If I Were Your Boyfriend by Earl Sewell Read Free Book Online Page A

right now, I really don't want to. My mother is Puerto Rican and African American and has the temper of a grizzly bear."
      "Yeah, you have to see her," said Officer Sanchez. "You're lucky that you have someone coming to see about you."
      I grumbled loudly as I followed Officer Sanchez to the visitors' room.
      I walked through a series of doors and entered the visiting area, which was set up like a large high school cafeteria.
      "Okay, here are the rules." Officer Sanchez captured my gaze. "There is no touching, no yelling and no use of profanity. And don't get up from your seat until you're told to do so. Break any one of the rules you will be placed in isolation for five hours."
      "Dude, please don't make me talk to her. Tell her I'm in detox right now," I pleaded.
      "Have a seat right here," said Officer Sanchez, completely unmoved by my cry for mercy.
      I sat at the table for a few minutes feeling anxious and jittery. The moment I saw my mom enter the room, my stomach did a somersault. The very sight of her shot my blood pressure sky-high and made my skin itch. My mom is a tall hefty woman who is fond of wearing oversized wigs and too much make-up. She absolutely refuses to allow the big hairstyles of the 1980s to die. Today she has on a sandy brown wig that is tilted too far to the right. She is wearing a long-sleeve V-necked dress that is showing too much cleavage. When my mom finally spotted me, she walked over and sat down on the opposite side of the table. I had a hard time looking at her because not only was she an embarrassing sight, but I was angry with her.
      "How is it going?" she asked.
      "It's going fine," I answered her.
      "Are you in a cell by yourself?" she asked.
      "Yeah, and it's great because I don't have to worry about you charging into my room in the middle of the night shouting at me."
      "Wesley, I'm here to help. I had to do something. You're out of control and this was the only way that I could get your attention. You left me with no other choice."
      "Oh, no, you don't. Don't you even try to twist this around. You had a choice. You didn't have to report your car stolen. You knew where I was going," I said to her.
      "Wesley, you took my car without my permission," she said.
      "No," I cut her off. "You gave me permission to take it."
      "No, I didn't," she fired back at me.
      "Yes, you did! You know what?" I raised the palms of my hands up. "Let's just stop now. I'm ready to go. I don't want to talk to you."
      "Wesley, you have to listen to me. I love you, but I don't know what to do with you. You're lucky that the police found you before you drove home. Your alcohol levels were past the legal drinking limit. Do you know how dangerous it is to drink and drive?" she preached to me.
      "Well, I had to learn how to drink and drive from some place." I looked in her eyes to see if my words hurt her, and they had. For some twisted reason hurting her feelings made me feel good. "So don't come up in here acting like the pot who called the kettle black."
      "I don't do that anymore, Wesley." She tried to defend her drinking problem.
      "Yeah, right. You practically come into my room every night sloshed. Yelling at me and making my life miserable."
      "I need you to hear me, son. I want to help you," she said. She looked as if she wanted to cry, but I didn't have any sympathy for her at all.
      "Are we done?" I asked. "Because I don't have anything else to say."
      "I'll see you in court," she said, and then stood up. "I hope you fix your attitude by then."
      "Yeah, whatever! I'll see you when I see you," I said as she walked out of the room. I remained seated for about fifteen minutes before Officer Sanchez reappeared. He told me that I could get up so I did and followed him back to the common area.
      "Hey, amigo, it's not cool to be so disrespectful to your mom."
      "Well, if she did some of the things to you that she's done to me, you'd