Flush

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The deputy told me to empty my pockets: two quarters, a penny, a stick of bubble gum, and a roll of grip tape for my skateboard. It was pitiful.

“Go on inside. He's waiting for you,” the deputy said.

My dad was sitting alone at a bare metal table. He looked pretty good, all things considered. He wasn't even handcuffed.

“Happy Father's Day,” I said.

He stood up and gave me a hug. “Thanks, Noah,” he said.

In the room there was another deputy-a broad, jowly bear standing next to the door that led to the jail cells. I guess his job was to make sure I wasn't smuggling a hacksaw to my father so that he could break out.

“It's good they let you keep your own clothes,” I said to Dad. “I figured they'd make you put on one of those dorky uniforms.”

“I'm sure they will, sooner or later.” He shrugged. “You doing okay?”

“How come you won't let Mom bail you out?” I asked.

“Because it's important for me to be here right now.”

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