Page 9 of Alex
Ilet Mason talk me into helping paint the new shelter after today’s class, soI’m in for a long day. Mason waves when I enter the gym and his son, Cody,tackles me at the knees, falling on his butt when I don’t budge.
“UncleAlex! Daddy says you’re teaching my class today!”
“That’sright.” I hoist the manic six year old to his feet.
“Canwe do an obstacle course?”
“Doyou remember how to set it up?”
“Yes!”He dances around, and I ruffle his hair. Was I ever so happy?
“Goahead and get started before the other kids show up.” Obstacle course is fineby me. The kids run in and out of cones, dodge a swinging bag, and balance onan array of equipment. At this age, it’s as much about teaching them to followdirections as building their strength and flexibility. Plus, they love it, andit’s an easy class for me.
Whenit’s over, I head over to Mason’s new house. He decided to move the StrikingBack shelter out of the city and add more long term housing. In addition tobuilding his house on the expansive property, he’s ordered two more constructedin the hopes Parker and I will also move in.
Thelong term housing unit consists of small apartments built around a courtyardwhere a playground is under construction. The builders are off for theholidays, so I have the place to myself until Mason shows up. He doesn’t needany help. Like Ian, he’s trying to keep me busy and distracted.
Still,I grab a roller, pan, and a bucket of yellow paint, and start in one of thekitchens. Mason arrives a few minutes later and pulls an earbud out of my ear. It’spossible I was singing and dancing along while I worked. “Christ, your dancingis worse than your singing. You call yourself gay?”
“Don’tstereotype. I can dance my sexy ass off.”
Masongrins and sets to work. “You’re in a good mood.”
“Guessso.”
“I’mtrimming trees tomorrow if you want to.”
Ihold up my palm. “Tomorrow’s Saturday.”
Hefrowns. “You’re still visiting?”
“Yes.”
“Tocountdown the days until he’s executed?” he continues, his voice matter offact.
“Yes.”
Witha sigh, he gazes at me. “Do you want me to go with you?”
“Nothanks.” My worthless father abused me and my brothers. My mother caught theworst of it, though, for trying to leave. For trying to protect us.
Hekilled her when I was eight years old. Shot her in the head seventeen years agothis month. I hate him and can’t wait to see him pay with his life. He’sscared. I could see it in his face. So every week on visiting day, I sit acrossfrom him, stare through thick glass, and remind him how many days he has leftto live. It’s the least I can do.
Thesubject turns to lighter topics and I’m happy to have an enjoyable evening withmy older brother. Between his new wife and son, and his work at Striking Back,we haven’t spent much time together lately.
Ianis sitting on the couch when I get home, a distant expression on his face. Hedoesn’t even seem to notice when I stand in front of him. “Hey, everythingokay?”
Hiseyebrows jump, then he leans forward, running his hands through his hair.“Fine.”
“Haveyou decided whether to contact your grandmother?”
“Idon’t know what I’m going to do yet.”
“You’llfigure it out. I’m going to grab some food. You hungry?”
“No,I’m going to crash. See you tomorrow.”
Afterhe heads to his room, I nuke a couple of frozen burritos and settle in front ofthe T.V. to watch some Netflix. I feel strangely at peace tonight and it isn’tlong before I doze off.
