D.A.R.E. (Part 1)

My father was as he always was within twenty minutes after driving home following another long day at work, and as he will continue to be until my mother finishes preparing dinner: stretched back in the living room's reclining chair watching television with his feet propped up with an ice-cold beer in his hand, occasionally pressing it to his brow while it is still mostly full and to soothe his head. I was not far, lying down on the couch after completing my homework for the night.

"Dinner's ready," proclaimed my mother from the kitchen. After a few moments of silence, except for the tv, she tried again with thoughts that we didn't hear her the first time. "Hello! Dinner?"

"We heard you the first time," said my father. "There's only about a minute until the next commercial break."

My mother walked into the living room wiping her hands on her apron.

"Oh no," she says, "I know this game. You two are going to sit there and watch until the fifth commercial break, and then you'll stop, if you stop at all, while I eat alone. And then I am going to have to put in in the refrigerator to be reheated for your lunches tomorrow. No, we are going to eat as a family and that's that."

Me and my dad looked at each other. "Alright," he said. But none of us moved, not even my mother. We were all watching the screen.

The commercial break had started, and they started off with one of those government approved safety videos designed to scare youths into avoid dangerous activities. They we're always so awkward and out of touch. This one was no different. It opened on what was clearly a man in his mid to late twenties dressed like a teenager, with a "hip" hoodie and backwards hat. He was looking around suspiciously as he crossed the street and ducked into the alleyway between two buildings. As he walked down the alley, a shadowy man in a trench-coat and fedora steps out from behind a dumpster. The man, who I will refer to as the the "teenager," walks up to the other man, who I will refer to as the "stranger." I'll transcribe the conversation as best I can.

Teenager: Are you Billy?

Stranger: Who's asking?

Teenager: My friends at school told me about you. They said you can help me out.

Stranger: (squints) You're not a cop are you. (Grabs the boy by his collar and pushes him against he wall.)

Teenager: N-n-no. I promise.

Stranger: Alright, I believe you. (He backs away and holds out his hand.) Alright, you should know the deal.

The camera remains on the stranger looking left and right, up and down the alley once more as we hear shuffling sounds. Then we see a shot of the stranger's hand, but instead of receiving money like a **** deal he receives a bundle of clothes, one after another. First the hat then the sneakers, then the pants, then the shirt. I notice there is no underwear, I don't know if that was because showing underwear was too risqué or it was meant to imply the "teenager" wasn't wearing any. I mean, I don't. Anyway, the man takes the clothes and tucks them inside his coat pocket and nods his head towards the end of the alley, indicating the boy to scram. Then we see zoomed out shot from down the alley. Everything is dark and shadowy, and we can only see the outline of the boy, who is clearly without any clothes. His ass is defined enough that is is clear that it is bare, and there is a blink-and-you'll-miss-it glimpse at an outline of something dangling around between his legs.

It was always interesting that movies and tv shows were considered too **** for containing **** use, but when the government wants to run ads on it the subject matter is considered to be "for everyone." And now it was the same for nudity. I was thinking about this as the words flashed on the screen that "BEING NAKED IN PUBLIC IS ILLEGAL," as some narrator warns of the consequences of getting addicted to such behavior and tells us to tell anyone who we feel is participating in it to seek help, by which of course they mean to rat on them to the police. Little did they know that these advertisements were the leading cause of the exhibitionism epidemic in the country right now. Something that was previously very underground was now being broadcasting everywhere, and it only served to turn more guys like me onto it. I even had to cross my legs a bit to hide my hard-on as the thought of handing my clothes over to some stranger in an alley before streaking around aroused me quite a bit. I also recognized the actor who played the teenager in the film. He was actually around twenty-seven, and it was commonly known that he was a closet exhibitionist himself, all those big actors usually are. Doing these as was probably apart of his deal to get out of doing jail time after getting caught.

After the ad played, another commercial started playing and we all went into the kitchen to eat. I had to uncross my legs and stand up. I hope my parents didn't see my erection.

We sat at the table in complete silence. I could tell from the way that they looked at each other that my parents wished to talk to me about exhibitionism, the new epidemic sweeping the nation. I knew they couldn't prove anything, but I did occasionally go streaking with some of my friends at night. We usually pick a secluded space, like a field, where we drive out and leave out clothes in the back seat while we run around. My parents were just paranoid, like everyone else's parents. They heard that it was addicting and prevents you from holding down a job later in life, which is a lie. It's not addicting, I know plenty of guys who do it and they have it under control. As for the whole holding down job thing, that was the government's fault for cracking down on it so hard. Who would hire a someone who has a record of behavior with such stigma around it?

"Did you see that ad?" my mother asked, forcing a smile. "Pretty silly right?"

She was trying to break the ice and seem cool by making fun of the whole thing, but I know she took this stuff seriously.

I just shrugged my shoulders. "Whatever," I said.

She looked over at my father for support, but he was too busy digging into meal to pay attention. He might wear a tie to work, but I swear when gets home he acts like an actual animal.

"Well, a silly as it is," my mother continued, "there is some truth to it. I mean, I'm just worried about what happens if this spreads any further. What happens if the girls start doing that too? Would you want to see a bunch of harlots running around?"

She had a point. It was almost all guys that were interested in this stuff. In fact, I only ever met one girl who interested. Then again, she always was a bit of a tomboy. I don't even think she liked it that much, and that she did it to prove that she was "one of the guys." I could tell that the idea of a bunch of naked women running around had caught my father's interest. He tried to hide it but we both noticed him stop chewing and lift his head up. Like I said, an animal.

The rest of the dinner went uneventfully and I went to my room. I had been sitting on my bed reading a graphic novel for a while when I heard a knock on the door. Before I could even answer, the door burst open and my father was standing with something in his hand not too dissimilar looking the comic in mine, but it was different.

It wasn't until later that I was given a vague account of what had transpired following my departure from the dinner table. I have done my best here to fill in the blanks to create a fictionalized account of the events, as I feel the story requires it. I have noted with an asterisk(*) at the end of a sentence when I have taken liberties with the story or dialogue.

Luke (me) gets up from the table after finishing his meal first, places his plate, fork, and knife in the sink. Without so much as a goodbye he walks out of the room and walks down the hall towards his room, making a quick stop at the bathroom. From there he hears fragments of a conversation between his parents, but only when their voices are raised.

Linda: What was that?

Marc: What?* (His mouth was full, so all that came out was a muffled grunt, but it sounded like confusion.)

Linda: Where was my support?* (She lowered her voice here.)

Marc: Honey, the boy seems to be doing fine. He is doing well in school and he seems healthy. Look, he even finished all of his food. (He actually speaks quite loud and articulately when he isn't stuffing his face with food.)

Linda: And he got up and left without saying a word. He is distant, can't you see that?

Marc: He is just tired.

Linda: First you say he is healthy, now you say he is tired.* Do you even listen too yourself? (I definitely heard the second the second half, but I missed the first.)

Marc: He is just busy with schoolwork, and he is a teenager. You know how they get.

Linda: Yes, I do. And it is a exactly at this point, when they are distant from their parents, that's when they fall prey to peer pressure.

Marc: Oh, you are just paranoid.

(It was at this point that I flushed and then washed my hands, so the continuous running water obscured the next few things they said. Immediately after that I opened the door and made my way to the room. I wanted to stick around and hear where they were at now, but they had gone quiet, probably because they had heard me in the hall.)

Marc and Linda walked up to the attic. Linda wanted to how Marc something she had found. when cleaning. They walked over to the boxes where they kept the Christmas decorations. More specifically, under the box where they kept the manger scene. Linda makes a face.*

Linda: (With anger) Keeping this filth next to baby Jesus...* (There is no reason to believe she said this, I just think it's funny to imagine. Actually, that was exactly the reason I choose to hide it there. I though it was the last place they would look, and I was right.)

Marc: What are we looking for?*

Linda: This.*

She pulls out a magazine. When she flips though the pages he sees that it is an endorsement of exhibitionism. On the back it says that it was printed a few states over, where though a legal loophole it is possible to print paraphernalia, despite the activities it encourages being illegal everywhere.

Marc: How do you know it's his?*

Linda: You don't expect me to believe this is yours?*

Marc: No! Of course not.

Linda: You need talk to him.* (Pushes the magazine against his chest, where he catches it with his hands.)*

Marc: Why me?*

Linda: Because you're his father.*

(End of flashback.)

We are now back in the present. Actually we are now about a minute into the future from when my father barged into my room. You didn't miss much. Some of it was my father explaining how my mother was the one who discovered it and she just showed it to him, which I incorporated into the flashback.

"Where do you learn to do this?" he said.

I just looked at him, and then down in shame.

"LUKE!" he yelled. Typical dad, thinking that raising his voice would be the solution. But I suppose the apple doesn't fall far from the tree...

"FROM YOU," I yelled back. "Alright? I learned it from watching you."

He doesn't say anything just staggers back, then reaches for the doorknob. When he opens the door he sees my mother standing there, eavesdropping. They stare at each other right looks of confusion and sympathy before my mother's expression grows into one of anger and she slaps my father in the face. She storms off. My father looks at me before chasing after her.

I close the door after they leave and return to my comic book.