Jerry stared at the man, now old, shaking, looking with glazed eyes. Spotting the white under his nose. Old habits never die.
"Son, it's me. You don real good for yourself."
This man that took everything from them.
"Damn little punk! You no different from your whore mama. You damn kids running around my house. Go fine your mama, I ain't your daddy."
As always, he was high that night as he chased them out into the dark cold night.
This man that smashed his mom's head when she was pregnant with Gina.
This man that put a gun to his twelve year old son's head and threatened to shoot.
This man that left them broke as hell and alone, watching mama bleed from the hundredth head smash.
"Mr. Jerry sir, do you know him?"
Jerry stared at this man. The words echoed
"Jerry honey, we gotta take the high road. We gotta be better."
This man!
"Mark, take him to the hospital." Jerry marched away to his place of solace.
He slumped down on the beautiful stone and relieved all those years.
With every memory that popped, he wept heavy tears of buried anger.
Where do you think Jerry went?
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