I check myself in the mirror before
going to meet whoever it is that is paying me a visit. Knowing Mr. W.
Scott its Sad Sack waiting to pounce on me. I wish my father had
taught me to fight. Any fight I've ever been in ended because of
bodily fluids. Mine. Not theirs.
I head down the hallway and two guards
appear next to me. I'll call them Thing 1 and Thing 2. Thing 1 is a
large Mexican man that has his arms covered in tattoos. Thing 2 is a
large Black guy that smells like cigarette smoke. Neither of them
talk to me so I take it upon myself to break the ice.
“Are you two related?” I ask. They
don't reply so I continue. “Do you know who I'm going to meet? I do
hope that whoever it is they brought candy. Or whiskey. I'd do
anything for a shot of whiskey. Anything. You hear me, brother?” I
nudge Thing 2 and both of them hook me under my arms and drag me.
“Wheee!” They take me to a room that has two chairs, no windows,
and a table. It looks like an interrogation room. They shove me
inside and lock the door. “Do I tip you guys?”
I sit down in one of the chairs and
drum on the table. Not voluntarily. My hands are shaking
uncontrollably. After what feels like half an hour Mr. W. Scott
enters the room. He looks at my hands and checks something off on his
clipboard.
“Stand” he says. I do. “Someone
is here to see you. As they speak to you I will be nearby. If there
is any violence, verbal or physical, I shall intervene at my
discretion. Any violence on your part will result in your immediate
expulsion from this facility. Is this understood?” I nod. “Bring
him in.”
My father enters the room.
I haven't seen him since I've been here
of course but he looks like he's aged 10 years. He goes to shake
hands with Mr. W. Scott who looks at his hand as if its covered in
shit. He checks something off on his clipboard and leaves the room.
My father sighs and sits down. So do I.
“You look...good, pops” I say. My
father just stares at me.
“You stepmother told me everything”
he says.
“Now, look, dad...”
“Everything.”
We both just look at each other.
“Dad. Look. I don't know what she
told you...”
“She. Told. Me. Everything” he
says. “But the one thing she couldn't tell me was why. Why you? The
fact that she did what she did with my own son doesn't bother me so
much as the fact that it was with you. Someone like you. A worthless
piece of shit that should have never been born under any
circumstances.”
We look at each other for a few
minutes.
“Do you really want me to answer
you?” I ask him. He nods with his hands folded in front of his
face. “Well, for one I'm really good at fucking.” He takes a deep
breath. “Hey. You're the one that came here looking for answers. And I was around. You weren't. My entire life you've been so busy
with work that you didn't have time for me, her, or mom.”
“So you're saying this is my fault?!”
he asks.
“I'm just answering your questions”
I say. The door opens. Mr. W. Scott enters.
“Stand” he says. I get up and he
stops me. “No. You stand.” My father scrunches up his face at Mr.
W. Scott. Mind you, my father is a man that has never been told what
to do by anyone. “I do not enjoy repeating myself.” My father
stands. Mr. W. Scott slides the chair back and sits down, my father
hovering over him. “Would you mind standing next to your son?”
“He's no son of mine.”
“Sadly, that is not true” Mr. W.
Scott says. “After witnessing the small amount of interaction
between the two of you I can say with absolute certainty that he is
your son. You both exhibit a lack of respect for authority as well as
narcissistic tendencies.”
“You know all that from us talking
for a few minutes?” my father asks.
“I knew it the moment I saw you”
Mr. W. Scott says. “And since this is a rare time where Mr. Alan
Thompson is choosing not to speak, no doubt due to the amount of pain
he must be experiencing, not from your verbal assault, but from
delirium tremens, I will continue to speak uninterrupted.” Mr. W.
Scott places his clipboard on the table facing down. “If your son
was such a terrible mistake or 'a worthless piece of shit that should
have never been born under any circumstances' as you so eloquently
put it, why, pray tell, did you groom him for a career in your
present occupation?”
“You heard that?” my father asks.
“I hear everything” Mr. W. Scott
replies. “Do you know the definition of a father? Before you ask, I
mean more than a male that provides sperm. Would you say that you
raised him as a child?”
“I didn't come here for this shit!”
my father shouts. Immediately Thing 1 and Thing 2 are in the doorway.
“I fed him. I clothed him. I paid for everything including his stay
at this fucking place!”
“Children feed and clothe their
dolls” Mr. W. Scott says. “That does not make them fathers. You
may leave.”
“I want my money back!”
“I can assure you that that will not
be happening” Mr. W. Scott says. “And lower your voice. We do not
wish to disturb the patients.”
“You're fucking crazy” my father
says to Mr. W. Scott. He heads to the door that is being blocked by
Thing 1 and Thing 2. Mr. W. Scott loosens his tie.
“That was an insult” Mr. W. Scott
says. “A verbal insult. Don't you agree?”
“Yes” Thing 1 and Thing 2 say at
the same time. I don't say a goddamned word.
“You can't be serious” my father
says. “Get these assholes out of the way before I call the police.”
Thing 1 and Thing 2 flip their ID's over and I'll be damned if they
don't have police badges. My father shrinks a few inches.
“The police do not pay enough for
many of their men to make a living” Mr. W. Scott says while rolling
up his sleeves. “Some call it moonlighting. Some even call it
illegal. I call it being prepared for anything.”
“Look” my father says. “I'll just
leave and not say anything.”
“Do I have your word?” Mr. W. Scott
says. My father nods. Mr. W. Scott looks at Thing 1 and Thing 2 and
they step aside. My father rushes out of the room. “You know what
to do” he tells them. They nod and leave. “Three weeks.”
“Three weeks?” I ask.
“The less you know, the better”
Thing 2 says.
“Now back to you” Mr. W. Scott
says.
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