"It's not about trust, it's about rhythm," Henry said but the looks he was getting suggested that he was the one off-beat.
That's okay, he thought but kept to himself. Despite the strongest urge to look up, out, away, he maintained eye contact. They stared back at him. The lack of verbal reaction fortified his resolve.
"Look, all I'm saying is everything ain't for everyone all time time," he said. They nodded in agreement. He thought they might have detected his smirk as he mentally completed the sentence ...and sometimes I can't stand you motherfuckers.
"But, right now, you need us," his father said.
"I don't need shit."
"What you need is God," his mother replied. The frustration in her voice seemed to sting him, she thought. She watched him try to pull away but get denied by his chains. She continued, "The absence of God is what got you here in your little orange jumpsuit and shackles. You can try to pin that shit on us --"
"Mother," his father interrupted.
"No, let me say this to the boy, John. He needs to hear it. You can talk about beats and rhythms and about what you will or won't do and try to come at us with your jail house philosophy but you can't bullshit us. You put yourself here. You're the one with the master plan and complicated schemes and look what it's got you."
"...Mom..."
"Shut up, boy, for a minute and listen. You can't con me like one of your marks. I know God's grand design and it wasn't for you to become a thief and a criminal and a wannabe bad ass. You're so smart -- but not as smart as you think -- and so charming that you could've been anything. Instead, though, every obstacle was too difficult, every challenge too hard. You always needed the easy way out."
Henry's head was down now. That hint of a smirk gone. His mother softened. She worried he wouldn't look at them again.
"Henry, you're my boy. I begin and end with you and this family will always be here for you."
"Leave," he said, cutting her off.
"What," she asked.
He looked up now, his jaw set, his eyes ablaze, "I said, 'leave.' You think you can come in here and tell me who I am and who I'm not and talk about god's plans and all that? This is my time. I have to do it. Not you, not dad, not your god. Maybe you're right about me. Maybe you are but, truth be told, if I'm going to change it's not going to be with you two coming up here once a week for the next three to five and preaching. So, I'm saying," he looked down again as if choked up. He looked up again with tears in his eyes, "I'm saying, we're not on the same frequency right now. We're not even speaking the same language, mom. So, leave. Don't come back here. You too, dad. Leave me be. I need to find myself."
"You need Jesus," she said without much conviction.
"You need to get the fuck out, " he said with a ton of it and hung up the phone. He scooted his chair around so that now they only saw his back. As the guard came to uncuff him and take him back to his cell, he imagined his mother crying, his dad holding her by the shoulders. Henry's crocodile tears dried quickly as he envisioned them walking back to their car never to return.
Normally, after a con, he couldn't contain his glee. He'd got one over. He'd again somehow made someone happy to do something that they didn't really want to do. Most of the time, though, his confidence games were for his own benefit.
This one, however, was for them and, so, no smile came.
]]>ed. note - Gosh, the first version of this (still unfinished) story was written during the fall of my senior year of high school nearly 15 years ago. I haven't touched it in nearly 10 years. Be gentle.
Calculus.Mrs. Nishimoto turned from the chalk board after drawing the graph of two lines growing closer together and began her lecture. Jon sat in the middle of the class, thankfully behind Claudia Fugazy, the big haired 6 foot volleyball team captain. Mrs. Nishimoto couldn't see him alternating between dozing off and zoning out.
"Asymptotes is limit on graph," Mrs. Nishimoto said and banged her chalk on the Y axis.
He was exhausted but it was that kind of sleep deprivation that left a person in almost a state of shock. He was too tired to even think about sleep. He was extremely light-headed. His eyes would close but his temples ached and if he kept his eyes closed for long, his head would explode with pulsing pain. Besides that, closing his eyes brought him back to the darkness.
"Is 3 type Asymptotes. Is horizontal. That mean on Y axis. Go this way." She put her right hand out in front of her, palm down and moved it back and forth, left to right, right to left."
His mind kept wandering to the events of the morning (but not the night, right Johnny? Never going back there again are we?). The sunlight began cracking through the blinds around 5:30. Jon had not moved an inch from the couch for 3 hours. But as soon as there was light, the shadows dissapeared and he moved quickly to open every curtain, every blind, turn on every light. He made his way up to his room and it was beautifully bright. The bay window without curtains or blinds faced the east and the beautiful orange early morning sun was beaming into every corner of his room. (the corners, Johnny? Why do you care about the corners so much? Chik-chik-chik.) He grabbed jeans out of the hamper and found a clean t-shirt and went to the bathroom to get ready for school trying desperately to have a normal morning to not think about the night before.
"Is Oblique asymptote." She said, although it sounded like 'Obli-kay,' "it have formula, y equals mx plus b. B constant." She put her left hand out in front of her in the shape of a fist. She slowly moved it up and down in a straight line. "M is slope." She put her right hand out, palm faced down and brought it towards her left hand in a curved motion, getting close to the fist but never touching it.
Justin, up in the front row, eagerly raised his hand. His buddies were already chuckling, "Mrs. Nishimoto, is it true that the Oblique Asymptote is more commonly known today as the Theory of Spanking the Monkey?"
Jon looked at his bare chest in the bathroom mirror and thought that the bruise looked smaller than the day before. It had faded in color considerably as well. At least something good was starting the day. He started the shower and took off his sweatpants. He groaned as he saw the mishapen bruises on the tops of his thighs. He must've hit his legs a lot harder than he thought trying to make the blood flow.
But what was that on the right side of his thigh? A round purprle bruise about the size of a silver dollar. And 2 inches down from there another one. And another. The complete right side of his leg, from his hip to his ankle was lined with them. It looked like some kind of macabre pair of bedazzled pants. Perfectly shaped marks, exactly the same distance apart with a tiny dark dot in the center of each one. Like something had been poking at him, prodding him. (attached to ya? Working on ya? Pokin' atcha, poki'n atcha?) Then he saw the exact same thing on his left leg. It was perfect symmetry.
And then he let out a yelp.
"And finally is Vertical asymptote. It go up and down." Mrs. Nishimoto was careful not to make any hand gestures this time. "Who can tell me why is important to know that asymptote mean it limit?"
His mother knocked on the door. "You alright, dear?" she asked, "I heard a noise."
"I'm fine, mom." He couldn't show her this. What would he say? How could he explain. He didn't know what the hell it was. What was happening to him. He simply sat on the toilet cover as the shower ran. He put on his jeans so that he wouldn't have to look at his legs and steadied himself. As soon as he wasn't looking at the marks, he could start to pretend things were normal again. He'd go to school, have a good day and everything would be alright. Hell, the other bruise was already gone these wouldn't be around for long either.
And so here he sat in Calculus, having nightmares with his eyes open.
"Limit is important because it mean that there are two lines." She braved hand motions again, this time putting both her right and left hand out in front of her, palms facing. She started moving them closer together. "What asymptote mean is that two things get closer and closer, they get so close look like one thing. They get," and she paused making sure she said the english correctly, "infinitely closer but never touch. So close look like one thing but no matter how small still space between them."
Jon snapped back into the real world when he heard that. He started looking at the corners of the room and began to remember (Get in the corner, boy! Just stand there.) and wonder.