Sebastian Whittaker
Growing up in a dysfunctional family, with a drug dealer for a father and a mother who withered away in the hospital due to cancer. Sebastian Whittaker has definitely had his fair share of losses in life.
He's the first person i...
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The Los Angeles County prison appears just the same as it did when I visited two years ago. I'm not entirely sure why I expected any change, but again, I never thought I'd be stepping foot inside this building ever again. It's amazing what certain circumstances can push you to.
I'd already booked my visit days in advance, so he must have been expecting me. Part of me was tempted not to show up today, just to deny my father the satisfaction of seeing my face after I had worked so hard to prove that I would never return to his life. But Joe, my dick face of a brother, had been missing for a while now, and as much as they were cut from the exact same fucking cloth I had the responsibility of searching for him, and making sure he was okay.
It was the promise I made to the only person I'd ever loved and respected on her deathbed. A promise to make sure my 26-year-old brother would not end up behind bars just like our sperm donor. I forced myself to commit to it, it was her wish and the least I could do was make sure both of her sons actually did something worthwhile with their lives.
My father, Marcus Whittaker, had been sentenced two years ago to 7 years in prison. He was a notorious drug dealer, and not even a smart one at that. I didn't know too much of the details surrounding his arrest and I didn't necessarily care for it. The important thing was that he was behind bars exactly where he belonged; and although he may be getting out 5 years from now I knew it wouldn't last long before he got back into his old patterns. He would be behind bars as soon as he had the opportunity to run rampant in society and potentially ruin the life I built away from him.
Once a deadbeat always a deadbeat.
After showing my ID to the detention centre officers I'm led through a door. It was supposed to be an open visit, which is why I'm not surprised to see many other inmates engaged in conversation with their respective visitors, and numerous guards placed at every exit door possible.
Marcus is seated alone on a table. His legs are chained, which alone seems a bit unnecessary to me because he's a convicted drug dealer and not a murderer but I don't question it. It's better for my sanity that he's restrained like this.
He senses me coming from behind him, and as I take my time pulling up a seat in front of him I'm torn on how to begin the conversation. This is a man I hadn't spoken to in two years. Before that, we had never had a good relationship, not to talk of proper conversations.
Our interactions when I was young included him beating the shit out of me, while Joe watched and my mother begged for him to stop. This was before she was diagnosed with cancer and I sometimes wonder if she wasn't so hyper-focused on not letting her son die at the hands of his father then maybe she would have noticed the way her health deteriorated with every passing day.
I blamed him for her death. That was without question.
His face had aged slightly, with more visible wrinkles, a few gray hairs, and a previously unnoticed scar above his left eyebrow. His skin was understandably paler than the average Californian and for a while I feel a bit sorry for him.
