“Pick out something nice to wear for Dad,pussy.”
His repulsive laugh echoed in my head. I pulled my shorts up and headed to the bathroom. Chad followed me and sat down on the edge of thebathtub.
“Move, asshole. I need to get ready,” Isnapped.
I pulled my towel off the bar and set it on the counter. I was nervous andpissed.
“Oh, you don’t have to take a shower,Ry.”
“Ryan!” Mom’s voicebellowed.
Chad laughed and stoodup.
“I don’t think you have time to clean yourself up, Ryan. Don’t worry, Dad won’tmind.”
Rage exploded from within, and I almost let it out but decided against it. Chad wanted to make me mad, and he had, but he didn’t need to know. I didn’t want him to have thesatisfaction.
Instead, I swallowed my rage and began to wash my face. I went through the motions and brushed my teeth and combed my hair. I did it all without looking at myself once. I knew if I had looked, the rage would return. As I left the bathroom, I shut the light off leaving Chad in thedark.
He swore at me as I walked back to my bedroom. I didn’t feel much of the physical pain as I pulled on clean boxers, undershirt, and jeans. I stared in my closet trying to strategically decide on what towear.
I wondered how many kids in my classes at USC had this same predicament; what to wear to go visit their dad inprison?
I shook the quiet sarcasm from my head and focused on what shirt to wear. Would it be like how it is on T.V.? Would we be separated by glass? Was it even real glass? It probably was plexiglass in case the prisoner got a crazy idea to bust theglass.
Bile rose to the back of my throat, and I could taste it. There was a chill in the air, and I reached for a thermal shirt. I quickly looked down and was disgusted. The thermal shirt clung to my body, and I hated it. My chest muscles caused the thermal material to stretch tight across my chest. The thermal shirt complimented my biceps. This was probably a look that many college guys strived for. Except me. I didn’t like looking or being reminded of my body. I looked back in my closet for help and pulled down a flannel shirt. I pulled it on and buttoned it up to my chest. I glanced down and felt a little better now that any definition washidden.
“Ryan! Let’s go!” Momscreamed.
“Dear God, please don’t let him touch me,” I whispered tomyself.
It was still dark outside as I got into the back seat of the old Buick my mom managed to save from repossession. I refused to watch her kiss and hug Chad goodbye. She wore a skirt that was way too short to be seen in public with and a deep cut shirt. Seriously? It was fucking December, and we were going to a fuckingprison.
She got in the car and turned to stare atme.
“Why are you sitting in the back?” Was she really that dense? “Baby come sit up here withme.”
“I’m fine in the back.” I looked out the window at ourhouse.
“Ryan, I’m not starting this car until your ass is in the frontseat.”
She folded her arms and pouted like achild.
“Ryan!”
“I don’t want to sit in the fucking front seat with you, Mom! I don’t want you touching me. Is that so hard to figureout?”
“Baby, it’s going to be a long drive, and I need your company. You’re so busy at USC this year that I hardly seeyou.”
That was a goodthing.
“Get in the front seat,Ryan.”
“No. It’s bad enough you’re making me go seehim.”
“Baby, you know your father lovesyou.”
“Whatever.”
