Dark Chapter

by Winnie M. Li

  There’s no arguing with that logic. She laughs. “Guess so.”

  “So, just think about it. Go to a singles’ night with some friends. You don’t have to expect anything from it, but just be in that space, and see how you feel.”

  She nods. The prospect still fills her with a certain nausea, but she can try.

  On the board, next to Relationship, Doctor Greene writes Singles’ night with friends?

  She puts the marker down and the two of them look at the board.

  “Do you think you could consider trying some of these steps in the next week?”

  It seems so cut and dried. A three-step instruction manual to rebuilding her life. Part of her thinks, what’s the point in planning? You can plan all you want, but you can’t ever predict when a complete stranger is going to barge into your life and destroy your entire world within minutes. But the other part of her — the optimist, the achiever, maybe a ghost of the old Vivian — sees the words on the whiteboard and thinks that she can do it.

  Still, she remains torn, apprehensive.

  Doctor Greene looks at her warmly. “I know it seems tough, but you should be proud of all the progress you’ve made in the past year. You’ve worked really hard. You’ve kept pushing yourself to go out of your comfort zone, you just need to push yourself a little farther and you’ll get there.”

  *

  For years, it’s been the same. These… these interventions. Sitting in a room with a counsellor. Then in a group with some other lads and a counsellor. Talking and talking.

  ’Cause talking solves everything, right?

  We want you to start thinking about what brought you here in the first place.

  We want you to understand your part in it all. How that kind of behavior impacted on another person.

  We want to make sure you’re making progress, Johnny.

  Progress is this cartoon staircase on a poster hanging above their heads. And the coloured steps going up: Acceptance. Regret. Understanding. Changing. Renewal.

  It’s all shite but he gets why he has to go. It’s about starting new. That’s what he’d like to do. As long as that means getting the fuck out of here.

  At first he hated it.

  He tells the story, the version he tells everyone here. Good thing they don’t ask for too much detail. Just they had sex outside, she left, and then the whole town’s screaming about the rape.

  The others got stories of their own, which he hears in time. All about girls, too. Paddy, it was this girl he was seeing, on and off. They got drunk, they got in a fight, he got angry, he wanted to show her. Then, next thing he knows, he’s getting arrested two days later. She still had the bruises.

  Dan, it was a younger girl, thirteen or fourteen. She was a friend of his niece. She was smiling at him, all giggly. Pretty girl for her age. He knew she wanted it, he just had to get her into a room on her own. She didn’t seem to complain much, through all the times he done it with her. And he’s the one getting arrested.

  Paul is quiet, like. He says it was different women he’d meet at bars. They were better after you put something in their drink. They wouldn’t remember when they woke up, and he always put all their clothes back on, leave them on the couch so they wouldn’t suspect nothing when they woke up. Except one or two, he weren’t that careful with. And now he’s here.

  None of them want to be here. Everyone fucking hates this class, but they keep at it. Wanting them all to keep talking about this, about that, about women.

  Them two that run the class, they’re nice about it, at least. But it’s clear no one’s going anywhere, not up that cartoon staircase on some shite poster on the wall, not at all, if they’re not gonna talk.

  “Do you ever think about how the woman felt, after what you’d done to her?” your counsellor man Sam asks him this, and the others are looking at him.

  “Like, what d’ya mean?”

  “Imagine you’re her. Put yourself in her shoes. You’re visiting Belfast, going on a walk through this park, beautiful Saturday afternoon, just want to be on your own and enjoy the outdoors. And you come across a young boy, like yourself.”

  “But if I’m her, then I’m not a young boy no more.”

  Paddy and Dan snort. He had to point that out, just to get a laugh.

  “Very clever, Johnny. You know what I mean.”

  “Naw, don’t think I do.”

  “Johnny, this is the most crucial part of the intervention. I know it’s tough and you may not want to think about it this way, but I want you to try real hard. Close your eyes, try to imagine you’re her.”

  He grumbles, but does it. Pictures that spring afternoon again, sun and shade in the Glen. Only he’s not rolling on a yoke this time.

  Sam talks him through it. Musta taken notes on his story, because he knows it pretty well.

  “What do you feel when this boy yells at you to shut up, tells you he wants to have sex with you, hits you?”

  “Well, I’d lamp him something serious.”

  “No, but you’re not yourself in this, Johnny. You’re her. You’ve never punched anyone in your life before.”

  Can’t imagine that. How do you not punch back?

  “That don’t make sense. Whoever I was, I’d lamp him some.”

  “Imagine you’ve never thrown a punch in your life. You’ve lived a very different life. You’re on your own in a city you don’t know well, and this boy’s threatening you like this, demanding you have sex with him. You’re very scared.”

  But he won’t go there. He shrugs. “I wouldn’t be scared.”

  Sam sighs, don’t look happy. Nor is he. Just wants to get out of here, away from these fucking questions.

  “Let’s try it another way. You meet someone, who comes up to you, asks for directions. You trust this person, he doesn’t seem dangerous…”

  “I wouldn’t trust no one!” he shouts. “That was her problem. She shouldna done that. Coming up near us, trying to go on that walk on her own. She was fucking asking for it.”

  “No, Johnny, no.” Sam says this sharp and looks at him angry. He’s dropped the nice act. “You can’t say that. You can’t assume someone’s asking for it. Not someone you don’t know at all. You have no right to interfere in someone else’s life like that.”

  Oh, and like all them others have a right to interfere in mine?

  But he don’t say this. Just glares at Sam.

  “She didn’t provoke you. She didn’t threaten you, she wasn’t mean to you. What gives you the right to do something like that to her? She was very clear she didn’t want it.”

  “So this is about rights, is it?”

  “This is about respecting other people. Other people who have done you no harm.”

  “All them others… do they respect me?” He laughs. “I don’t fucking think so. They hate me the minute they see me. No-good tinker boy, that’s what they think.”

  “That’s not true, Johnny.” Sam shakes his head. “We don’t think that of you. We’re here trying to help you.”

  Sam looks around to the other lads. “Aren’t we all here to help Johnny, the same way we’re here to help all of you?”

  Paddy, Dan, and Paul, the three of them look at him, open their mouths, not sure what to say.

  “Yeah, of course,” Paul says, and Paddy and Dan nod, too.

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s right.”

  But it’s all just shite.

  “Aw, fuck your help!” He swats at the air. “I don’t need none of it.”

  “Johnny, we can’t go through this world living entirely on our own,” Sam says. “We need other people’s help sometimes.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, you lot know nothing.”

  Sam almost looks hurt. “Johnny, I’ve been doing this for years now…”

  “Well, go do it on the other lads. How comes no one makes me da go through all this? Or Michael? Why’s it have to be me? Or any them others, sometimes done worse things and got away with it?”r />
  “It’ll come to them in time. It will. Trust me on this, Johnny.”

  But that he definitely don’t trust.

  He shakes his head and stares at Sam. Won’t take part no more in this load of ridiculous shite. He gets up and walks away, though he has to stop where the room ends because there’s screws on the other side of the window, staring in at him.

  These people are blind, like. Think everything’s fair, everything’s gonna work out, that the people who deserve what they got will get it. And if you work hard and are nice to others and all that shite, then life will be good to you. All cheery and nice and pointing to that staircase over and over.

  What the fuck.

  What do they know.

  “Johnny, how’s your writing skills coming along? Davey tells me you’re good. Smart. You can write good sentences now.”

  “Guess I’m all right.”

  There’s some others in his class. Harry and Ciaran, real fucking dumb nuts. At least he’s not one of them.

  “Well, how’s about we do something different today? None of this talking.”

  No shite talking. That’s a start.

  “What you got?”

  Sam sits down at the desk next to him. Sitting in the chair backwards, so he’s straddling, his legs on either side, and leaning in close.

  He pulls back. Sam better not be trying it on with him. Too many bent chancers have pulled that shite on him here.

  “How about instead of talking today, you try writing a letter.”

  What, should he be shouting for joy? He keeps staring at Sam.

  “Just have a go, might not work out. But this letter’s going to be addressed to someone in particular.”

  “What kinda letter?”

  “Don’t worry, it’s not actually going to be posted out. But I want you to think about writing a letter to the woman you met in the park. The woman you did this to, what led you to coming here.”

  Jaysus, what the fuck. “Why you want me to do that?”

  “Like I said, it’s not something she’s going to see, unless you want to send it to her. But write a letter and tell her how you feel about what happened.”

  “What’s the point of writing it if she ain’t actually going to see it?”

  Sam sighs. “Johnny, this is a way for you to express your feelings about what you’ve done. If you feel angry, then write that. If you feel guilty, then write that, too.”

  “Still don’t see the point.”

  “Tell you what, if you write it, that’s a big achievement, both for your schooling and for you. Davey and I will make sure you get some enhancements. Maybe you can use them to buy a new video game or even a DVD player in your cell.”

  He thinks about that. Been getting bored of playing the same games, after all.

  “And she’s not going to read it?”

  “No, the only people reading it will be me, Davey, and your officer, Conor.”

  That’s three people too many, but fuck it, what does he care? Everything’s the same inside this shite place anyway.

  He nods. “Yeah, all right.”

  “Very good, Johnny. That’s great. I’ll get you some pencil and paper then.”

  Sam gets up and claps him on the shoulder. He flinches and hunches over. Writing letters to the woman. What’s next, baking a cake for her?

  Dear Woman,

  But Sam stops him right there.

  “No, Johnny, write her actual name. Do you remember it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, call her by her actual name.”

  He’s still holding the pencil above the paper, fingers not moving.

  “What’s her name, Johnny?”

  “It’s something like… it’s Vivian.”

  ’Course he knows that name. Weird name. Never knew anyone else with it, kinda old-timey and British. Who the fuck names their kid Vivian these days?

  “Do you know how to spell it?”

  “V…”

  Sam’s looking at him, that hopeful wide-eyed look these types get when talking to him.

  “Viv, so, V… I… V…”

  Sam’s nodding. “Great, you got it.”

  “Vivi-an… V-I-V… Viv-ee-un… E?”

  Sam shakes his head. “It’s like the boy’s name ‘Ian’… Viv-Ian.”

  “V-I-V… I-A-N?”

  A wide grin from Sam. “Perfect. That’s it! Now write it out.”

  Don’t want to admit it, but a flip of pride he’s figured out that name.

  Pencil on paper, and he writes out the big letters.

  Dear VIVIAN,

  Here’s him, feeling proud for spelling out the name of the woman. Oh Christ, the shite Michael would say about this. The highlight of his fucking week here in prison.

  But Michael don’t need to know. None of them need to know. Just three of them gonna read this letter. He thinks, and taps the pencil against the desk.

  Dear VIVIAN,

  I am writing this be coz they say I shud. What do I hav to say to you?

  I probly shud not have dun that to you. I am here inside prison becoz of it now. I have been here 3 almost 4 yrs now. I dont like it here, but its ok I guess. I want to be out side.

  That day I did that to you. I was hi. On drugs. I thout you looked good, like some girls I have saw in the pornos sometim. That got me thinking. I also thout like you wanted to know me. Not many peple want to know me. But you spoke to me were nice, and so I wanted to do it.

  I probly shud not have hit you, but I am good at that. At hiting. That is how I get things sometim. Sometims they say I do things like I am a monster, but it just happens.

  I dont know were you are now but its probly better then me in prison. I guess I hop you are ok. They say you are very hurt by what I dun to you. I guess I am sorry then. To be in side here. And I cant wait to get out.

  I saw how you looked at me in cort. And you probly hate me. But you won and now Im here. So Im sorry it happend.

  Bye,

  Johnny

  He remembers now, sitting by the trail, after the deed, both of them covered in mud. He’d said sorry to the woman. It just kinda came out. But yeah, he’s sorry now. Four years inside will make you sorry.

  He folds the paper in half, hands it to Sam. Who looks at him, unfolds it, gets up to read it a few desks over.

  His head fucking hurts from all that thinking and writing.

  Fuck the staircase.

  *

  His hearing is coming up. Michael’s been giving him advice for months now. What he should say at the hearing this time around, now that he’s up for probation.

  “You know what they want to hear. If you don’t say some things, they’ll never let you out.”

  So yeah, all the usual: I feel sorry for my victim now, I feel bad, I know what I done wrong…

  I realise the error of my ways.

  He laughs at that one. Who the fuck speaks like that?

  They’d never believe him if he said that.

  So he’s been practicing. Pacing up and down his cell at night, mouthing them words. I been inside for five years now and I wish hadn’t come to prison. But I had to. ’Cause otherwise, I would of kept on doing those things – fighting and doing drugs and lashing out at people, just ’cause I didn’t know them.

  “Don’t make it sound like you been practicing,” Michael warned him. “You gotta sound like you really mean it.”

  And does he mean it?

  Well, yeah. He wishes to hell he hadn’t done that and ended up here. He wouldn’t of picked such a smart beour, he wouldn’t of let her get away. Now, if he stepped into that same park, met that same girl, or another like her… Would he? Hard to say. At least he knows what it’s like to get caught now.

  So when that fucker Elliott come to unlock him this morning, he’d put on the white shirt, the one makes him look grown up. He’s allowed to dress nice for this meeting. Conor came right up to the cell, too. Smiled at him, shook his hand, serious, man to man.

  “
I know you can wow them today, Johnny. I know you got it in you.”

  He took one more look at the card Claire sent him, lying on his bed. Big sunny card with cartoon trees and a cottage on a hill.

  Good luck, Johnny – from all of us. We know you will do good and we will see you soon. Lots of love.

  It was signed by all of them: Claire, Bridget, Sean, and, scrawled at the end (in Claire’s handwriting), Mam.

  And last week, he even spoke to Mam over the phone. Weird call. Not much said. She sounded real different, brighter somehow.

  “Johnny, I will be so proud of you when you get out.”

  His own fucking mam said that. First time he heard her voice in years.

  “You should come down here to Dublin, stay with us. You’d like it. Get away from Belfast for a bit. Lots of good things for Travellers happening down here.”

  So he’s thinking that, as he goes down the hall with Conor and Elliott.

  Come down here to Dublin. Get away from Belfast.

  Conor is muttering some things as they walk along, but he’s hardly hearing them.

  “Don’t forget to mention all the work you’ve done in the intervention programme. What Sam said about your progress. Of course, I’ll say it, too, but it’s even better if you talk about it yourself.”

  But even Da, even fucking Da had something to say about this hearing.

  “Try not to fuck this up.”

  That was his advice.

  “We’ll sort something out for you nice, when you get out. Found a house you could live in, maybe with Michael or Kevo. Owned by another Traveller, he’ll rent it to us.”

  He thinks of that. Not living in a caravan. No more wind rattling the walls and tromping out in the cold to hook up the generator. And no view of Belfast, all spread out with the hills below him and the waterfall and hardly no one else to bother him.

  Instead, living in a house. Four walls, stairs, with buffer families all around. Everyone into your business. He’s not so sure.

  And here they are now, at the end of the walk. A blank door that Conor knocks on, before turning to him and winking. Conor’s like a puppy, that excited. Rubbing his hands and eager to please. Gestures for him to go first, and in through the doorway now, with Conor yapping and Elliott silent behind.