by Katie Bradford
Missing: Denise Watson
Age: Seventeen
Reason: Missed curfew and avoiding daddy's belt
Reward for Return: TWO new crisp one hundred dollar bills
Denise looked at her face on the back of the milk carton hardly believing her father had gone to such lengths to bring her home. It must have cost him a mint to get her picture plastered on the back of a major milk carton.
It was summer and she had managed to lay low at several of her friends' homes for the past week. But now that there was a reward out for her return, it would just be a matter of time before one of them turned her in. Two hundred dollars was nothing to scoff at.
At the moment, she was not at anyone's house, however. She was sitting in a corner of McDonalds eating what was most likely her last burger and fries. She had spent the last of her money buying dinner that afternoon and for the last half hour had been trying to figure out a legal way of getting her hands on more.
The milk carton, which she had picked up over at Rosie's house earlier that day posed an interesting solution. Of course she'd have to share the money but a hundred dollars would keep her going for a few days if she were frugal.
Pulling the cap down further on her head in case someone might recognize her face from the milk carton, Denise got up and threw her trash away, preparing to leave.
Her head was so low she hadn't noticed someone was walking up behind her until it was too late.
"You better not make a scene, Denise Charmaine Watson, or I'll pull those britches down and smack your bottom right here in McDonalds, and you know I'm not kidding," Mr. Watson snarled angrily, standing directly behind his daughter.
"How did you find me?" Denise jumped nervously.
"I'm thankful you have so many good friends," he snarled, "Now... you're going to smile as we leave this wonderful establishment and walk with me out to the car. Understand?"
Realizing her freedom had come to a screeching halt, Denise sighed deeply and plastered a fake smile on her face as she followed her dad out to the very familiar blue Mazda parked right out the door.
"Get in," Mr. Watson ordered as he opened the car door and waited.
Reluctantly, Denise crawled in the front seat and waited for her father to close the door. She thought about bolting but knew it was useless. Maybe she'd always known that. It was rather ridiculous thinking she could make it on her own when she was barely seventeen. She was only a junior in high school after all. Her friends couldn't keep hiding her forever. Apparently she had one less friend than she thought. She wondered who had turned her in.
Once her father slid in behind the driver's seat, sparks started flying and it wasn't from the engine starting up.
"Where in the Hell have you been for the past week? Do you know how worried your mother and I have been!" Mr. Watson bellowed, looking back and forth from the road to his daughter.
"I guess I have an idea," Denise replied with a trace of sass. "You've got my face all over a milk carton! How embarrassing is that?!"
"I had to pull some strings for that one," he groused. "Thankfully, Mr. Billings' brother works with the company who does things like that. We were only able to get it on a few cartons but it worked by damn! You were recognized. I plan on contributing a little money to that organization in the near future."
"Who's the rat who turned me in?" Denise asked, looking out her window.
Mr. Watson looked over at his daughter and scowled. She had been gone for six, almost seven, days now, scaring him out of ten years of his life and she was sitting over there worried about who had turned her in. She should be more concerned with how her bottom was going to be feeling once they got home because he planned to wear it out.
"You should be thanking that friend instead of marking their name off your list, young lady."
"Oh yeah, right." Denise rolled her eyes. "With friends like that, who needs enemies?"
"Like I said, you'd better be thankful. What would you have done when you ran out of money? Huh? Had you even thought about that? Whatever money you had has to be almost depleted."
"Yeah dad, actually I had been thinking about what I could do to make money," Denise replied, disgruntled. That part was true, she had been trying to figure out how to get her hands on more money but the words about to come out of her mouth were totally ludicrous. If her father didn't slap her face, she'd be amazed, but still the words tumbled out. "I thought about standing on the street corner and raising my skirt up an inch or two."
No hand came flying across to slap her face, only her father's icy stare and stinging words, "The only reason that little skirt is going to be lifted up is for my hand to make contact with your bottom."
"Yeah, that's your answer to everything isn't it, Dad?" Denise growled.
"Seems to be the right answer for you, my dear."
"How so?" Denise frowned.
Mr. Watson smirked. "Look what you've done to avoid the belt."
"Yeah," Denise paused, "...look what I did. I ran off. Doesn't that matter to you?" Denise asked irritably.
Mr. Watson looked incredulously over at his daughter. "What? The running off?"
Shaking her head like she was talking to an imbecile, Denise replied rather condescendingly, "Doesn't it matter to you that I ran off to avoid the belt? You know... there are other forms of discipline. Your way is considered child abuse these days, Dad."
"In my day, it was called good old discipline. My dad used the belt on my behind and it never did me any harm. I learned from my whippings," Mr. Watson retorted.
"That's because that's what parents did in the Stone Age," Denise replied snippily. "Nowadays parents do something called... talking to their children."
"Denise," her father admonished. "Your mother and I have done it all! We've talked to you... grounded you... taken things away... we've even rewarded you for doing well! None of those things have ever worked on you. The only thing you seem to ever respond to is a good old fashioned threat of having your bottom blistered."
Denise said nothing as she folded her arms and stared out the window.
"When I try to talk to you this is exactly what happens. You argue but are never willing to listen." Mr. Watson continued, "Now the thought of your mother and me not caring about what happens to you is ridiculous. I don't imagine too many other parents would have resorted to the milk carton... do you?"
"Gah I hope not!" Denise derided. "I've never been so embarrassed in all my life. I'll never live that down at school, Dad! What did you and Mom do? Sit down and think of how you could make my life even worse?"
A knife felt like it was piercing into Mr. Watson's heart as those hurtful words spilled from his daughter's mouth. He knew she really didn't mean them but they hurt nonetheless. He was used to Denise flying off the handle like this when she was mad.
Trying to put his feelings aside, Mr. Watson gritted his teeth and said, "Well sweetheart, I'm about to make your life even worse right now. You're grounded for a month. You will not be leaving the house unless it's with your mother or me. And believe me I will be putting you to work doing every dirty job I can scrounge up around the house."
"Oh I'm sure you will," Denise mumbled disrespectfully.
Not really thinking about what he was going to do after he pulled over, Mr. Watson veered off into the side lane on the highway and pulled over. Without turning the engine off, he put the car in park and shifted his body sideways so he could look at Denise eye to eye.
"Denise I will not tolerate this sassy little attitude of yours! If you can't talk respectfully then keep your mouth closed. Because... I promise you, young lady... just like I wouldn't have had any problems at McDonalds, I'd have no trouble busting your bottom right here on the highway. Do we understand each other?"
Slightly shaken by her father's sudden outburst, Denise nodded her head and squeaked, "Yes Sir."
"That's better," he snapped, putting his hand back on the wheel. "Now... when we get home, you need to apologize to your mother for scaring her half to death and then go up and wait for me in your bedroom. Is that clear?"
Wanting to tell her father off, but not wanting to have her bottom blistered right there in front of all the motorists, Denise bit her tongue and nodded, "Yes Sir."
Mr. Watson put the car back into gear and pulled out on the highway. Nothing else was said as they both sat fuming and thinking of things they would like to say to one another but neither wanted to embark on another argument at the moment.
Finally, Mr. Watson pulled into the driveway and, after pressing the automatic opener, drove the car into the garage.
Without waiting for permission, Denise yanked the passenger door open, slammed it as hard as she could, and then stormed around to the other side of the car with the intention of getting as far away from her father as she could.
"Watch the attitude, chickie," Mr. Watson warned as he climbed out of the car and grabbed his infuriated daughter's upper arm. "You're not talking to your mother until you've calmed down. You've already put her through enough grief. Comprende?"
"Yes Sir." Denise pouted as she followed her father unhappily into the house.
Denise had barely set foot in the house before she was wrapped in her mother's arms. Mrs. Watson had heard the garage door opening and knew her husband had come home with or without their daughter, and she didn't know which until she saw them walk through the door. With relief washing over her, she swooped in on Denise and held her frantically in her arms. Unlike her husband who had spoken earlier of whipping Denise within an inch of her young life when he got her home, she had thought of nothing more than holding her in her arms.
But she also knew there was no stopping Richard from punishing Denise for running off like she had. After all, she herself knew Denise deserved punishment. But she was just afraid the punishment might strain what little relationship they had left with her.
However, before she allowed Richard to have his way and send her off to her room to prepare for punishment, Mrs. Watson looked her daughter over from top to bottom making sure she was all in one piece. Once she had assured herself that Denise was in perfectly good shape, she allowed her husband to take over.
"Up to your room now, young lady. I'll be up in a bit," Mr. Watson snapped, upon seeing the semi-joyful reunion complete.
Knowing there was nothing she could say that would change her father's mind, Denise turned to walk up the stairs as she rolled her eyes. He would take his time coming up... he always did. He told her once it was to give her time to think about why he was about to come up and blister her bottom.
Opening the door to her bedroom, she saw it was just as she had left it six days before... messy. She wasn't a very neat person.
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