It’s Saturday and my dad is coming to visit. When I know Dad’s coming it’s like I can’t breathe. Collins arrives to take me to the visitors’ area. It’s blue day today, so I’m wearing blue sweats.
I arrive in the visitors’ area before my dad. There are six tables with four chairs at each one. The candy and drink machines are against the far wall, opposite the door where they let people into the room.
Collins has to supervise all visits. So he waits off to the side while I grab a Coke from the machine and wait for my dad at an empty table. Dad is late, as usual. Given that we don’t get much time as it is, it always pisses me off. After another ten minutes of waiting, a whiff of after-shave lets me know that Dad has arrived.
“Funny how you show up when it’s time to leave,” I say. I turn my chair backwards and lean my arms on the back of it, putting a barrier between me and my dad.
“I don’t know why I bother coming,” Dad says. “All I get is attitude.” He stands, looking lost.
I gesture for him to sit down. He glances around the room, which is busy with other visitors. He grabs a chair and rests his hands on the table. Then the long silence begins. This is how it plays out every time. We sit in silence for most of the visit. My dad keeps his head low and moves his clasped fingers in and out. I stare at his balding head. Other than the hushed voices of the rest of the visitors, the only sound is me slurping my Coke.
This time, Dad surprises me by being the first to break the silence. In my two and half years of being in, he’s never done that before.
“So I’m not good at putting my thoughts into words,” he says in a quiet voice. “But the other day I was walking Gemini down at Second Beach. You know how he loves to run? Well, he was pulling on his leash and practically yanking my arm out when I realized . . .”
I can picture my dog and all the times I used to run with him. Suddenly I’m pissed at my dad. The words come flying out of my mouth. “What the hell? The one thing I miss most about being in here is my dog. And that’s what you decide to finally start talking about?”
People at the other tables stop talking and stare in our direction. Collins has crossed his arms over his huge chest. He looks at me and raises an eyebrow.
“How am I supposed to know what topics are off-limits?” says Dad. “How come whenever I come here I feel like I’m the one who’s on trial?”
“I don’t know.” My thoughts are all jumbled in my head. I can’t figure out what to say. Maybe that’s why my dad gets quiet. I only know I feel like it was his fault. He’s why I took the car and got into this mess.
Dad looks at the other visitors. He lowers his voice and says, “I don’t have to come see you. I don’t have to spend time here. I missed going ice fishing with my buddies from work. They went to Sheridan’s cabin at the lake. But where did I go today? Oh, to see my son. Who never talks to me, unless it’s to give me attitude.”
Now my brain is on fire. “So go to the stupid cabin. I’m just some check mark on your to-do list, anyway.” I stand and lean over the table, spewing hot words in my dad’s direction. “You know I wouldn’t have gotten in that car if you had just driven me to school. Instead, you cared more about someone who was only around for a few days. Like always.”
“Oh, so this is my fault now? You really think I’m the reason you’re stuck in here?”
I sit back down and shake my head. It was his fault that day. And he’s the reason Mom left. If he’d only been more interested in my life, maybe things wouldn’t have gotten so screwed up. My thoughts must show in my facial expression, because Dad takes one look at me and stands up.
He’s skinnier than the last time I saw him. His clothes are rumpled and have stains on them, like he forgot to do laundry. I watch as he stretches one arm into the sleeve of his jacket. Then the other arm. That means we’re done for today. That means whatever else I have to say needs to wait until the next time I see him.
Dad walks away and opens the door to leave the visitors’ room. I quickly call out, “You were saying something about Gemini. Is he okay?”
Dad’s words follow him out the door. “He’s fine.”
The visit is over. I watch as the door shuts behind him. The door that leads outside. The door that takes him home. Home to my dog.
The walk back to my room is slow. Back there, I am pissed that things went south so fast with my dad. I bang my head against the wall.
Macaroni knocks back.
It’s been three days since the blow-up with my dad. Today I have to see my parole officer at two o’clock. Just like with Collins, it’s not his real title. Jackson’s real title here is probation officer, or PO, but we refer to our release as parole. Just because we’re younger doesn’t mean our time here is any different from a prison stint.
Before I meet with Jackson, I have chores to finish. This week I’m stuck cleaning up the gym. It reeks of sweat and dirty socks. And with no open windows, the stale air just gets recycled. As I walk back to the common area, I spot Wired headed straight for me.
“Strider,” he says. “Glad we bumped into each other. About that loan . . .”
I don’t have time for this. “Look, I’ll think about it, okay?”
“Well don’t think too hard! A few Diablos aren’t happy they’re having to wait for their goods. And I have my meeting with Jackson coming up. He’s been on my case about school. So you’re going to help me study as repayment for holding out!”
Crap. So not only is Wired threatening me with the gang members, but I also forgot we have a Grade Twelve History exam coming up. “Give me a couple of days to get my work done for the other classes. Then I’ll help you out.”
He agrees to give me one day. I sigh in relief as Wired struts down the hall. I have managed to stall him for now. But it won’t last. I feel like if I help him out, I’m partly to blame for whatever happens to people who buy his stuff. Just before I came to juvie, there was a kid here who died of an overdose. The guy was only seventeen. Like me. Strummer told me about him and it freaked me out.
I pass the bulletin board with activities we can sign up for. Tomorrow afternoon there will be a creative writing session. That would keep Wired out of my way for a while. He’d never go for anything extra that feels like school work.
It looks like some writers want to share their talents with us. Whatever, I think. I’m not into poetry or reading. But I do like listening to music and playing Taiko drums. If Strummer were here, he’d go for the song writing session. Before I lose my nerve, I add my name to the list.
Then I return to my room while I wait for Jackson.