Hey, I might be the last person you want writing in your obituary but they didn't let me go to your funeral…partially because I was in juvie for a year. Sorry, I don't mean to be so casual but in juvie if you were too formal you'd get beaten up. I'm sorry for everything, I was sorry since I realized you stopped moving. Anyways, I realized that I had to confront you someday and my dad said I should tell you everything that happened since that incident.
A year age
I still remember when the guard called my name to tell me I was getting out. I was confused because I thought I still had another few years but when I walked out of my cell, the guard said I was out on good behavior, whatever that meant. All I did in juvie was read and get beat up. Was I happy to get out? I don't know. Did I hate juvie? I don't know. Did I miss my dad? Yeah I guess. But what I did know is that I haven't atoned enough.
As I went to the front, the guard gave me the clothes I had on that day which was the karate gi. It was pretty big. I guess I lost a bit of weight. I didn't starve myself or anything but I ate small portions since I threw up a lot of times from being punched in the stomach.
After getting changed in that gi, I tugged on the pants every time I walked since it was so big. As I walked out of the building, I looked around and there was a parking lot and a few roads. This was the first time in a year that I saw the outside which didn't have gates around it. I took a breath of fresh air. It was nice. It was too nice for me.
They also gave me my phone which was charged a bit even though it was off for a year. There were a bunch of news articles and messages from your family, and my old dojo friends basically banishing me. They sent me a video of my locker being destroyed. I can't blame them too much.
My dad already told me months ago that he had a new house in the city and that he wants me to live with him.
I guess he wanted me to take a bus because he never came to pick me up. I didn't know if he hated me or not. After the accident, he always got weird looks and stuff. At least in the city people didn't know me or what I did.
I already memorized the address so I went to the nearest bus station and sat on the bench. While I was there, I read on the sign that the buses wouldn't come until late. So I waited silently by myself. It was cold and I just held the gi closer to my body. Several hours passed and I fell asleep then woke to a call from my dad. I answered it and explained to him the bus situation. He was relieved to hear my voice and that I was okay, surprisingly. I told him that the buses were on their way and he said okay and we hung up.
My dad never hovered. He cared about my martial arts and visited me in juvie whenever he could. My mother left when I was younger and I didn't have any siblings. It's always been me and him.
Suddenly, I saw two people fighting in an alley. The way they fought. Brutal. No skill. It made me think that everyone should at least learn one martial art but fighting wasn't my thing anymore. Not after you.
Then the bus came and I paid with some cash my dad sent me. I found a seat and finally felt free even though I didn't deserve it.
It was a long drive, long enough for me to count every streetlight we passed. When the bus finally hissed to a stop on my dad's street, I walked up to the front and thanked the driver. I even tried to tip her. She shook her head and smiled.
"It's a rare sight, seeing someone as polite as you in this city," she said.
I didn't know what to say to that, so I just nodded and stepped off. The bus pulled away, leaving me alone in the quiet. I tugged at my karate gi to keep it from slipping and looked around the cul-de-sac. Big houses. Clean lawns. Kids' bikes lying in driveways. Nothing like the cramped apartment I grew up in.
My dad had told me he got a better job, but I didn't picture… this. I rang the doorbell. Waited. Rang it again.
The door swung open, and there he was—my dad. Forty years old, in red basketball shorts and a white tank top. Short, soft around the edges, and completely unprepared for how hard he grabbed me a second later.
"Kane!" he shouted, throwing his arms around me. I froze for a moment before I hugged him back, slower, awkward. Maybe he didn't hate me after all.
We walked into the house, and my dad immediately tried to straighten himself up, wiping his hands on his shorts like he was meeting a guest instead of his own son.
"I'm telling ya, Kick—this is our new beginning," he said. "Working maintenance means I'll be gone a lot when you get out of school. But the weekends? Those are ours, Kane."
He ruffled my hair like I was still twelve. I pulled back a little, but he moved his hand before he noticed.
"Okay," I muttered.
His eyebrows shot up—like he didn't expect me to speak at all. Then he grinned and gave me a light punch to the stomach, the kind you give someone you love but don't know how to talk to.
"You must be starving. Go freshen up, then we'll grab some pizza," he said, heading to his room downstairs. It was right next to the kitchen, which explained why he'd gotten rounder, but mentioning that would've put me in a headlock. So I kept quiet.
I headed upstairs. The second floor felt like a mini apartment—TV on the wall, a red couch, posters of martial arts movies I used to watch on repeat, and even a punching bag. It all looked new. Too new. Like he'd been trying really hard.
I walked into the next room and stopped. A whole bedroom waited for me—bed made, another TV, fresh clothes stacked neatly, a walk-in closet. I stepped out onto the balcony that overlooked the stairs. My dad was standing at the bottom, arms crossed, smiling like he won the lottery.
"You like it? The entire second floor's yours, Kick."
He calls me that because, when I was an infant, I kicked him in the face. He likes to say it was fate I ended up doing martial arts.
I nodded. He chuckled. I didn't feel like I deserved any of it, but I also didn't want him to look at me the way everyone else did.
He pulled a shirt over his head. "Get dressed. There's a great pizza place down the street!" he yelled.
I gave him a thumbs-up and went back into my room.
There was a mirror there—my first clear reflection in a year. The mirrors in juvie were scratched and cloudy. This one didn't let me hide.
My hair was longer now, hanging over my eyes. I looked thinner, smaller than I remembered. I pushed my hair back and stared at my face—tired eyes, the same baby-face everyone said didn't match my charges.
Then I looked at my hands. Scarred knuckles. Thin, bony fingers. Even curling them into a fist made my stomach twist. Because every time I closed my hand… I saw that day.
I stepped into the walk-in closet and grabbed a jacket off one of the hangers. I took off the gi top, slipped the jacket on, then pulled the gi back over it. When I turned around, I noticed the row of shoes lined neatly along the wall—way more than I ever had before. I picked the all-black pair and put them on.
Before leaving, I checked myself in the mirror and adjusted the hood of the hoodie underneath the gi. I wasn't sure why I kept the gi on. Maybe I didn't want my dad to know I wasn't into martial arts anymore. Not after everything he did to make this place feel like home.
A few minutes later, we were walking down the street. I stuffed my hands into my hoodie pocket and pulled the hood over my head. My dad glanced at me and laughed. He was wearing a hoodie, shorts, and flip-flops. "I guess our casual wear runs in the blood," he said.
I looked down at my clothes and shrugged. "It's just comfortable." I tugged the gi pants tighter around my waist.
We walked into the diner and sat at a booth. When the food came, I started eating fast—too fast. My dad snorted. "Slow down, Kick. Guess you didn't get meals like this in juvie, huh?"
I slowed down immediately, wiping sauce off my cheek. He reached over and rubbed my head again. I went back to eating, this time with smaller bites. While chewing, I glanced out the window. Down the road, a few miles away, I saw a school building.
"That's your new school," he said, following my gaze. "I registered you last week. Inside's real nice. Kids can wear whatever they want. And listen… if you're not ready yet, I'm not gonna force you."
I looked at him—really looked—and nodded. "I'll go," I said quietly.
Dad nodded and ate his pizza. "I hope you make great friends there. High school is the foundation of your success." He said and I never really understood it. Now that I think about it, he always said things like that, trying to seem wise I think.
When we finished our pizza dad checked his watch and realized he had work. He stood up and put a couple of twenty dollar bills in front of me. "Here, for the bill and for school tomorrow." He then tossed a key to me which I caught. "I'll be back by morning, don't invite too many people." He joked and walked out of the diner.
I continued taking bites of the pizza and licked my finger, looking around the diner. In juvie I had picked up the habit to start observing people. It was more of survival than anything else. The people on the outside are so much different on the inside of juvie.
The man at the counter checked his watch as he waited on his pizza. It was obvious that he had to be somewhere else but had to get the pizza.
A woman spoke loudly on her phone, eating her pizza sloppy with her mouth open. Her eyes darted around the diner like she wanted people to watch her.
In a booth behind me, two boys kept nudging each other, whispering and glancing at a girl across the diner sitting by herself. It was obvious to me that they wanted to talk to the girl but both of them were scared.
In juvie if you weren't observant, you'd get your food stolen or beaten up. I never liked my food being stolen.
After eating, I went straight home and sank into the couch on the second floor. This room… it was too warm, too cozy, for someone who had done what I'd done. Dad had brought me a pile of clothes, fresh and new, but to be honest… I couldn't wear any of them. Only the gi felt like me, which was exactly why I couldn't keep holding onto it.
I peeled off the gi jacket and held it over the trash can by my bed. My hands were shaking. Part of me wanted to throw it away, to rid myself of it completely. But another part—something stubborn and bitter—made me hesitate. Tossing it would feel like admitting I'd never deserved it in the first place.
I swallowed hard, my throat tight, and slowly folded it. I set it down carefully at the end of the bed, like I was trying not to hurt it… or myself.
I turned my head toward the corner of the room and noticed a cardboard box sitting there. A piece of tape had "Kane's Stuff" scrawled across it. I guessed it was from the old apartment, left for me.
I crawled over and lifted the lid. My heart throbbed in my chest. Inside were pieces of my past—old gi belts, a medal from my first tournament, even a photo of me holding a trophy bigger than my torso.
I stared at the picture for a long time. I didn't recognize the kid staring back at me. Did he look like someone who could… do what I did? Did you think I looked like that? I wondered and couldn't help but feel a bitter sense in my chest.