ONE When Lawton Gibbs walked out of prison after serving the bottom half of a twenty year bid at Florida’s Union Correctional Facility, the only thing he had before him was a lot of wide open space and even that wasn’t enough. The caged voices that had day in and day out bounced off the prison walls were still ringing in his ears. He was told at release give it a few days. It would be like you were never here. He wanted to believe that. They handed him an Ex-Offender ID card and sent him on his way. He walked the two miles to SR-16 and waited until a large vehicle rode out of the piercing midday sun. The F-150 with its yellow flame painted panels looked like it was aiming for him as the Widow All Terrain tires scattered dirt off the road and pulled to a dead stop a foot away from him. The door opened. A girl with frizzy light brown hair, mixed blood, and a body that made her frightening to a man just out of prison, said, “You Lawton Gibbs?” “I am.” “Get in.” He didn’t need a guard’s permission to enter, but habit was still with him. Cyrstal said, “What are you waiting for?” He wanted to tell her, but she wouldn’t understand. He entered the truck. Found the seat adjuster. Then stretched his legs. The last time Lawton saw Crystal she was hip high and clutched her mama’s skirt. The last time Crystal saw Lawton he was in a faded color photo holding a 35 pound striped bass. Roy Lahood, her father, was to the side with a scaling knife aimed at the fish’s gut. Crystal's mother, Roberta, said, “The one holding the fish is who you’re picking up.” Staring at Lawton, she said, “You look different from the picture.” Lawton said, “Every day was a pound to lose.” She put the truck in gear and rode off. Neither knew exactly what to say. Crystal felt like she was on a blind date with someone the wrong age. Lawton felt like a mutt rescued from the pound on its way to a new home. “No bag?” “You leave with what you come with.” He almost smiled, but lost grip of his humor. Crystal thought he looked like Tony Manero from Saturday Night Fever with his tawny jacket and red shirt collar flat on lapels except it was crumpled and faded like the man. Lawton stared back at her. She needed clothing, but more of it. Her nylon stretch black tank top had more than enough cleavage to challenge him. But it was her mother’s deceptively sleepy blue eyes that only a kiss could close that reminded him of her determination.

ONE

When Lawton Gibbs walked out of prison after serving the bottom half of a twenty year bid at Florida’s Union Correctional Facility, the only thing he had before him was a lot of wide open space and even that wasn’t enough. The caged voices that had day in and day out bounced off the prison walls were still ringing in his ears. He was told at release give it a few days. It would be like you were never here. He wanted to believe that. They handed him an Ex-Offender ID card and sent him on his way.

He walked the two miles to SR-16 and waited until a large vehicle rode out of the piercing midday sun. The F-150 with its yellow flame painted panels looked like it was aiming for him as the Widow All Terrain tires scattered dirt off the road and pulled to a dead stop a foot away from him. The door opened. A girl with frizzy light brown hair, mixed blood, and a body that made her frightening to a man just out of prison, said, “You Lawton Gibbs?”

“I am.”

“Get in.”

He didn’t need a guard’s permission to enter, but habit was still with him. Cyrstal said, “What are you waiting for?” He wanted to tell her, but she wouldn’t understand. He entered the truck. Found the seat adjuster. Then stretched his legs.

The last time Lawton saw Crystal she was hip high and clutched her mama’s skirt. The last time Crystal saw Lawton he was in a faded color photo holding a 35 pound striped bass. Roy Lahood, her father, was to the side with a scaling knife aimed at the fish’s gut. Crystal's mother, Roberta, said, “The one holding the fish is who you’re picking up.”

Staring at Lawton, she said, “You look different from the picture.”

Lawton said, “Every day was a pound to lose.”

She put the truck in gear and rode off. Neither knew exactly what to say. Crystal felt like she was on a blind date with someone the wrong age. Lawton felt like a mutt rescued from the pound on its way to a new home.

“No bag?”

“You leave with what you come with.” He almost smiled, but lost grip of his humor.

Crystal thought he looked like Tony Manero from Saturday Night Fever with his tawny jacket and red shirt collar flat on lapels except it was crumpled and faded like the man. Lawton stared back at her. She needed clothing, but more of it. Her nylon stretch black tank top had more than enough cleavage to challenge him. But it was her mother’s deceptively sleepy blue eyes that only a kiss could close that reminded him of her determination.

WIPEOUT