"Do you know what your impertinence has caused, Barry?" asked his father; a man in a suit with an aggressive appearance. His face, marked by a pair of scars, stared directly at his son across the long table. "Your childish behavior has put our family under the local spotlight, and that is fatal for our reputation." His father brought the piece of meat inserted on his fork to his mouth, without looking away from his son.
"And on top of that, you did it to someone as pathetic as a simple classmate," commented his older brother, who was taking draws from the second cigar of the dinner. "I expected more from my little brother."
Frustration was etched on Barry's face. He stopped taking bites and inhaled forcefully.
"Forgive me, Father, that I reached that point was… I acted impulsively without reason, I don't know what happened to me," Barry began to stutter. "Please, don't think that I…"
"Shut up, Barry, you went too far," his father leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Daring to do anything for you now would be too suspicious for the authorities, and it could get us into trouble."
"If only you had faced the consequences alone and hadn't run like a coward as soon as the school tried to hold you back…" added his brother, with an intentionally mocking tone.
The conversation was interrupted when the doorbell rang, and the sound of a handbrake became evident outside.
"It's too late, Barry," his father said, and got up from his chair, turning towards the door.
In just a couple of seconds, officers entered the house and handcuffed Barry, dragging him to the patrol car.
"Please wait! It was a mistake, I wasn't conscious! I don't know what happened to me, I never wanted to hurt Ima!" he screamed while the officers roughly manipulated his head to get him into the vehicle. "Father!" he turned to see his progenitor's figure in the doorway. "Tell them I made a mistake! I don't want to go to prison!"
One of the officers, fed up with his shouting, made a monumental effort and finally shoved him into the car with one swift movement. Neither his father nor his brother flinched.
"Father, look at me! Please don't ignore me!" he screamed, as the patrol car window slowly went up. "I'm your son! Don't abandon me like this!" The window rolled up so far that Barry could only press his mouth against the outside.
His father and brother began to walk back into the house, like automatons. Time for Barry was slow, too slow.
"Father, don't abandon me like this!"
The door finally closed.
II
It had always been this way, with almost no exception since his birth 17 years ago. His father had never been characterized as an exemplary man; he was only a rigid and decisive existence, not only for his own children but for his employees. And even despite Barry's conviction that his father would never change his alienation, fractions of his soul kept the desire alive that perhaps everything would be better one day: perhaps when Barry could prove he could be as impactful as him.
The truth behind his experiences always lay in "approval" as the objective, with his father, with everyone. Forcing himself to believe he could someday aspire to something, without even truly knowing how much he wanted to achieve.
Always surrounded by work, suits, arguments, and the hierarchical spirit of his family and the filth of crime, Barry never developed a different vision. Without another kind of guidance present in his life and with such internalized envy, he did nothing but impose the same dynamics in other places where his will could not be decimated by anyone; where he constantly had followers who looked at him with the longing he insisted upon.
Barry was stupid. A very great one, but with no choice but that prolonged stupidity weighing down on him. What can be reproached? With what morality does one stand to judge someone who has no other choice?
The morning after his arrest, a guard finally knocked on his cell, and Barry woke up totally startled, turning toward the sound instinctively.
"You're going to be interrogated, get up," the officer opened the door and took his handcuffs.
Barry was thrown into a small room where there were a couple of completely rigid guards. He sat across from a man in a brown suit with an extremely thin appearance: his cheekbones were pronounced and he had an abnormal gauntness.
"So… you hit your classmate and sent him to the hospital?" the man began, opening a popsicle.
Barry remained silent, analyzing the room and the people around him.
"Why did you do it? Any conflict between the two of you?" he asked, biting a part of the popsicle.
"No…" Barry began, bringing his hands to his head, making the handcuffs rattle. "Simply… My head went blank, I felt an irritation I had never felt and… I only clearly remember the moment they separated me from him. I'm sorry."
"So there's nothing behind it that made you act like that?" He took another bite of his popsicle and unbuttoned his jacket in an obvious sign of heat.
"Days before Ima…" Barry stopped. He knew that if he spoke too much about how he felt the day Ima didn't show submission, it would expose him to greater suspicion. "I don't remember well... Just, hours before I lost my head, my friends told me he had embarrassed them in front of our group, that's all."
"I see," the man got up from his chair, took off his jacket, and licked the popsicle. "Some of the witnesses who dared to cooperate have told us that Ima was being intimidated by you and your 'friends' for almost the entire semester." Barry felt suffocated and anxious as he saw the man begin to pace back and forth. "What do you have to say about that?"
Barry remained silent for a full minute while the man continued to pace and inquire about the information he needed. Seeing that there would be no answer, he let out a sigh and ordered the guards to take Barry back to his cell.
Barry left the room with his head bowed.
"What do you think about it?" asked the last officer remaining in the room.
"It's a very typical case, even if it doesn't seem like it. We don't have to make too many deductions to know that the boy was a bully who exploded as soon as he saw his authority challenged for the first time," he took another bite of the popsicle. "'The brave lives until the coward wants,' the Hispanics say." The man left the room followed by the guard. Both looked down the hallway, where the pathetic figure of Barry could still be seen. "Given the seriousness of the matter and his age, perhaps they'll give him community service for a while." The man took the last bite of his popsicle. "Anyway: his social life is now non-existent."