In The Criminal Justice System.........

As a good, upstanding citizen who’s never had any trouble with the law, it was slightly disconcerting to me when I noticed a police car pull up into our driveway on Monday evening after dinner. And it was extremely anxiety-producing and nearly vomit-inducing when he rang the bell and asked if this was the house where our teenage daughter, Butterfly, lived.

“Why? What happened??” I cut to the chase, forgoing the polite introductions that Bree from "Desperate Housewives" would deem appropriate in this situation. I wanted to shake him by his official collar and demand that he tell me the truth right away. Was she dead? Alive? Wanted for murder?? Or just the recipient of an Excellent Teen Driver in the Community Award? What prompted this official “visit”? What? WHAT??! I held onto Super Hubs for support, bracing myself for the worst.

“Her friend, Hayley, did not come home from school today. She’s not returning her parent’s phone calls. They’ve reported her as a runaway, and believe she is with your daughter.” Ahhhh. I breathed a sigh of relief. Butterfly was not in trouble, or worse, hurt. She was only an accomplice in helping her best friend avoid a punishment. Hayley was a frequent visitor to our home, telling tearful stories of fighting with her dysfunctional parents and the desire to move out. It was an emotionally chaotic home.

I explained that Butterfly was at the house of another friend, practicing their dance for Orchesis. ”Can you please see if Hayley is with her, and if so, have them come back here so I can take Hayley back home?” The police officer requested.

I called Butterfly, who confirmed that “The Runaway” was with her. I told her to drive home right away. Then Super Hubs went off to do some work, leaving me to entertain Mr. Police Officer, during the wait for the girls.

“Did you want to sit down? Have a drink while you’re waiting?” I asked, unsure of the protocol. What did one do with a Police Officer in the foyer for 20 Awkward Minutes? Was he like a priest, who would want me to come clean with all my transgressions, such as the overdue library book I was deliberately holding onto? Would he be wildly impressed with my perfect driving record? Or the fact that Super Hubs had jury duty recently? Did he want to shoot the breeze (pardon the pun) and talk about the latest “Law & Order” episode? Should I ask politely if he would care to move his cruiser into our garage, so the neighbors didn’t make any false assumptions?

“No, ma’am. I’ll just wait right here,” he said, standing by the front door. And so we waited, Mr. Police Officer and I (with Little Squirt coming in every now and then to gawk and ask if he could shoot his gun and try on his hand cuffs.) We made small talk. I offered him a drink again. And a snack. He politely refused, perhaps believing I'd taint them with a poisonous substance. Who knows the kind of criminal mind he dealt with on a regular basis?? So we just stood there together; The Police Officer and The Housewife Who Was Feeling Insecure Over Entertaining A Police Officer; the awkwardness palpable. I agonized over what the neighbors must be thinking.

And then Butterfly showed up, followed by Hayley, both girls’ eyes wide with trepidation. But he was kind as he informed Hayley he would have to drive her home, and hoped she would work things out with her parents. And Butterfly, with tears in her eyes, said how she appreciated me, and that I am a “nice mother.” And I wistfully watched Hayley get into the back seat of the cruiser, lights flashing as it drove away.

I would harbor them all, if I could. All The Runaways from toxic families. I would move them in, and welcome them with open arms. I’d pour love into their broken hearts, encouragement into their dreams and hope into their future. I really would, if I could. But instead, I prayed for Hayley and her family. I went upstairs, drew a hot bath, sunk down under the bubbles, and prayed.