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Now, all Michael could think about was the fact that Tim would hit puberty in a few years. His body would start growing, changing him into a man, but his mind would never catch up. He would never know what it was like to make love to a woman, to use what God gave him to bring pleasure to another human being.
kind of a weird thing to think about your child...or is it just me?
There was a reason these guys got the shit beaten out of them in school. There was a reason it was guys like Michael doing the beating. Michael took a deep breath, then coughed, his lungs still pissed about the cigarette. He thought about Tim, how his son wasn’t normal, how this attracted abuse from other kids. There was already a group of bullies at Tim’s school who had given him some grief—stealing his hat, flattening his sandwich at the lunch table. The teachers tried to stop it, but they couldn’t be everywhere all the time and some of them weren’t real happy to begin with about Tim’s being
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When the door had banged shut, Trent turned to Michael. “What do you think?” “I think he’s right,” Michael said, pushing away from the car. “You’re pretty fucking strange.”
Pretend nothing was surprising and you would never be surprised.
“You can’t help somebody who doesn’t want to be helped.”
“Drugs have a way of getting into any community.”
Prison was full of young girls who thought they were in love.
It didn’t take a Harvard economist to figure out that it’d be a hell of a lot cheaper spending money on helping keep kids safe when they were younger than it was to put them in jail when they were older. That was the American way, though. Spend a million dollars rescuing some kid who’s fallen down a well, but God forbid you spend a hundred bucks up front to cap the well so the kid never falls down it in the first place.
Being raped wasn’t the hard part. Surviving was what killed you.
