Page 102 of The Fed Sex Man

Jo

I wanted answers,but I had no idea what to say or how to say it. Driven by nothing but instinct, I proceeded with caution and the utmost respect.

“I thought your father died in a car wreck?”

“I alluded to that, but I didn’t specifically say it,” he explained. “I wasn’t at a point that I was ready to talk about it yet. I guess I am, now.”

My topsy-turvy stomach gave warning. I didn’t want to know what happened. If Tyson was ready to talk about it, however, I needed to be ready to listen.

“Whenever you’re ready to talk,” I assured him. “I’ll listen.”

He looked past me, beyond the edge of the highway’s overpass. “His car was a six-speed, and I had no idea how to drive it. He was persistent, always demanding that I learn. ‘A man needs to be able to drive a stick shift’ he’d say. We’d gone out every night that week, practicing stopping, shifting, and taking off from a dead stop.”

He gestured toward the roadway below with a nod of his head. “We were down there somewhere, driving in a residential neighborhood, because there wasn’t much traffic. It was getting dark and we were ready to call it a night. A kid came out of nowhere on a bike. I went to push in the clutch and hit the brake instead. The car stalled, and I stomped the gas by accident. We shot right toward the kid. I yanked the wheel. The car spun out and slid sideways. I lost control and slammed right into a telephone pole. It tore the left side of his new car open like someone had done it with a can opener. Headlight. Fender. Door. Hood.”

He looked away and shook his head.

“I was pretty shaken up. My father wasn’t even mad. He took the driver’s seat, and we headed home. Just after we exited the off-ramp, there was a police roadblock set up. When we came to a stop, he looked at me, said ‘shh’, and set the brake.”

Gazing blankly at the front of the car, he blinked a few times, and then continued. “They were looking for an escaped prisoner who’d stolen a car and eluded the cops. There was a helicopter, dogs, the whole bit. One of the cops saw the damage on the car and asked where we’d been. He told the cop he didn’t think it was any of his business where we’d been. To be honest, it wasn’t. We weren’t escaped convicts, we were just a father and a son, going home on a Sunday night. The cop took offense and got an attitude. He asked for my father’s driver’s license.”

With my hands pressed against the top of the car, I stood on shaking legs, waiting for the conclusion to a story that I already knew the ending to. An ending I feared I didn’t want to hear a detailed description of.

He shifted his eyes to meet mine. “He didn’t have his wallet, and I knew it. I wanted a Gatorade when we started, and he realized he’d left it at home. He did it all the time. He hated carrying that thing. My father told him he didn’t have any reason or right to see his license. He explained we’d done nothing to warrant being detained or being searched. He said we were just trying to get home, which was only a few blocks away. The cop called the canine officer over. When the dog got to the car, it uhhm. It started barking. That’s when things went to hell.”

The primary color of his eyes had changed from green to brown, making them seem much darker and far less inviting. He didn’t need to continue. I felt sick. In fact, I was mortified, and he hadn’t even finished the story.

“Everything happened…it all happened at the same time. The helicopter shined its light in the windshield. Shadows flickered. Someone screamed ‘don’t move’. Someone else screamed ‘show me your license’. And then, someone screamed…he uhhm…someone yelled, ‘gun!’. The uhhm. The first shot was deafening, but not so much that I didn’t hear the other two cops empty their service weapons into the car.” He looked up. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. “I watched him die, Jo. For nothing. For absolutely fucking nothing.”

It was worse than I imagined. Much worse. I couldn’t get my words past the lump in my throat, so I joined him in mourning his father’s loss by crying.

The officer stepped to Tyson’s side. “It’s your lucky day, Mister Neese.”

Tyson’s gaze fell to his hands. The muscles in his jaw flexed. “Is that right?”

Studying the paperwork clipped to his metal clipboard, the officer didn’t bother looking up. “I’m going to let you off with a warning.”

Tears rolled down Tyson’s cheeks. He glanced at the officer. “For what?”

The officer, still studying the paperwork, hadn’t noticed Tyson’s state of being.

“Speeding,” the officer said.

A vein along the side of Tyson’s neck expanded. He was clearly on the verge of snapping. If he did, there was no way it would end well.

I needed him to remain calm. I cleared my throat. “Ty-son.”

His eyes met mine. I raised my index finger and mouthed the word please.

He exhaled a breath through his nose and looked at the officer. “I appreciate that, officer,” he said through clenched teeth.

The officer tore the warning ticket from the clipboard and handed a copy to Tyson, along with his license. “Again, it’s not a citation, and there’s no notice to appear.”

Tyson glared.

“Have a nice afternoon,” the officer said.

Tyson didn’t respond. He merely rested his forearms against the top of the car and clenched the wadded warning ticket in his hand. After having just recalled the loss of his father, I could only imagine where his mind was.