All in by Lane Thibodeaux
It springs from the piney woods of East Texas unexpectedly, like an unrepentant gargoyle atop a serene house of worship. To those behind the double fencing of heavy gauge chain link and razor wire, the Allan B. Polunsky Unit is just Polunsky. Among the many souls inside are three hundred waiting for the solitary drive of fifty miles to a death house within a place called The Walls.
I have been tasked to deliver grim news to Polunsky…
Specialists have told me my youngest son will never speak. He is different in that way, and others, from his older brothers. His differences cement my certainty that like Peter Parker’s alter ego, my youngest possesses a marvelous secret superpower.
Like those sundry specialists, people in public spaces have brief encounters with his world of physical contortions and the sensory filters he uses by twisting himself to engage with sight, sound and taste.
One Saturday, he and I traveled to a big box store to pick up prescriptions…
