Coochie

I saw an adorable 14-year-old boy yesterday.  J was tall, spindly and awkward with a direct gaze and dazzling smile.  He politely came into my office, smiled and batted his big brown eyes at me in a charming manner.

“Where were you before you came here, J?” I asked.

“Detention,” said J.

I was surprised.  J didn’t seem like the detention type.  He seemed like the “Robin needs to adopt him and get rid of her own stinky boys” type.

“Wow.  I’m sort of surprised,” I said.  “What did you do?”

“Parole violation,” J said.  (That’s what they all say.  Technically it’s the parole violation that gets you eventually thrown in the slammer, but I’m pretty sure kids know what I’m asking.  They’re little jailhouse lawyers.)

“Yes, but what were your original charges?” I asked.

“Well,” said J, looking as sincere as Thumper telling Bambi about snow, “They said I hit someone, but I didn’t.  I took the blame for my friend.  He didn’t like this girl, so he hit her.  I tried to break it up.”

Hmmmmm. . . “Why would you take responsibility for something you didn’t do?” I asked.  “And wouldn’t the girl explain that you were innocent?”

“Her mother lives in my neighborhood, and said it was me,” J said.  He seemed to think this story made sense.  I was afraid I’d lose him if I challenged the ludicrousness of his stupid story, so I dropped it and moved on to other subjects.  When J left my office, I perused his records.  Ta da!  There were legal  records in his chart.

Here’s what J really did – J and 3 friends approached a 12 year old girl and demanded a blow job.  She refused and tried to run away.  J told her that if she didn’t comply he’d “cut her coochie”.  Who uses the word “coochie”?  What is the world coming to?  Angelic looking boys are secretly psycho rapists with weird vocabularies.

I went home and told my family this bizarre story during dinner.  They were all as fascinated as me by the word “coochie”.

“What a weird word”, said Kevin.

“He’s a sociopath,” said Alex.  “There’s no hope.”

“I’d advise you not to go into psychiatry,” I told Alex.

“Shut up or I’ll cut your coochie,” said Alex.

“Don’t talk about your mother’s coochie,” said Adam.  “Only I can talk about her coochie.”

“I’d prefer you didn’t,” I said.

The world is a scary and weird place, both in and outside the Altman abode.