by Jean Haus
Jail sucks. The food sucks. The two-inch thick mattress sucks. The idiot who snores like a bear in the bunk below me sucks. The boredom sucks. But what has sucked the most the last three days—because this is my third offence and possible felony so I had to wait for a court arraignment for bail to be posted—is the shit whirling in my head.
The possibility of prison. My father knocked out cold. Sharon hiding guns. My spot and future in the band. But mostly April. I can’t get the sight of my father shoving her by the face to the ground out of my head. My brain plays the image on repeat over and over again until I want to punch the shit out of the cement wall next to my bunk. If she hadn’t been with me, the fucker would have never touched her.
Now Monday morning, I’m dressed in my orange jail finery and trussed up like a hog in chains that loop from my wrists to my feet as they take me from the jailhouse to the courthouse. As a guard opens the door to the courtroom, I catch a glimpse of Romeo, Justin, and April sitting in the front row.
My jaw hardens. Why the fuck would they bring her? The sooner I get over that shit the better. For both of us.
I stare straight ahead at the far wall as a guard removes the chains from my wrists and from my feet. Without looking at anyone, I proceed to the table where Justin’s lawyer waits. The same lawyer we used when I beat the shit out of Allie’s ex.
The judge comes out and within less than twenty minutes, the facts are laid out—including my past misdemeanors. Each time the prosecution adds another layer to the proceedings, it’s like a punch in my pride. The list makes me wonder how I can have any pride with a rap sheet like this because there’s more. There were times the police weren’t called. Many times I got away with the release of my temper.
My head hammers as the prosecutor drones on about how I’ve proved I’m a danger to society. And because I’m such a danger, he tries to add my juvenile rap sheet to the proceedings. Justin’s lawyer argues. The judge doesn’t let that two pager in.
Once the prosecutor is done, I plead guilty in a matter of fact voice, and my bail is set.
The sentencing will be forthcoming within a month.
Yesterday, during his visit, the lawyer tried to talk me in to pleading not guilty, and talked and talked and talked. He believes it’s the only way to get a reduced sentence. I refused. I did the shit. Like I can stand here and act like it didn’t happen or that I had a blip of insanity. My pride may get me killed one day—probably sent to prison on this one—but I’m not a lying actor.
They chain me back up—I stare at the wall—and transport me back to the jailhouse. Knowing Romeo or Justin is posting my bail—more money that I’ll owe—I don’t get too comfortable, just sit on the top bunk with my back against the cement, ignore the idiot trying to talk with me from the bunk below, and try not the think how prison is going to suck way worse than this.
Within the hour, the guards are processing me for release. In my mechanic clothes once more, I walk out with Justin, who is giving me the third degree about being stubborn and pleading guilty.
I am guilty fuckhead. Seeing as how he just bailed me out, I keep the retort behind my teeth.
My head about explodes as I realize whose car is waiting for us in the parking lot. Just my luck.
April drove.
Jaw tight again, I get in the backseat with Justin. April turns around with a soft smile and a, “Hi.” I nod and turn toward the window. I can almost hear her disappointment, certainly sense it coming from the front seat.
Justin continues droning about my guilty plea, explaining how I need to help the lawyer with everything possible at my sentencing, so I get the least punishment possible. I stare out the window. Justin starts pleading, reminding me that a third offence can warrant two years prison time. I stare out the window. Romeo joins in, tells me to get my head out of my ass and listen. I stare out the window.
There’s no fight left in me. I can’t turn the tide on my inevitable future any longer. A fucked up life and prison should have been stamped on my forehead the minute I was born.
Justin and Romeo are both shouting at me as April parks in front of the tattoo shop.
I finally turn to Justin. “How is my father?”
His frustrated expression changes to a mixture of surprise and blankness.
April twists in the front seat toward me. “He got out of the hospital yesterday. A concussion and broken jaw,” she softly says. “Sharon and I have been in contact over the past few days. She….well, she feels responsible since she hid the gun from Jim in the first place.”
Fuck.
I close my eyes, drawing in a harsh breath as concussion and a broken jaw reverberates through me. As a kid, I never truly wanted to hurt my father. The only thing I wanted was for him to leave me alone, then leave Sharon alone. Instead, I put his ass in the hospital because I couldn’t control myself. I let the air caught in me out in a fast rush, escape out of the car, and fly up the stairs to my apartment.
Inside, I lean forward across the counter and press my forehead on a cupboard.
This morning, during the arraignment, and even the trip home, I believed in the illusion that by giving up and giving in, I could ride this out. That illusion is falling to pieces. I draw in breaths, trying not to imagine my father in pain with Sharon going nuts by his side.
The image crashes into my skull again and again.
A knock sounds on the door.
I. Cannot. Deal. With. This. Shit.
The knocking grows louder, more persistent.
I beat my head against the cupboard, wishing I could knock myself out.
She starts yelling, “Gabe!”
Hissing every swear word known to man, I push away from the counter and whip the door open.
“Hey,” April says, her face twisted in worry.
I lean on a kitchen chair. I can’t seem to stay upright without help.
She comes in shutting the door, troubled eyes sweeping over me.
My gaze roams the apartment, anything but on her. Then I’m noticing how clean it is. My head snaps back to her. “You?”
She nods. “And Allie.” She steps closer. “Gabe…”
I run a hand through my hair, resisting the desire to pull the strands out, then hold the back of my neck, trying to squeeze the tension out of myself. She stands mere feet from me, wide eyed and worried, beautiful and perfect. So perfect, it’s starting to hurt to look at her.
“Listen, April,” I say to the floor. “I don’t think things are going to work out between us.”
There’s a long pause of silence before she says, “Don’t do this.” She comes closer forcing me to meet her gaze. “Don’t equate letting me go with doing the right thing. It’s not right.”
I drop my hand and laugh despondently. “The right thing? Didn’t you hear? I’m dangerous. Being with me is dangerous. And I’ll soon be a convict. I’m no good for you. I know it. You know it. The whole fucking world knows it.”
“No.” She shakes her head as her expression grows imploring. “That’s not true, even Romeo admitted this morning that we should be together.”
The warmth in her pleading eyes almost has me grasping for her.
My jaw turns hard, harder than it felt in court. Though a tight knot forms in my chest, I ignore it. “Romeo? Who the fuck is Romeo in all this? What does he know? You think with all the shit going on in my life, I can deal with you and your shit? Your fucking whining over your sister?”
She blanches, as if I punched her. The whiteness of her skin, the shock in her expression, and the pain in her eyes, make me want to take the words back.
But I don’t. I can’t.
I cross my arms and sneer, deciding to put the last nail in the coffin, before I’m on my knees begging her to take me back. “You’re a good fuck. Maybe the best fuck in my life. A fuck that I wanted to keep around, but the fucking ain’t worth dealing with the guilt ridden baggage you bring. Baggage that might be worse than my own shit.”
My words are
like bullets from the gun of my mouth. They hit her hard until she doubles over, trying to gulp in air. I harden my resolve and ignore the anguish her visible pain brings me.
She finally stands, her look raw and full of accusation. Without saying a word, she stumbles to the door and slams it shut.
The knot in my chest feels like it’s going to explode. I want to punch every surface in the apartment until my knuckles are raw.
Seconds tick by until I can’t hold all the pain in any longer. A chair flies across the room. The wall gets a punch. The front of the refrigerator takes a hit. My knuckles are raw and blood drips on the floor. Then before I destroy the entire apartment, I grip the counter, plant my face on a cupboard, and just breathe.
Chapter 30
~April~
My last group session. Two days from now, I graduate. I could have skipped the session, since a week after my interview I was accepted into the clinical program. However, this may be my only chance to see Gabe. Though I know deep down that he was trying to push me away, it took a few days for me to get over his cruel words. He nearly shattered my heart with his cruel words, but as I gradually acknowledged his intent, I have become determined to make him see reason. I’ve called him, texted him, and even gone to his apartment. He has not answered my calls, my texts, or his door. I have considered going to the garage he works at but that would be the last resort. Yet, I’m hoping he will show up at group.
I know what it’s like to shut people out. I’m a pro at it. And now I’m being shut out. Though I deserve a broken heart and definitely don’t deserve him, I can’t help thinking that Gabe needs me. Ironically, I had been leaving his apartment on the day of the fight not sure if I could handle being with him. Now faced with the possibility, I’m desperate to be with him. The thought of his absence in my life overrides my heart crunching guilt at being happy. But his sullen demeanor is slicing at my heart, slowly tearing it to ribbons with each text and call and knock he doesn’t answer. However, I’m determined to be as stubborn as he is and refuse to give up. Though there are times, several times a day actually, when the loss of him leaves me unable to breathe as sorrow and tears threaten to overwhelm me.
But of course, we are fifteen minutes into the session and still no Gabe.
Instead of letting that tear at me, I force myself to concentrate on the group. It has changed over the last month. Misha has ceased giving me the evil eye, though her glare still carries contempt. Chad continues to be upset about his stepfather’s rules, but is also not as nasty as he was in the beginning. And Jason has been contributing a little more each session, if only opinions.
I previously considered Jeff a quack but I’m slowly comprehending how he subtly gets us to talk and keeps things moving by forcing us to share, causing us to be more comfortable with one another. And I imagine within a few more months the group members will learn to trust one another. Reflecting on past group sessions, I can’t say I totally understand how Jeff did it, and that worries me. As someone who desires to be in his position one day, I should be able to see how he is maneuvering us. Some of his machinations, like forcing us to share something each week or do something outside of group, are clear to me. However, not all of his actions are comprehensible to me, which once more leaves me wondering if I’m pushing myself into a mold that I’ll never fit in.
Jeff is droning on about how helping others not only builds self-esteem, but heals us too. Perhaps, the droning is his secret, leaking into our subconscious and gradually changing our view of the world. Though, at the moment, just Jason appears to be intently listening to Jeff. Misha stares off into space. Chad stares at Misha. And I’m preoccupied with staring at the door.
However, even if Gabe doesn’t show, I’ve decided to come clean. It seems that if one of us has the balls to speak, it opens up new doors for everyone. Knowing I haven’t contributed much to this group, I would like to give something before I leave it. And I’m slowly coming to terms that hiding my past isn’t solely about keeping me from depression. It has also been about being afraid of how people view me.
So when Jeff asks me first if I have anything to share, I draw from a well of courage deep down inside of me that I didn’t know existed until recently, and start a condensed version of what I shared with Gabe over a week ago.
About a third of the way through my rendition, the faces around me turn shocked, half way through, they turn absolutely stunned. I’m almost finished and feeling wrung out when a light knock sounds at the door. No one notices except for me. Instead, my pause gets their attention. When another knock sounds Jeff reluctantly gets up. The sight of Gabe’s stony face causes my heart to accelerate. Jeff quickly directs Gabe to his seat, sits down, and gestures for me to continue.
But my attention is drawn to Gabe. He sits with his arms crossed, looking at the floor and ignoring all of us. Every cell in my body yearns, to the point of pain, to go to him, get him to look at me, get him listen.
Jeff clears his throat and I snap out of it, reluctantly continuing. Though with Gabe here now, it’s much harder than before. Once I’m done, everyone stares at me dumbfounded, even Gabe—I suppose he didn’t expect me to share with anyone else.
“Well,” Misha says, her tone shocked, “I can understand why you’re here now.” She looks at me normally for once—meaning without her normal malice or contempt. “I’m truly sorry to hear about your sister, but how—how do you get over something like that?”
I draw in a deep breath. “You don’t. You just attempt to live with the guilt the best you can.”
“And try not to hate yourself,” Jason says quietly, which has me wondering for the umpteenth time why he is here.
The crease on his brow has me saying, “That’s true. How—”
“It’s not like you killed her,” Chad blurts.
“Well, no…” I squeak then trail off, not sure how to respond to that, nor wanting to.
Gabe turns to Chad, his face hard and intimidating. “You really should shut the hell up.”
Gabe coming to my aid gives me a spark of hope.
Chad leans back against his chair, grumbling, “Just trying to help for once.”
Misha’s pierced mouth twists in concentration. “I don’t think that’s going to help. I’m sure everyone questions what they could have done different after a…accident, but to have had the person asked for your help...” She sadly shakes her head. “But sometimes help isn’t enough.”
Gabe’s brows rise at Misha or more accurately her thoughtfulness.
“That took a lot of guts to share with us, April,” Jeff says when there’s a lull in the conversation. “And though I do understand why you’ve felt guilty, you also have to have the courage to forgive yourself.”
Never having considered it that way, I try to wrap my head around his idea. It almost seems too big for me to process.
“I know what it’s like to feel guilty,” Jason softly says, then takes a huge gulp of air.
We all turn to Jason.
Gaze on the floor, he says in an almost whisper, “When I was a kid, well eleven years old, I was over my friend’s house. He—we both wanted to check out his dad’s gun collection.”
I cover my mouth to hold a gasp in, fearing what he is going to say next.
He draws in a deep breath then blurts out, “I accidently shot him.”
The gasp comes out muffled from behind my hand.
“Holy shit!” Chad says under his breath.
Jason shakes his head, his eyes sad. “He didn’t die, but the bullet went into his side and lodged into his spine. He became a paraplegic, and now—and now I visit him almost every weekend.”
I can’t help taking his hand as my eyes begin to tear up. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Jason. I’m not sure I even—”
“Dude,” Chad says, “you were just a kid.”
Jason blinks at Chad. “And he’s an adult forever stuck in a wheel chair.”
“You know,” Gabe quietly says to Jason, “you’re not h
elping your friend by cutting yourself off from life.” He glances from Jason then pointedly to me as I wipe tears from my eyes.
Misha’s head snaps to Gabe. “Hey asshole, he never said he was cutting himself off from life!”
Gabe ignores her and waits for Jason to reply.
Jason’s hand trembles in mine as he asks Gabe, “But why should I get a normal life?”
Gabe’s forehead creases. “You’re stuck in guilt and your friend is stuck in a wheelchair. I’m sure those visits are wonderful.”
“Gabe!” I say as Jason’s hand trembles more.
He ignores me and demands of Jason, “You ever go anywhere with your friend?”
Jason shakes his head.
“Ever do anything other than visit him at his home? Go anywhere?”
Jason shakes his head.
“Do you ever do anything?”
“Not really,” Jason practically whispers.
“So you’re both invalids. One bullet. Two lives ruined.” Gabe sits back, shaking his head.
I release Jason’s hand to point at Gabe. “And you’re not just throwing the towel in on yours? Refusing to play in the band? Refusing to talk with the lawyer?” Romeo has been keeping me up to date, or more accurately, keeping me up on how Gabe has cut himself off from everyone and everything.
Gabe’s top lip curls. “April,” he says roughly. “I don’t believe I was the one sharing. My shit is not part of this group discussion.”
I let out a huff of anger and sit back, while his irate eyes drill holes in me.
Jeff, who had been calmly listening, leans forward, probably hoping to diffuse the sudden tension. “Jason, first of all I want to commend you for your bravery for sharing that with us. It must have been difficult, but like April, it took a lot of courage. However, I think Gabe might be right, though said crudely. Maybe we could help you think of things you and your friend can do.”
Jason sits up fully as if getting ready to listen.