Page 6 of His Favorite Felon

“Why me?” I sighed, unable to believe this was happening to me.

I still couldn’t understand how my luggage ended up containing cocaine, fentanyl, and marijuana. I kept thinking about what might have happened. Did someone plant the drugs? Probably not. What would be the point, and why would anyone target me? I don’t know anyone involved in that kind of activity. I should have sensed something was wrong. I had a nagging feeling as I headed to the airport, but I dismissed it as the usual pre-flight jitters when your mind checks for forgotten items. I figured I might have left my toothbrush, spare charger, or my thirteenth pair of underwear. I never expected drugs to be in my suitcase.

Two weeks after my very humiliating arrest, I was in a county jail. This was my first visit, and I was staring at my daddy through thick glass. He looked as exhausted as I felt. He had been talking in nonstop circles, saying everything and yet nothing at the same time.

“Daddy, please help me. They denied my bond. I don’t understand what happened. How did that shit get into your suitcase?”

He looked down, and I sensed he was about to share something I wasn’t ready to hear. However, he chose to take the easy way out.

“I wish I knew, baby. I really do.” He pinched the tip of his nose.

With that motion, I knew he was lying. He had a habit of touching his nose whenever he was nervous or lying.

“The suitcase was yours. How did my items get replaced with drugs?”

He shrugged and looked everywhere but at me. “I don’t know, baby girl. I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”

“The fucking truth!” I shouted.

“Inmate! Lower your voice. Another outburst and I’ll take your visitation away for the next month,” The correctional officer behind me spat.

I rolled my eyes and turned my attention back to my lyin’ ass daddy.

“I knew I shouldn’t have come. You’re drawing too much attention.” He spoke through gritted teeth.

“I beg your fuckin’ pardon. I’m causing too much attention?” I whispered through gritted teeth, matching his energy.

“Sorry, but last I checked, I’m the one behind bars for something I didn’t do. Sorry if I’m panicking and embarrassing you. You’d think you’d be just as loud as me trying to get me out of here,” I said.

“Look, Junior, I had those bags for years.” He rubbed his face with a hand. “I don’t know where that shit came from.”

I couldn’t believe he was behaving so... so helpless and nonchalant.

“Remember how much your mother used to hide her shit all around the house? She could have used that suitcase and left it inside.”

“Daddy!” I said, shocked, a mixture of surprise and disgust.

“I understand Mommy had a drug problem, but let’s be honest. If she had known drugs were in that suitcase, she would have smoked all of it. So, let’s not start blaming anyone. Plus, how the hell would they have ended up by the front door? You said you didn’t know, and now you’re blaming your dead wife?” I asked.

“Watch your tone when you’re talking to me. I am your father,” he demanded.

“Well, do it! Be my father!”

He was obviously lying about something.

“Why are you lying? What are you hiding?” I persisted.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he looked toward me, not at me, but more like through me.

“I can’t make it to your court date.” he said, changing the subject.

Those eight words felt like a stab in the back, catching me off guard. This wasn’t the father I knew growing up. The Justice Sr. I knew would never have been so distant or cold toward me. He would have defended me, not turned against me.

“What? Why?”

“I can’t get out of work. My boss said I already missed too many days.”

I looked at him with tears streaming down my face. A lump in my throat kept me from speaking. I felt like yelling, cussing his ass out, or hitting him with the phone receiver, but the glass between us kept me from doing so. Nothing but silence stretched between us, and then he stood abruptly.