mysteryoriley

Referring to last night’s post, the article in the Press Democrat stated, “The city responded to recent troubles by removing benches where teenagers might loiter.”  Not which benches, or how many, or in what exact locations, so I decided to go see for myself.  I sit on a particular bench when I visit the River, and wanted to know if it was still there.

I took a folding chair with me, because when I drove by last night, I didn’t see my bench.  I was on the main downtown street, which is far enough away from the waterfront, that I couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like the spot was empty. 

I have a routine when I visit the River.  I park the car, get a coffee, walk across the street and down a short parking area, take a seat on my bench, and watch the River while writing in my journal.  I chose this bench shortly after Owen died for one reason.  It was where the kids hung out.

My original intention in spending time there, was to be seen by these kids.  I wanted them to see me there, unafraid of them, or the River.  I knew they were hiding, keeping secrets, but that didn’t matter to me.  The shock of losing Owen took a long time to lift, and I wanted to ruin their playground by being a constant reminder of what could happen to them. 

What happened instead, was those who had spent time at our house, were friendly, and had been helpful in the days Owen was missing, would come sit with me and ask how we were doing.  They said nice things about Owen, and I asked them pointed questions.  They gave evasive answers, hung their heads, and once they figured out I knew they were lying or avoiding the questions, they could no longer look at me in the eyes.  But, I kept going back, and they were always respectful of my presence in their midst.

Late this afternoon, I decided to do things a little differently.  I took my folding chair out of the back seat of my car, went to Jungle Vibes (toy store) and bought two hacky-sacks.  I told the owner (who was mentioned in the article) that I had brought my own chair just in case my bench was one of those that had been removed.  He didn’t know what I was talking about.  I told him what the article said, and he went out the back door with me to take a look.  He said that every couple of years, the city goes through this “exercise” of trying to get the kids to move out of the waterfront area.  He said, “We’re the ones who wanted the waterfront to be redone.  We wanted people down here.  We got exactly what we asked for.  Taking out the benches won’t make a difference.”  We checked the walkway, and sure enough, the three benches closest to his store had been removed.  My bench was gone.  I told him this was no cure for the problem, and he agreed.

I set up my chair on the spot where my bench used to sit.  I didn’t bother with the coffee.  It was a little chilly, and I was wearing one of Owen’s jackets.  It’s warm, and looks like a young man’s jacket, because it was.  It felt right, given the circumstances.  The place was deserted.  No more kids, no adults.  Just me and the ducks in the water.

After a while, one of Owen’s old friends came strolling down the sidewalk, and we smiled from a distance.  She came over and hugged me and we talked for a while.  We laughed at the stupidity of the bench removal, and she said the only outcome of all the recent arrests, was to move the kids to another part of the River.  A dangerous part – the banks near the pipebridge.  She said the younger kids who would have never gone down there before, are now hanging out hidden by trees and brush, and it wasn’t a good thing.  

As I write this, I’m wondering what will happen next.  Now that no one can see these kids just by driving through the parking lot, or by taking a stroll on the Water Street promenade, are there likely to be more tragedies?  Who will call for help if an accident happens?  (No one called for help when Owen “had an accident” – that’s how the kids talked about that night to us.  They say they were all hanging out down by the River, there was an accident, Owen got hurt, and they didn’t know how to get him help.)  How much easier will it be for underage kids to drink alcohol and not get caught if they’re out of sight? 

When I left, I placed one of the hacky-sacks on top of one of the posts surrounding what used to be a sitting area, my sitting area.  I hoped some kid would come along and make it his or her own.

My folding chair has now taken up permanent residence in the back of my car.  By spring, I’m guessing the kids will begin to wander back to Water Street, and the cycle will begin again.  I hope they’re smarter when they come back.  I hope they find reasons to hang out that don’t involve getting in trouble.  I spend a lot of time hoping.   

Song for the night: Down to the River to Pray, this version from the movie “O, Brother, Where Art Thou?”  (This was one of Owen’s favorite movies.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wcUvVDMwC2w

~ by Linda on January 17, 2008.

Posted in child loss, children, death, family, friends, grief, learning, Life, mothering, music, mystery, parenting, writing
Tags: City of Petaluma, Emmitt Owen Riley, hope, Jungle Vibes, kids, Linda Siniard, Owen Riley, Petaluma Police Department, Petaluma River, underage drinking