Now, I am no thief, but an innocent person certainly, should not have to go to such lengths to prove innocence. Just to be clear I am quite aware of my responsibility to truth and fairness in my own actions so therefore, the alarming tones of guilt and frustrations are battling for headliner position in this story.
The Back Story is probably the real issue for me as opposed to the turn of events, but here goes. I am not working, I am a Mom of four adult children whom when they see me are begging mostly, with their eyes, for me to get my shit together. I was living in Denver, in a homeless situation, migrated to Arizona for the warmth and last Winter I dropped back in to Chicago to sleep on my ex's sofa so I can be with my son and as he put it "to destroy what would be his senior year of high school".
I Thought I was doing some good seeing how, I assumed our talks would somehow curve his weed smoke out parties he was enjoying as a result of having the house to himself for an obscene amount of hours while his father worked. Turns out he "had it all under control". But Either way, my lesson learned in the situation is that men and women truly speak different languages even if it's your son. And I have learned to reinforce my listening skills.
His Father still insist on his reasoning for divorce was a difference of opinion. But he's an adult that has no desire to correct or erect a relationship with me so I will have to agree to disagree.
Me: still wrestling with my role of Wife, Mother, productive citizen Not being afraid of mean people, still looking for a way to lead a corporation without hurting anyone's feelings. And still on his sofa. I asked my son what was his desire for a graduation gift.
His reply was " A bike, because he knew I could not afford much else". It hurt to have that as his perspective of me. but I am strong in my spirit and I have a strong "argument" for being in this predicament. Siting lack of trust.
Anyhow, I am thinking sure I can do that, I can just create a few things, sell them and "voila" funds for a new bike. Well, my ex's expectation still very different conversation and relationship I am forging with my son, I think he's somehow still see's me as the naive 24 year old 15 years his junior and still malleable to his charm. Which is the only reason I believe he allows me to be in his house. True to form, no work can be performed properly, I still feel the crunch of egg shells while in his presence so I try to go out and find places to work on a few things but find all my old stomping grounds no longer available to linger. So graduation come and go and ''whomp whomp whomp" no funds and no bike.
We are really at testy state as a household so as mother I feel wholeheartedly responsible for the emotional make up. I am scrambling to find ways to ease tension. I am in the basement of the apartment building and I scan the room and see his old bike and a couple of other bikes, One that belongs to his dad that had been given as a gift from his uncle. A couple that appeared abandoned by the amount of rust and cobwebs that seem to nail it to the floor's structure. One in particular, a old schwinn was just about the right height for my son's lengthy legs but it was rusty and both tires flat and gears out of sync.
I took the bike to gas station, put air in the tires to see the extent of damage. Repaired, and clean up the bike and told my son I found it in the basement. My thoughts were the old neighbors left it by the amount of rust that was on it.
A few weeks go by and I decide to take the bike out for a Sunday roll. I parked it at the bike corral, sat to read on the benches and began to feel ill. I bopped into the restroom which was just a few feet over and as I was returning I had the sick feeling I was experiencing to battle for the anguish of watching a bunch of children pillage that corral and excitedly peddle off with one on seat, one on the handle bar and feet crew to stage the getaway distraction. Of course, this was clearly just my issue, because how can I prove the bike was mine when I called police. I had nothing!
I return home to nurse my self back to a oxygenated state. it was only then I thought just maybe the bike belong to someone whom may still live in the building. A Few days later, I finally see someone and ask if the bike could belong to him. He goes to verify and sure enough it was "Third floor guy". Ok. I offered to pay him for the lost of the bike and apologized intensely for losing the bike. He seamed a bit shocked but not as offended as to explain his actions of calling the police. He knocks on the door and explained he called the police and he needed to inform me I can be brought up on charges and go to jail. But he thinks if I give him 450.00 he could probably call it over.
I tell my ex, I was hoping for a bit of advice and probably for him to echo my thoughts of 450.00 being a bit excessive but no He chimed in to the idea of me being a thief. So ok, I am realizing I am totally on my own on this one. So I make a plan, a solid plan to take real responsibility on this one and find the backbone to do what's necessary to fix this one. Only that by this time my ex and "third floor guy" is overheard really tearing me to shreds. At this point , I am really taken aback by my ex's role in this because he insisted I leave him out of it. To pour salt into an open wound, he calls the landlord and trumps the situation with an incident that happen months ago as if he's been consistently offended. So my ex come into the apartment and with a straight face creates a situation where he would have the opportunity to order me out. I say Ok with as much intensity before anger can enter the room. I don't guess that is what he wanted to hear so he amped the argument by calling me a thief. I responded by demanding that he say it to my face. He refused to do so but didn't mind returning the threat of knocking my head off my shoulders. It was like watching british gentlemen argue without changing facial expression, that always annoyed me. Let me see you with some fire Damn it! But true to form he needed the last word by calling the police and explaining his side. But this was nothing new to them so they procedurally wrapped things up and went on their way. We quieted down and went to our separate (beds) and fell asleep.
The next morning I awoke to more conversation about what a horrible situation I'd caused by being here with him and the landlord. Final result is an eviction notice for us all.
I only choose to plead my case I believe is to buy time to see where things might have been different. But the truth is I am happy to go, I just do not know where I belong.