My depressed reflection in the rain spattered windowpane. Marital discord.
Harold, born with multiple maladies, worsened post-adolescence, grating on us.
First, motor issues; learning to walk/talk at seventeen.
With changed medication Harold began phonating; animal shrieks and prolonged moans.
Second med change and now its mimicking and Tourretts.
“Hi Harold” I say.
“Hi Harold! Bitchy bitch whore bitch bastard bitch Nnnnnnnnnnnnannng!” He says.
I think Marcy cracked.
I needed to drive Harold to neurology so we got in the car.
“Kill you both errrrrooooooongeh shit bitch shit!”
I froze; Harold violent? Had he changed?
“I’ll cut the breaks! Bastard bitch shit ooooooommmmgeh shit shit”
I watched Harold in the passenger seat wondering.
“Better off without you assholes! shit bastard shit!"
I heard thumping; Marcies’ muffled voice in the trunk.
“Yoo meow meow rowr rowr roodih!”
Harold laughed translating. “You let me out right now or you die! Bastard bitch shit shit”
A father is faced with the possibility that his multi-challenged son might be violent.