After walking into the house, he called his mother’s cell phone and confirmed she was going out that night, and then quickly dialed Hanna’s number.
“Hello?” Hanna said.
“Hanna, it’s Aaron.”
“Aaron? Aaron who?”
Words wouldn’t leave his mouth. “Um,” he finally managed and then she laughed.
“I’m just messing with you. Geez.”
“Me too,” he lied.
“Yeah, I’m sure. So, what’s up?”
“Looks like I can make it tonight, at least for a bit.” He paced the kitchen, unable to sit, excitement and nervousness coursing through his veins.
“Really?” she said, her voice excited.
“Yup.”
“Awesome.”
“What time should I—”
“Pick me up?” she asked, finishing his sentence.
Shit, he hadn’t planned on that. He needed to arrive alone, ready to leave at the drop of a hat in the event something unforeseeable happened.
“What time were you planning on going out?” he asked.
“Around nine or so.”
“Shit,” he said. “I have something I need to do and won’t be done until about ten. Maybe even later. Can you get a ride, and I’ll meet you there whenever I get done?”
“So mysterious,” she said, then laughed. “Yeah. Erin will pick me up. No problem.”
“If I can come earlier, I will.”
“Okay, I’ll save you a seat. See you then.”
“Sounds good. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Aaron wanted to burst out of his skin. The first time he’d seen her, his pulse had quickened. He hadn’t thought he’d have a chance with her. Then he’d heard she liked him and it only made things worse because she’d never go out with an ex-con. But after talking with her, and her making it obvious she wanted him to go out with him, he couldn’t say no. He was going to risk being sent back to prison. Thinking about it, he knew his decision to break curfew was a stupid one. But he needed a night of freedom, a night to feel normal.
Aaron headed upstairs to his bedroom, stripped off his clothes and hopped into the shower, making sure to scrub a little extra behind the ears and under his balls. He brushed his teeth and tongue, put on deodorant, then stood in front of his closet, wondering what he was supposed to wear tonight.
Most of his clothing was jeans, sweatpants, T-shirts and flannel shirts. He had one suit, purchased for him by his mother, who told him that every man needed at least one suit. His mother had given him two hundred dollars to go clothes shopping with when he got out of prison. He’d made sure to buy a pair of slacks, black shoes and a few golf shirts to wear to his parole meetings and job interviews. The rest of the money he spent on jeans and T-shirts.
Having never been to Mo’s, he had no idea what type of place it was, or what the people from work would be wearing; he’d only seen them in their work attire.
Thinking about his co-workers, he realized there was only one that truly mattered, one he needed to look nice for. Hanna. He had no idea what type of music she listened to, let alone what else she was into, save watching horror movies—something she and Erin constantly talked about. In fact, he didn’t know much about her at all. Their conversations were always about work, news and customers.
Aaron groaned, feeling the headache returning, and flopped onto his bed. Hanna liked him, that much was obvious, and she’d only seen him in his sloppy, stained work clothes. He suddenly felt better, realizing that he just needed to show up, and that anything he wore would look better than an apron.
He tore though his closet; many of the clothes were heavy metal T-shirts from his teenage days. His mother had thrown nothing out when he was away. Almost to the end of the rack, he came across the three golf shirts he’d purchased and decided on the navy blue one. He pulled it off the hanger and tried it on. The shirt fit nicely. With a pair of dark blue jeans and his black shoes, he’d look decent.
He placed the golf shirt back in the closet and dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt. His plan was simple: After his mother got home from work, she’d eat dinner, get ready, and then leave around nine o’clock. That’s when he’d get dressed.
As she did almost every Friday night, his mom departed from the house shortly before nine, the house reeking of her perfume. Aaron had been sprawled on the couch, watching TV until that time, then he hurried to his bedroom as her ride left the driveway, and dressed. Feeling a bit awkward, he studied himself in the full-length mirror. From metalhead, to inmate, to what? Preppy guy? He laughed. His nerves were getting the best of him.
Aaron hadn’t been around people in a casual setting for years. There would be no duties to keep everyone occupied, performing. Tonight, his co-workers would be relaxed, be themselves. It had been even longer since he was with a girl.
He got along with all the restaurant’s employees, including the manager and owner, both of whom wouldn’t be present tonight, since neither ever went out with the crew.
Aaron wondered if he’d fit in.
Being in prison, he’d missed out on a pivotal part of life, when a person truly entered adulthood, made grownup decisions, like deciding to get married or what type of career to pursue. He’d had to learn about the goings-on of the world through his AM radio, magazine articles and visitors, and from what other inmates told him, having heard things from people who visited them. He’d been catching up on events and changes since he was released, like computers, digital cameras, smart phones, television shows, movies and how society was as a whole. The nightly news allowed for some of this, but more often than not, the news was too scary to watch.
Hell, he thought, staring at himself in the mirror. I’ll be fine.
None of the people from work who were going to the bar knew he had been in prison. Tonight, like at work, he’d simply be one of the guys, and he had nothing to worry about.
Then, he thought about it some more, and his throat nearly closed. He was going to be breaking curfew, a clear parole violation—risking going back to prison, and for a girl. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how fucking nuts he was acting. It was only a few days ago he’d almost gotten a speeding ticket. He was really going to push his luck.
Standing in front of his mirror, he turned and stared at his twin-size bed, the same bed he’d grown up sleeping in, He-Man sheets and all. “Damn it,” he yelled and quickly left his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He was tired of thinking about what-ifs. He’d made a decision. He was leaving.
Grabbing his keys from the key hooks in the kitchen, he hurried out of the house before he lost his nerve.
Darkness had fallen, the veil of night supplying him with a false sense of security. He was no safer now than during daylight hours, but still, the gloom was welcomed.
As he climbed into his car and slid the key into the ignition, his mind conjured up the unmarked gray sedan—a Chevy Impala if he remembered correctly—and the creepy cop it held. He hadn’t seen the standard police-issued vehicle or the cop since he’d been pulled over, but the notion of getting stopped again unnerved him.
Telling himself he was going to have a good time tonight, he forced the ominous thoughts from his mind and started the engine, and then drove out of his driveway and onto the road, keeping to the speed limit the entire way to the bar.
Mo’s parking lot was packed, but after circling part of the grounds, he found a spot in the far left corner of the property. He checked himself in the rearview mirror, then headed inside.
For a split second, he was worried no one from work, including Hanna, had showed, but then he saw them, seated on the right side of the large room, near the pool table. They were dressed casually, for the most part. Bobby wore a black button-down shirt and jeans, Jeff had on a red T-shirt and jeans and Jerome was wearing a tight black shirt and jeans. Becky was dressed i
n a low-cut pink blouse that showed off the top of her breasts and black pants with slits up the thighs. Erin sported an undersized tank top and skintight black leggings, while Lacey wore a long-sleeved shirt and pants—she was always complaining about how cold she was. Then there was Hanna, looking even more beautiful than ever in an electric-blue tank top and baby blue jean skirt. At work, she wore her hair up in a bun or pulled back into a ponytail, but tonight her long, auburn-colored hair was free, falling below her shoulders and accentuating her incredible radiance.
As he made his way over to the table, she turned and saw him, then jumped up, face bright with glee, and ran over to him. Aaron stopped, feeling awkward, knowing everyone at the table was watching. He waited to see what she was going to do—stop in front of him or give him a hug—then received his answer when she wrapped her arms around him. The delicious and familiar aroma of strawberries—from the shampoo she used—mixed with her natural, enticing scent enveloped him. The embrace was a short-lived squeeze, a happy-you’re-here type of hug. She released him and took a step back.
“I’m so glad you made it,” she said.
“How could I not?” he said.
She grabbed his hand and guided him to the table.
Conversation stopped briefly upon his arrival, but then quickly started up again, Aaron fitting in seamlessly. Jokes were made pertaining to his first night out with the work gang. “We’re honored to have you in our presence, oh, king of the kitchen,” Erin said, followed by Jerome asking with a raised eyebrow, “I wonder what finally made you come out?” He then nodded at Hanna. Aaron felt his face redden and in hopes of no one thinking he was embarrassed, picked up the pitcher of beer in front of him and poured himself a glass.
Everyone at the table chatted, moving from group conversations to smaller discussions. He and Hanna talked to each other while going in and out of commenting on others’ dialogue, like when Erin asked Hanna if she thought Mike was a closet cross-dresser, or when Jeff asked Aaron if he wanted to get together with him and Jerome for poker one night. Other than minor interruptions, the group seeming to want to leave them alone, he and Hanna talked about their goals in life, work, movies, books—Aaron had become a voracious reader in prison—and other things. Hanna was saving for college, tired of not making any real money. She wanted to be a nurse, then from there, possibly become a nurse practitioner. Aaron lied, or rather skirted around the issue, saying he’d been working remedial jobs since graduating high school and didn’t know what he really wanted out of life, except to find a woman he could love and settle down with.
Hanna smiled at that, then eyed him suspiciously.
“No, seriously,” he said. “When I find the right woman, everything else will work itself out. I believe that.”
“You’re too good to be true, mister,” she said, wagging a finger at him.
If you only knew, he thought, suddenly feeling guilty. He could see having a relationship with her. He knew enough to know he wanted to be with her. And unless he was crazy, she wanted him too. There hadn’t been a lull or awkward second between them. If they wound up dating, got serious, he’d have to tell her the truth. And if she found out on her own… He couldn’t let that happen. But that was far off, if it happened at all, and tonight was about having fun.
“Care to dance?” she asked, standing and holding out her arm.
“Um, sure,” he said, joining her. “But I have to warn you, I kind of suck.” He hated dancing, always had, but he joined her regardless, wanting to make a good impression.
As the music pumped, Aaron moved his hips and limbs, trying to feel the music and let it move him. Hanna laughed, abusing him a little, but all in good fun. During the slower songs, she grabbed onto him and pulled him close, ground up against him. Aaron gazed into her eyes, feeling the ignition of passion between them, and then their lips met.
When the faster music started up again, they went back to the table. Aaron was flying high, wondering if he’d been knocked unconscious and was in a coma. If he was, he didn’t want to wake up. He couldn’t believe how great things were going and he fought with himself about whether to tell her the truth about himself or simply wait for another day, when they were alone and alcohol wasn’t involved. He remained silent on the matter, not wanting to ruin the evening, and if it came to her coming home with him, he would bow out, telling her he had to get up early.
Before long, they hit the dance floor again, worked up a sweat and returned to the table.
“That was fun,” she said, fanning herself with a napkin.
“You guys look good together,” Erin said.
“I need a drink,” Hanna said.
Erin pushed an empty glass over to her, then picked up a container filled with a dark red, slushy liquid and filled the glass. “Try this, it’s delicious.”
“Want some, Aaron?” Erin asked.
“No. I have to—”
“He has to get up early,” Hanna said, cutting him off.
Aaron felt his thigh vibrate. Someone was calling him. Shit, maybe his mom had come home early. It had happened before, though not often. She was probably worried sick.
“Excuse me,” he said and slid his phone out of his pocket.
The call was private.
“Important?” Hanna asked.
“Private caller,” he said, and hit ignore. “I usually don’t answer private calls, or numbers I don’t recognize.”
“Me either.”
He shoved the phone back into his pocket and went on talking with everyone at the table until Hanna got up and went to the ladies’ room.
“Guess I’ll go too,” he said. “Damn beers go right through me.”
Inside the men’s room, he checked the time on his phone, seeing that it was 12:30 a.m. He knew he should head home, but he was having such a great time. His mom usually came home around two a.m. Sometimes she came home by one a.m. but not often. So technically, he might have another hour to hang out, giving him a half hour to make it home before his mom.
Standing in front of a urinal, he relieved himself, thinking he had the bathroom to himself, when a male voice said, “I told you to answer your phone when I call.”
Startled, he glanced to his right and saw a man standing by the door. Not sure what was going on, he zipped up his pants and faced the man. There was something familiar about him, and then it hit him. It was the cop who had pulled him over, though the man was in plain clothes and wasn’t wearing sunglasses. Aaron’s mouth fell open.
The cop stepped up to him and he shuffled backward into the wall. It was the wrong move to make, revealing his cowardice.
“Why don’t you answer my calls, Aaron?” the cop asked, his dark eyes locked onto Aaron’s. “I called you the other day, when you left work. Then I called you earlier tonight, when you were talking to that pretty little thing out there. Are you reneging on our deal?”
Aaron was speechless. The cop hadn’t forgotten about him. In fact, it was the opposite. The bastard had been following him, keeping an eye on him, but why?
“Answer me, boy,” the man demanded.
“No. No. I’m not reneging. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“You look pale, Aaron. Surprised to see me?”
“I…um…” He didn’t want to seem rattled, weak. In prison, weakness could mean a death sentence. “I didn’t know it was you calling. The number was private. I don’t answer private calls.”
The cop grinned, then jabbed Aaron in the chest with his forefinger. Aaron winced. “Now you know it was me who’s been calling. So next time you see a private number, pick the fuck up. Got it?”
“Yeah,” Aaron said, nodding.
The bathroom door opened.
The cop spun around.
Two men walked in, laughing.
“Get the fuck out of here,” the cop said, whipping out his badge. “Police business.�
�
“Hey,” one of the men said. “I got to piss.”
“You can piss in your buddy’s mouth for all I care, but you ain’t doing it here.”
“Damn, man,” the big guy said, then he and his friend left.
As soon as the door closed, the cop faced Aaron again.
“I stuck my neck out for you, Aaron,” the cop said. “Was I wrong? Or do you think I’m an asshole? Someone you can ignore? Take advantage of my kindness?”
“No,” Aaron said, his fear replaced by anger. “After not hearing from you right away, I wasn’t sure what to think. Maybe you’d forgotten about me, or had just tried to put a scare into me. Like I just said, now that I know it’s you, I’ll pick up my phone. I swear.”
“Good.” The cop stepped up to a urinal. Aaron heard the sound of the man’s zipper, then the flow of urine. “But now we have another problem, Aaron.”
“We do?”
“Yeah. You’re out past your curfew, or have you been given special permission to go out on dates?”
Aaron closed his eyes, let out a long breath. Now the cop had something else on him. He never should have left his house. Hearing the flush of the urinal, Aaron opened his eyes. The cop pulled up his zipper and walked over to the sink.
“I can see how distressed you are,” the cop said, washing his hands. “And you should be. You’re in clear violation of your parole, much worse than getting a speeding ticket. I haul you in, say you were in a bar, and it’s back to the slammer for sure. No more sticking your dick in that sweet piece of ass out there.”
“Please, Officer,” Aaron said. “I’ll—”
“Shut it, boy,” the cop said, taking a couple of paper towels from the dispenser. He dried his hands and tossed the crumpled paper into the trash can. “I get it. You just wanted to have some fun. Couldn’t have the party at Mommy’s house. But you’re being punished for your crime. You’re not free to do as you please. The State granted you a conditional reprieve. The powers that be thought you could be trusted. So far, you’ve proved you can’t be trusted, that you need supervision. Bars to keep you in.”
The Unhinged Page 5