A Missed Opportunity

38

❃𝙺𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚊❃

I didn't think it was possible to feel so many emotions at once. Anger, anxiety, sympathy, and—God! Anger.

I didn't raise my son to be violent. Never once has he ever raised a hand at anyone—not that I know of, at least. I figured his teachers or someone would call if he did that, but maybe I was wrong. Clearly, I was wrong about something.

Maybe I didn't drill it into his mind as well as I thought. We don't hit, we keep our hands to ourselves. That's what I've always told him, and he seemed to understand. He repeated it back to me when I requested, and he seemed like he understood.

I don't even know what I'm supposed to say to him. Obviously, it's not okay that he beat up some other kid with his backpack. But a part of me reasons that he had to have a reason for that. I mean, he had to have, right? Cameron's not a violent boy. There has to be a reason why he'd do something like this. Has to!

Whatever his reason is, it isn't good either way. I'm a firm believer that nothing ever gets accomplished with violence. It's demining and the lowest way to settle something. Maybe it was wishful thinking to hope my son felt the same about it though.

The house is quiet when I manage to twist the door knob enough to kick the door fully open. I shift the different bags in my hands around as I kick it shut again. It closes harsher than I mean to, but maybe that's not a bad thing. It probably insights a bit of fear into the boys here.

"Cameron Noah Stone!"

Noah texted me an hour ago to tell me they'd be here using Cameron's key, so I know for a fact they're here. I wander over to the completely silent living room where they both sit. The tv is off, but I bet if I walked over to it, it'd still be warm. There's no way they've been sitting in silence for hours.

Cameron guiltily sits on the couch beside his dad who lounges like he does have a care in the world, arm draped over the back of the couch. I step over to slide the bags of fast food onto the coffee table. Once my hands are free, I cross my arms over my chest and raise a brow expectantly at him. "What'd you do at school today, Cameron?" I hum.

His bottom lip juts out but I don't falter. "Um," He reluctantly begins. "We did adding." He whispers.

My eyes narrow. Noah sighs and nudges him gently with the hand draped on the back of the couch. "C'mon," He whispers.

Cameron takes a deep breath. "I got called to the office." He mumbles, hardly audible.

"Mhm," I acknowledge. "For what?"

He shifts in his seat. "Fighting."

"Fighting." I repeat, nodding to myself. "Cameron Stone, did you hit a boy with a backpack?"

"Yes..."

"Why?" I start shaking my head. "Why would you do something like that?"

For some reason, he looks at his dad before he answers me. Noah stares back at him silently, not offering whatever answer Cameron's hoping for. Or maybe he does answer, but doesn't need to actually speak or do anything to relay it. That's not fair if he is though, because I can't even do that and I've been around Cameron his whole life.