our Memoir Writing Contest — MOTHER’S DAY category.
Congratulations Maria. Thank you for sharing your story– a tough story — with us.
By the way, this story comes to Women’s Memoirs all the way from Leeds, England.
What Might You Expect to Get When Mother’s Day Falls On Your Birthday?
by Maria Preston
(a) flowers
(b) chocolates
(c) perfume
(d) breakfast in bed
(e) a lazy day
(f) a police hunt for your son after he burgles your next door neighbour
As we drove up our street, anxiety mounted. Police officers were encircling our home. Parking quickly, I ran over.
“What’s happened?”
“Burglary. We’re looking for the occupants of 164. Two lads. They’ve got into number 166 through the back door. They’ve taken quite a bit.”
Adrenaline coursed through my body like a swollen river.
“YOU!!” screamed the girl from next door suddenly. “Your son! He locked me in my room!”
She was wailing hysterically as she continued to screech accusation at me. “What sort of parent brings up a monster like him?”
“That’s enough,” said the police officer quietly, taking hold of her by the arms that were flailing ever more in my direction. “Let’s get you inside. We’ll catch him. It’s not his Mother’s fault. I’ll be with you in a moment,” she nodded towards me. She disappeared into next door with the young girl, shrieking like a banshee.
“What on earth had been going through his head?” I leaned against the door frame.
Moments later, the policewoman’s voice cut into my miserable thoughts.
“The girl wants to apologise,” she said. “She was very upset. She’s had a dreadful shock but knows she shouldn’t be blaming you.”
“She hasn’t done anything to apologise for,” I responded blankly.
“The forensics will be here shortly to take prints. There are cars out looking for him and his mate.”
It didn’t feel real.
“Do you have a recent photo of him?” I gestured towards the one that had been taken the previous year at school.
“Handsome young man, isn’t he? Any idea why he’d want to commit a burglary? Doesn’t look the sort.”
“It’s nothing to do with how he’s been brought up,” I snapped defensively. “I’ve done everything I can with him. He’s been a nightmare.”
“I can vouch for that.” The father of the girl next door had returned and came up behind the policewoman in the hallway.
“Maria, we’re not blaming you,” he said kindly. “Not one bit. We just want our stuff back. And for him to be punished.”
“What did they take?” I asked, despondently, yet enormously grateful for his kind attitude.
“Two laptops, a camera, a mobile phone, a purse and games console.” His voice was calm.
There was no blame in his eyes as he looked at me. I could detect something else though. Pity.
“I’m so sorry…”
“It’s him who should be sorry. You didn’t burgle us.”
Just then his daughter appeared behind him.
“I shouldn’t have screamed at you. It’s just the whole thing was so awful. I don’t even know how many lads were in the house. I was there on my own. They could’ve done anything to me.”
“He’ll get what’s coming,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’ll see to it personally.” I had never felt so ashamed in all my life.
Several hours later, he returned. “Where’ve you been?” I asked, absently.
“Nowhere.”
“Do you want some dinner?”
“Yeah, I’m starving.”
I stood, watching his plate turn around and around on the microwave turntable. The smell of the roast chicken made me feel even more churned up than I already did. I allowed him a few minutes to eat. Then I made the call. In hushed tones, I spoke to the police from the next room. They arrived within minutes. He was just finishing his dinner.
“I’m arresting you on suspicion of burglary and false imprisonment.”
I listened on the sidelines as he was given his rights and led away. My eyes could not meet his. I just felt revulsion.
…………
“We’re ready to interview now. Could you come to the station?”
“Why?”
“As an appropriate adult. To ensure fair treatment.”
“So he gets the reassuring presence of his mother? I don’t think so.”
I could not sit at the side of him after what he had done. They enlisted the Youth Offending Team instead. It was hours before I heard anything. Eventually they telephoned me.
“We’re releasing him. Your neighbour didn’t physically see him; she just believes she heard his voice amongst the others. There’s no evidence to place him at the crime.”
“But there must be fingerprints……”
“None.”
“You’re joking! But he did it!”
“We know that. However there’s no proof to charge him. Only if he confesses.”
“Right! Keep him there! I’m on my way!”
“Just do the right thing,” I urged Tom in the sweltering interview room. The officers had left us alone. He looked dishevelled and unbelievably young. Being locked up for several hours had taken its toll.
“I just want them to let me go Mum. This place is awful.” His bottom lip quivered slightly. For a second he looked as though he would cry.
“Why did you do it?” I asked gently.
“We didn’t plan it. The door was open and we both kind of egged each other on.”
“But you locked her in her room.”
“I’m not proud of myself you know.”
He was completely unaware of the predicament. He had no idea that they didn’t have enough evidence to charge him. At his age, I was sure he wouldn’t understand much of it anyway.
“If you’re honest, you’ll be in less trouble.” I looked for a reaction across the table.
“But they’ll send me to prison.”
“Not if you tell the truth. You’ll be punished, yes, but they’ll easier on you if you own up to
what you’ve done.”
So the police obtained a taped confession. They took his photo, DNA and prints. He was charged and released on bail, with a curfew to be in at home between seven at night and seven in the morning. They thanked me. I was satisfied with what I had done. Some Mum’s might have felt guilty. He was facing punishment that would act as a future warning.
I managed to persuade him to wear trousers for Court.
“It’ll show respect,” I assured him. Outside Court, I noticed he was the only boy wearing trousers and shoes. Looking at other youths, it seemed surreal that he was being classified similarly. I felt uncomfortable amongst the other parents, several of whom appeared as though they were no strangers to courtrooms themselves.
Disgrace shone from me whilst forced to stand beside him before the Magistrates and state my name.
INGREDIENTS
One fourteen-year-old defendant
Three magistrates (bespectacled)
One shamed mother
Two Solicitors (Defence and Prosecution)
A sprinkling of evidence
A handful of Court personnel
A pinch of remorse
METHOD
1. Ensure that the ingredients are added to an empty Courtroom, one at a time.
2. Listen to evidence carefully
3. Finally add remorse and stir well.
4. Observe shame of mother carefully whilst waiting for mixture to prove.
5. Complete by punishing mother instead of boy.
6. Garnish by awarding her court costs, a fine and compensation costs.
