“We need to ask you some questions.” A navy clad officer looms over me, his sparsely haired head reflecting the dull lights above. If it were any other day, it would amuse me. I would whisper to my dad and he would laugh and call the policeman an egghead. But today is not any other day. And my dad, clothed in an orange jumpsuit, is standing behind bars, on the opposite side of me.
“I don’t know anything,” I tell the officer, refusing to look at him in the eye, and instead staring intently at the polished tiles of the hall. He sighs, running his hand over his scalp.
“Fine. I’ll come back later when you’re ready to be more cooperative.” Turning on his heel, the man exits, leaving me to stare at my father as he babbles a never-ending apology.
I had lied to the officer. I know exactly what happened. But I still don’t know why my father did it. We needed the money--that, I knew. I just didn’t expect the way he got it. When I was little, we used to get bills with unfathomable numbers on them. But no matter how much debt we were in, my father always held his head high and said, “We will work hard for as long as it takes to pay that bank back.” I believed him. I never thought my dad would do anything but hard work to get what we needed. I was wrong.
“Mina, I just want to say that I’m sorry. And I stole from one family, that’s it,” my dad tells me. I can’t help but wonder who the family he stole from is. They could have been desperate like us, in a worse situation maybe. I could ask, but I no longer know if the answer will be truthful. All I can see is a man desperate and faithless enough to cheat and steal. And I realize that this is not a man worth a lie. I tune out his words, take a deep breath, stand, and turn on my heel. I walk away from the man in orange.