Free The Bubble Wrap Boy by Phil Earle

anyway, they were too stunned, or terrified, to tell her.
    “So you went behind my back instead, huh? You lied to me, for months. And where did this
thing
come from?” she asked, pointing at my board disdainfully. “Did you steal it?”
    For some reason, despite it being my own lies tripping me up, I started to get all indignant.
    “Of course I didn’t steal it. I wouldn’t do that, would I?”
    “I don’t know what you’re capable of, Charlie. Not anymore.”
    “I borrowed it from Bunion.” I saw her roll her eyes in disgust. “But I saved up to add to it, from all the delivery tips I earned.”
    This wasn’t what she wanted to hear: it made her feel like my lies were even deeper and premeditated.
    “You’ve been planning this all along, haven’t you? You and your father. Trying to undermine me, when all I’m trying to do is look after you, keep you safe.”
    The kids were crowded even closer now, eyes flicking between us as we spoke, like they were watching a game of verbal tennis. At times I thought I heard gasps as the conversation bounced between us.
    “Keep me safe? You don’t let me do anything! I’ve never been bowling, or biking when friends have gone. You wouldn’t even let me go to the movies with Sinus, because you thought I might choke on some popcorn in the dark and no one would notice.”
    “That was years a—”
    Someone snorted behind me, but stifled it when Mom and I both turned and stared.
    “And don’t even mention Dad in all this,” I ranted. “He hasn’t got a clue what’s going on. If he knew, he’d have come straight to you, because he knows what a NIGHTMARE you are!”
    She looked ready to explode now, and I felt the crowd take a step back, fearing collateral damage.
    “A nightmare, am I? I’ll tell you what a nightmare is. A nightmare would be you falling off that death trap and knocking yourself into the middle of next week. A nightmare would be sitting by your bed waiting for you to wake up, because you weren’t brave enough to tell us what you were doing.”
    She didn’t pause for breath; it was like she had gills.
    “But I’ll tell you what, young man, you might think I don’t let you do anything—”
    “Well, you don’t. All you do is wrap me up in cotton!”
    “Well, you ain’t seen nothing yet. I’ll wrap you in so much cotton that you won’t be able to move!”
    And with one shove, she moved me toward the crowd, which parted silently, all eyes staring at the two of us.
    I dropped my head, feeling the ultimate shame when she ripped the skateboard out of my arms and carried it herself.
    The silence was overpowering, broken only by the hammering of my own heart.
    We walked another thirty feet before the quiet was broken.
    Broken by an avalanche of laughter from the ramp, which thundered toward us, covering me in seconds.
    I’d gone from hero to zero in one minute. My humiliation was complete.

P rison life was tough.
    Imagine Alcatraz with higher walls or Shawshank with louder guards.
    Mom laid down the law as soon as we got home, giving poor Dad as big a shellacking as me, despite it all being news to him.
    He tried to escape back to the kitchen on several occasions, only to be blocked by Mom as she prowled in front of us.
    I was expecting her to turn our pockets out on the counter or delouse us before we were allowed near the kitchen.
    It might sound like I’m making light of it, and I suppose I am. It felt important to find humor in the darkest moment of my already cloud-covered existence.
    So we stood there for another fifteen minutes, Dad thanking his lucky stars the takeout wasn’t open yet.
    Taking a battering in front of your regular customers would’ve been an indignity too far.
    Finally, as tears threatened to overtake anger, and having grounded me for what felt like the rest of my life, Mom stormed upstairs, leaving me to wait for Dad’s reaction.
    He still had a cleaver in his hand.
    Despite how well I knew both him and his placid