Three weeks later Macon County Jail

“Grandma do we really have to do this?” I asked with a sigh as we pulled into the parking lot of the county building where my father was being held.

“Justin I know this is hard for you, but you know that Diane and Cynthia both feel it’s important that at least try to talk to your father before his trial begins. Honey, he needs to know that you forgive him for what he did,” she says as she takes my hand and gently kisses the back of it.

In their infinite wisdom, Diane and Cynthia thought it would be a good idea for me to visit Craig while he was sitting in the county jail awaiting his trial. I guess they felt like I needed the opportunity to express to him how I really felt. Unfortunately, my grandmother agreed.

“Remind me to send them a nice little thank you card,” I huffed “And besides, I can’t honestly tell him I forgive him….because I don’t.” Grandma gave my hand a gentle squeeze before we got out of the car and headed toward the building.

Once we got inside we were greeted by three uniformed guards who led us to a waiting area where we were given the rules and regulations of visit conduct.

“There will be no direct physical contact of any kind with the inmate.  All packages brought into this facility will be inspected thoroughly before they are allowed to be passed off to said inmate. No monies are to change hands during your visit, if you want to add to an inmate’s books; please see the desk clerk on your way out. If any of these conditions are violated your visit will be terminated immediately.”

After receiving the laundry list of  do’s and don’ts of visitation etiquette, we were escorted to changing rooms of some sort and instructed to take off our shoes, shirts, pants, and socks. I was sure I would die of embarrassment right then and there as I began to slowly disrobe under the guard’s intense scrutiny.

“Come on Junior, we ain’t got all day,” the guard whose nametag read Spruill spat a he had decided I wasn’t moving fast enough for his taste.

“I’m sorry for taking so long, I’m just a little nervous here,” I replied hoping that would placate him a little.

“Not my problem kid. Now hurry the fuck up I have more important things to do.”

Geeze what an asshole I thought to myself. I could just imagine what kind of hell my Grandmother was going through, on second thought I really didn’t want to think about it. It would piss me off to no end to think someone was talking to Grandma that way. Thankfully the ‘strip search’ didn’t last too long and Grandma seemed to come out of it in one piece.

“Now when you see Craig please try to mind your manners and your tongue for that matter,” grandma scolded. I just rolled my eyes and promised to try and behave myself…..yeah right like that was going to happen. The visiting area was very small and depressing. The walls were a sickly grey color with matching dingy tables and chairs. There was one vending machine in the far left corner of the room that was half full at best, and the sound of screaming kids and crying spouses was almost unbearable. Ten minutes later, Craig was escorted into the visiting area wearing a god awful orange jumpsuit and shackled from wrist to ankle. When he spotted us the look on his face told me that he wasn’t expecting us to be his visitors. He hesitantly made his way to our table and sat down glaring daggers as he faced me.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” was the first thing to come out of his mouth. Not thank you for coming or how have you been, I would have even settled for kiss my ass.

“Craig we’re here because I think it’s important that you and Justin talk so you can clear things up between you,” grandma said before I had a chance to speak up.

“What is there to clear up? He’s the fucking reason I’m in here in the first place.”

“What do you mean I’m the reason you’re in here?” I asked “If it weren’t for your faggoty ways my business wouldn’t have been failing. Once word got out that you were a little cocksucker, people stopped coming into the store. When that happened I had to try and find a way to fix the mess you made. My only regret was that I didn’t kick you the fuck out then…..Guard!!!”

My grandmother looked at me sympathetically, silently asking if it were true. The exchange didn’t escape Craig’s notice and he smirked satisfied that he may have caused me the least bit of pain. I felt anger and nervousness creep up on me and the combination made me physically ill. I was angry because I hadn’t come out to my Grandmother because I was afraid she would turn me away like Craig and my mother had.

“Oh come on Annie, you can’t tell me you didn’t know about your darling little grandson,” he drawled.

“No I didn’t know, but that makes no difference to me,” grandma said. “And how dare you blame your acts of duplicity on your own son.”

“That little faggot is no son of mine.” Grandma started to speak but I cut her off mid- sentence. I refused to let him have the last word.

“Listen you selfish prick, I hope you rot in hell for what you’ve done to our family. You can disown me as your son all you like it doesn’t hurt me in the least, I’ll have you know that you stopped being my father a long fucking time ago,” I said as I stood just inches away from his face.

“Can we now grandma?”

“Gladly Justin.” We gathered our belongings and made our way out of the visiting area.  We walked down the corridor in an uncomfortable silence which I was surprisingly grateful for. I really didn’t feel like discussing what had happened at the moment. I always  had a feeling that my father somehow thought I was the cause for our family falling apart, but to hear it out loud caused me to have feelings that I wasn’t quite ready to deal with yet.

As we continued down the hall there was some kind of commotion going on that prevented us from reaching the exit doors.

“Take your fucking hands off of me!” someone kept screaming over and over again. Then there was the sound of chairs being knocked to the ground and tables being overturned. I began to wonder if we would make it out of here alive.

“Sir you need to calm down” The guards kept trying to get whoever it was to cooperate but to no avail. “Fuck you Barney Miller,” the mystery person said. The voices were getting closer and closer and just as they were about to turn the corner, the voice started to sound strangely familiar. Soon enough my suspicions were confirmed. Two very muscular guards were bringing a very drunk Brian Kinney into the booking station, where they were currently handcuffing him to the waiting bench. He looked as if he were drifting in and out of his alcohol induced stupor; that is until we happened to lock eyes on one another.