On the verge of failing his senior year of high school, Armando is set up with a tutor to get his grades back up. His tutor, Brian, happens to be the quiet kid that he never knew existed until now. And as the two begin to form a deep connection with...
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Armando Dominguez
“Armando Dominguez?!” The receptionist called out. I stood up from my seat, turning to Brian.
“Good luck!” Brian said.
“I’ll be back, Bumblebee.” I leaned down and kissed his head. “I love you.” I said.
“I love you too.” Brian said. I walked out of the waiting room and was escorted by a cop into a gray hallway.
“Remove anything metal.” The guard told me. I removed my belt, jacket, and shoes and walked through the metal detector. They also patted me down.
Once everything was clear, I was given a ‘Visitor’ sticker that I placed on my shirt. I was soon led to a large room that was full with several tables and chairs. Around me were a few other people. Ordinary dressed people sat across from people wearing dark blue jumpsuits.
I sat at a table at the edge of the room. I waited for a few minutes until a buzzer went off, and then a gate opened. I looked up and saw that the door led from the prison into the visitor’s room opened by a guard.
Walking into the room was my dad, Miguel Dominguez. He still had the same eyes, dark brown, that I remember. His hair was slightly graying. And he had grown his beard more. But the part that reminded me that he was indeed my dad was his smile lines.
As soon as my dad saw me, his eyes lit up. He quickly walked over to my table. I stood up and the two of us awkwardly stood in front of each other. A guard came over and unlocked my dad’s handcuffs.
“Armando…” My dad muttered.
“Hi, dad.” I muttered.
“Sit. Let’s sit!” My dad said. His voice was more hoarse, but calm. I sat back in my seat, while dad sat across from me. I looked down at my fingers and tried hard not to break down. It’s been almost 5 years since I’ve seen him. Of course I’m going to be emotional.
My dad grunted and cleared his throat. I looked up and saw him clench his jaw. His eyes had a slight glaze to them. He too was holding tears.
“How have you been?” He finally asked.
“Good.” I replied.
“How’s Rosita?”
“She’s good.”
“Is she doing good in school?”
“Yeah. She’s pretty smart.” I said. My dad extended his hands forward but stopped himself.
“You hungry? There’s a vending machine over there. I can get us some sodas and–”
“I’m sorry.” I blurted out.
“For what?” My dad asked.
“For not visiting. I know that you’ve wanted to see me for a long time but I rejected your letters. I could’ve at least written you back and told you how you were doing.”
