Aide 09/07/2011
He hated everything about being here. Being sick? Hell! Of course, he didn't like that. And that chick, what did they call her? Oh yeah, the aide. That's what she is. He hated how scared she was whenever she came into the room, which was not very often. "Are you okay, Sir?" That 'Sir' at the end of every one of her sentences was driving him nuts. She reminded him of a pretty girl, pretending she didn't hear you ask her out. Like you’d said something wrong. She wasn't that much younger than him, either. Watching her tiny little butt dancing around the room as she did whatever it was she had to do, he was guessing 23, maybe a year or two older. Put him ahead seven years. Christ! Here she was talking to him like her old man, or something. "Yeah. You could close that door and take these off me," he said rattling the metal buckles of the restraints against the chrome side rails. "Just for like a minute, you know?" "Oh, sir," she said in her high, phony voice, and then laughed. They both knew she wasn’t impressed. "I don't think the deputies would like that. If I did that, I mean, Sir." All of that without her looking at anything except the rails. Not a glance at his face. Not now. Maybe, never. One of the two Sheriff’s deputies sitting out in the hall like trash cans, planted on either side of the door, must've taken issue with their conversation. The big fat one with the gun, stood up and stepped into the doorway, his hand on the pepper spray hanging from his belt. His sudden appearance sent the aide scurrying out of the room like a bunny crossing the highway. He laughed, imagining that big cop as a car, bumping into her as she squeezed by "Excuse me," she said, throwing it over her shoulder without slowing down. "Hey," the prisoner yelled after her, "ain't you going to call the fine officer Sir?" He couldn't leave it at that, though. "Show little respect," he said. "You bitch." CommentsLeave a Reply |
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