Vini, vidi, corruit. My father came, saw, and slumped to the leather couch in the living room. I had been sitting at the kitchen table reading a copy of Captain Underpants. After a brisk session of Flip-o-Rama, I remembered that there was a new episode of my favorite show. The living room was attached to the kitchen table like an amoeba to its prey, so it was inevitable I’d have to see Phyllis. Phyllis, at that time of the day, would await for my father to regain his lost sleep and rob his attention from the universe. She’d have a new medal to brandish vainly or have another accomplishment to gloat about. With every report from Phyllis, my father would grin with achievement and stare like a man whose dreams are to be realized. Later in life I would refer to her as a thot.
I walked to the theater room for my conference with Spongebob Squarepants, which would have begun in five minutes. Strolling past assorted posters of movies, I found the familiar entrance to the theater room. When I groped the handle, I was dumbfounded by the less-than-usual effort I needed to turn it. Next, the door swung open and produced a man of unknown origin. I had to crane my head up more for this stranger than anyone I had ever met. I do not recall the assailant’s face, because he backhanded me into a poster of a shirtless, Asiatic man before my eyes could finish scaling his body.
My first conversation after the incident was with a policeman. However, my first true conversation was with a voice on my father’s cell phone. It was similar to my father’s, but it was more worn, less callous, yet had the same nuances in speech. To be honest, the conversation was as much of a conversation as a fish is a bird. Instead it was a barrage of inquiries about my wellbeing. Were you hurt? Did he… (Insert monstrous verb) you? Are you okay now?
Those questions are all I remember of that voice, because its owner was silenced before I could meet him. This as much as I will disclose to you. For now.