"Father" by Armin Tolentino
Then one day, the cop who picked me up called my house and asked me if I knew of any family for Paul Latcher.
"Where is he?"
"He passed away last night in his cell. Found him this morning."
"What happened to him?"
"Well, any number of things I guess. Wasn't in good shape, I think you could tell. They'll be doing the autopsy two days from now. But for now we need someone to claim the body." There was nothing in his voice to make you think he was talking about a dead person and if you couldn't understand English and you were listening to this, he could have been talking about a ham and cheese sandwich for all you could tell.
I went to the station and asked to see him. A butch cop behind the Plexiglas with her hair pulled back in a severe bun told me only family could see the body and then she went back to her reports. When she saw I wasn't leaving, her face hardened into a gargoyle frown. But my cop, Officer Talkie-Talk saw me and diffused the situation. He wouldn't let me see the body and I honestly I didn’t know why I wanted to see it so badly. I guess I just wanted proof. He did let me in though to sort through his personal effects.
"Didn't have much on him, obviously. No ID and no one's called. So he'll sit in the freezer for a week more and then, into the oven. That's what we do with them." There was his navy blue Dickies shirt, his white Adidas, the right one with the heel peeling off. Pants. Shirt. Harley Davidson cap. Just the stuff he was wearing when we went in. There was some loose change and two crumpled bills. The only thing I didn't expect was a tangled length of fishing line in his right pocket, florescent pink with a fake frog lure tied to the end. Fucking moron. He must have bought it when he got the forty and thought he'd teach me how to fish. I put the line and the lure in my pocket and I'm pretty sure the cop saw, but he didn't say anything.
When I walked back home, it was after dinner and I realized I didn't have a key to the front door. I never brought a key with me when I left in December. I didn't want to knock and thought about sleeping outside on the lawn, but after a bit I did and my mother opened the door. For the first time since I'd been home she screamed at me. She didn't even let me in, just screamed at me while I stood on the step, the porch light in my eyes so all I could see was her silhouette. It must have been a full five minutes she was screaming about how could I leave without telling them where I went, that I was killing her. I had nothing to say and stood there dumbly. She screamed herself exhausted I guess and then hugged me and I could feel her hot tears soaking in my shirt. I thought about hugging her back, but there was nothing in me for that, nothing to give back and she let go and went to bed.
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