by Joseph Kane
A few years in prison will only make them sharpen their tools. They come out worse than when they went in. In my experience, it takes fifteen years to get over something that’s had a profound effect. Career criminals don’t need locking up; they need separating from society for fifteen years, to change. There should be somewhere secure for such a long time, not because of a crime, but because it takes so long to change their mindset. Imagine a white shirt being placed in a washing machine with twenty pink shirts. That white shirt will turn pink. Only after countless washes later, will that shirt become a sort of white again. Politicians and the justice system are narrow-minded and ignorant. Criminally minded people can adapt. Prison is a dating factory for like-minded people to get together. What criminals can’t adapt to, is the loss of habit, loss of memory, and change. Time, not punishment is the only way to change a person. Give them access to equipment and resources to fulfil their ambitions or hobbies, and they could be rehabilitated in ten years. As long as they show a strong desire for what they love, and granted the government provides those resources, no matter how expensive or extreme it may be, they will be reformed. Right or wrong, good or evil, the energy within people needs an outlet. Criminals communicating with one another in prison still represents pink shirts mixed together. They should only interact with noncriminals for a long time before change can happen. I could be wrong. Maybe they need locking up forever.
My good friend Siobhan drank herself to death years later. I had failed to be there for her like she once was for me. One of her sisters died from substance abuse, so she hit rock bottom. Sharron finally lost her kids to social services but was the surviving sibling out of four sisters. The fourth sister committed suicide years prior. One of Levi’s sons ended up getting life in prison for kidnap and chopping off someone’s finger over drug money. Derek died from alcoholism. Unfortunately, Rocky had to be put down because he tried to attack everyone once Derek passed away. My dad’s friend Bluey also died from alcoholism, along with Stan-the-man who stood outside the pub laughing and joking.
Armageddon had arrived. Everyone dropped like flies. It was easy come, easy go. So much for being a pussy; bunch of idiots. I had more brains in my little finger compared to any of them. I had a gift that no one possessed; common sense. Their lifestyle was not sustainable, and I knew it from day one. It was only a matter of time before they faced reality. Surprisingly, it all happened within a short space of time. I thank god for looking over me. I had walked the ultimate tight rope for years. Anxiety took over me whenever I got close to the estate. It took a long time before I could return. Now its all gone in the blink of an eye. Instead of embracing that life like 99.9% of people, I sat back and did the opposite. It was like watching a flower grow from nothing, only to wither and die. I watched kids innocently run around without a care in the world, before being shaped and groomed into a criminal ideology. Now I feel nothing but sadness over the rise and fall, over what could have been good folk in different circumstances. It makes me wonder what these people could have achieved. They were certainly able, and way beyond my capabilities. No one is born bad. I prayed for God to have different plans for me; after all, I was only a teenager.
Chapter 6 - Bad News
Now away from my dreaded mum, it was good to relax with Chris and his friends enjoying some good laughs. They drank sociably, and I smoked the odd bit of weed. Hating tobacco and alcohol, my usual thing was to smoke cannabis from a bong made from a can of coke. With my mum spending all my child benefit, I never had a penny, so smoking weed was very rare. The stress was gone, leaving me with no need to smoke it. It felt great being a normal teenager, being able to eat food every day. My Uncle Mick continued to pick me up at weekends so we could go and watch Preston North End. My dad started to visit my gran now his life was back on track. Now sober, he drove up on his new superbike. He was an adrenaline junkie. Having put some weight on, he looked great with his new tan. At least someone was happy. He had no idea what shit I was going through. Not paying much attention to me, Mick and I continued having fun like two kids. The only person my dad loved was my gran, along with tons of other people that loved her. She didn’t judge or put anyone down, but instead, selflessly did her best to help people for no good reason. Now that my Uncle Kevin, who I wasn’t close to, had a child on the way, I was no longer going to be the only grandchild. During the summer, we all travelled down to stay at my dads flat in sunny Bournemouth. With my grandad’s careful driving, it took six hours to get down in a car with five people, no leg room and suitcases pushing against our headrest. Whenever we passed a pub when Mick was driving, my grandad would let us know.
“Pull in!”
My gran kept him on a very short leash. On arriving in Dorset, it was a beautiful place to see. The nature reserve we passed looked natural. So natural in fact, that we ended up running over a peacock that smashed the windscreen. My grandad had to punch the windshield out with his fist so he could see where he was driving at sixty miles per hour. On arrival in one piece, and everyone with cramp, my dad met us at his front door. He rented an upstairs flat with two bedrooms in a pleasant area. It was very smart inside. He had leather settee’s and a real tiger skin on his wall that his uncle shot in Africa during the war. That night we relaxed in front of the television, with plates of Chinese food on each lap. We had a great week going to restaurants, the beach, watched a football match, then later we all drove to Poole. My grandparents loved visiting coastlines. We looked in shops, ate fish & chips and watched the boats go out. Nothing beats a ray of sunshine with a jar of cockles saturated in vinegar. Parched peas that my gran loved, on the other hand, made me want to vomit. She poured enough salt on to kill a colony of slugs. Mick loved eating oysters, somehow coercing me to try them. Without choking, I honestly don’t know how I swallowed it in one. We created some great family albums from the trips we took. I wish I could have shown my friends from the estate that life could be good and that it didn’t have to be bad. The further away from Preston I reached, the happier I was. Sadly, I had to return.
“Oh my god, it’s finally happened. The news I have been waiting for my entire life. I’m so happy. Everyone is going to be so jealous when they find out.”
“You better go and ask your mum.”
“What? She’s not going to stop me. I won’t let her.”
“Your dad is coming anyway, so she can’t really stop you.”
…………………………….
“Mum, my grandma has booked a three-week holiday to Florida, so can I go?”
“No, you’re not going.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No you’re not, and that’s that.”
“You can’t stop me; I’m old enough.”
“You’re not sixteen yet haha.”
“Well everyone wants me to go, and my dad’s going so you can’t stop me.”
“Watch me.”
Against all odds, by Phil Collins that she always played, she was fighting a losing battle. She knew she had been defeated because my dad was on my birth certificate. Now wiser, I threatened her with social services and benefit fraud, knowing damn well her first priority was drinking. Little more than a whisper stopped her from preventing me. Her silence said it all when she walked off to her bedroom. It was a small victory as I advanced towards independence.
Shopping for summer clothes with my gran made the trip sink in, while I filled my suitcase with shorts, t-shirts, and snorkelling equipment. My grandparents, Mick, dad, my Uncle Kevin, his wife and two kids prepared for the taxi to take us to Manchester airport. Anticipation barely kept me still for more than two minutes. My window seat was something I had to hustle for. Taking off was amazing. I was fortunate enough to go to Sweden on a student exchange with my last primary school, but this was even better. We all smiled, as the plane took off heading towards the clouds. The view was amazing. The plane skimmed across the blanket of clouds, with a golden-brown sky from the unobscured sun that shined through my window. Happy ending
s happen after all. I stuck my middle finger up at Preston on the way to Scotland before darting across the Atlantic Ocean. On my cassette player, I had fitting music for that exact moment I had planned since childhood. “In your face mum!” The one thing that kept me from serious crime was the reality of being refused entry into the US. Everyone couldn’t possibly expect me to live in that shithole forever. I had a sunny beach to go to. Who cared, I was on my way to paradise.
Once we got there, a private minivan we hired for three weeks was waiting for us. My Uncle Kevin drove us to the Villa we had arranged. What a dream place. It looked exactly how I imagined it, but better. The cul-de-sac was something out of a movie like E.T. Our Villa had a swimming pool out in the back, next to a golf course, enclosed under a mosquito cage. The first day we had a barbecue by the pool, relaxing. By night time we looked like lobsters. Crickets in the grass called out all night confirming that it was Florida. Tragedy was never far behind where ever I went. My Uncle Kevin’s two-year-old son had fallen into the swimming pool head first. No one was around. It happened so fast. Sinking to the bottom like a rock, the holiday was about to be over. Being at the other end of the pool, I froze while he reached the bottom. Quickly springing into action, I dived under to find him. His limp body was like pulling a suction cup off a glass table with the lack of gravity in the water. Being a skinny kid myself, I pulled him out of the pool. Apart from a mouth full of water, a cry reassured me that he would be just fine. What a nightmare that could have been. The first week, we didn’t see my dad because he took a detour to New Orleans before we had arrived in America. Every day was filled with activities with so much to do. There was no way we could see it all in three weeks. Having the minivan on the front, by the time we got inside to go out for the day, the heat inside was a hundred and twenty degrees before air conditioning kicked it. Each morning was like being in an oven. Going to all the theme parks was such a blast. The first park had to be Disney World. From morning to night, we didn’t stop for two minutes. My gran went on her favourite ride, ‘it’s a small world.’ Later I had my picture taken with Mickey, Minnie, and Tigger. If the smile on my face got any bigger, I think it would have stayed like that. Full up on three hotdogs and a gallon of Pepsi, we went on rides all day, watched the parade, and then finally the fireworks before they closed for the night. It was spectacular. The following few days we hit the rest of the theme parks. Universal Studios was something I had never imagined. The movie-themed rides blew me away. From the age of eight, I was obsessed with Terminator 2 watching it every day, so to find out they had a T2 ride experience, I was emphatic. Before visiting Animal Kingdom, the star of the show had to be the Incredible Hulk roller coaster. With everyone’s legs hanging in thin air, the ride ascended slowly. Not knowing what to expect, it gave everyone a false sense of security. Seconds into the ride, it catapulted straight up blowing my shoes off almost, before turning upside down into a corkscrew when it reached the top. The queue took nearly an hour, but boy was it worth it three times in a row. It was more exhilarating than being chased by cops. We roamed around taking in as much as we could with never a dull moment.
My gran’s brother lived in Florida, so we visited him and his family. I was so jealous he lived there. His twenty-one-year-old daughter Tina took us to a lake jet skiing for the day. She was gorgeous, what a babe and fearless too. She showed us how to do one hundred and eighty degree turns at high speed, throwing whatever two people were riding it clean off. I don’t know why I was nervous; I’d been riding motorbikes since I was twelve without helmets, flying over ramps that threw me off. My dad took me on his Superbike at ninety miles per hour down Blackpool Road, so how hard could it be? Going last, Tina shouted me.
“Jump on Joseph.”
“OK.”
“Are there Crocodiles in this lake?”
“Yes, there is.”
“Erm, where should I put my hands?”
She grabbed my hands, placing them around her waist.
“Hold on tight.”
What a rush. Being a small teen, every time she did a turn at fifty miles per hour, I flew off the back still holding on to her concussed. We pierced the water like an arrow, going deep under from the projection. The weight of her from the force, mixed with the thought I was about to land on top of a crocodile, scared the shit out of me. For the second we stopped deep under, there was no other place I’d rather be. Time had stopped for what felt like an eternity. I had been reborn after feeling baptised while submerged. Still holding on to beauty, I reflected on all my ugly experiences. All the pain and suffering had vanished for that one moment. My mum undoubtedly was at home drinking her life away, while my old friends were sabotaging theirs in a life they couldn’t escape. Meantime, I was lying at the bottom of a lake in Florida. It was funny how life turned out. Like my cousin that nearly drowned, I fought hard to continue with life. I fought hard to resurface after my out-of-body experience.
Visiting half a dozen beaches that month, the day at Clearwater beach was particularly nice. Palm tree’s swayed in the wind, creating a bristling noise. Barefooted, my feet burnt from the fine hot sand, before quickly sinking to cooler sand. Each step took me closer to where I wanted to go. Looking around, I witnessed nothing but peace or the love everyone had for their families. Children made sand castles, while their mum and dads sunbathed on chairs. People swam without fearing judgment or blame. In shorts and a t-shirt, I walked past a temporary space, before it was time to have fun. Reaching the shoreline, I looked out over the horizon. Preston was 4,288 miles across the water. I didn’t want to return. The thought of going back was unbearable. My future had no forecast whatsoever. So much time had passed before reaching this one moment to live my dream. What if I stayed? What if I ran away, disappearing across America? The thoughts turned into a plan I was going to execute. If I keep my head down, I could easily find food and shelter somewhere. My plan was crushed by the thought of worrying my family or upsetting my gran after everything she had done for me. I knew it would be years before returning. Still, I was forever grateful for the best three weeks of my life. The experience had shaped me, but keeping that shape was anyone’s guess. After cleaning the Villa, we had one last look to make sure we didn’t forget anything. I was the last person to leave the house, taking in the feeling one last time. Looking through the blinds in one of the bedrooms, everyone put their suitcases in the back of the minivan. Something prompted me to lift the mattress my dad had slept in. I was in complete shock at what I was looking at. Without telling anyone, I carried with me dads little secret.
After returning home, it felt as if misery, worry, and stress were waiting at the airport. Living with Chris wasn’t going very well. His small flat made everything awkward. Being around him, was the most time I had ever spent with him. Having different dads, he taunted me for everything my dad had done. We didn’t have much in common apart from the life we had. There was something about him that seemed off. He walked around with a big chip on his shoulder. If there were no sugar or salt in the house, he would skitz out at his girlfriend. He had a controlling kind of ego like mum did. More often I went to my grandparent's house on the bus. Now older, no one had to look after me. I surprised my gran every time I visited her at work. At the back of the hospital, she sorted the laundry out on a mammoth scale. Her colleagues were nice to me. One week, the conversation came up about moving me in with the three of them. I jumped for joy over the idea. Personally, it should have happened years ago. No one knew what my mum did because I kept it to myself. They knew she caused lots of trouble; they just didn’t know how bad things had got. Chris didn’t care less where I went, and neither did my mum. Coming close to fifteen, it was a done deal. Having my own room was a sanctuary. They didn’t like me staying off school all day, so they got me into a local high school. It was my last year in school, with the reality of no qualifications, but I did it anyway. Things seemed to look up.
Arriving at the new school was nerve-racking. Being out of education for
a year had changed me. Everyone knew each other for years, then a complete stranger like me arrives. Two of my childhood friends attended, Phil and Andy, but they were in the year below me. You could tell their parents took their time to build romance before conceiving. My parents would have got pissed, then jumped straight into bed, BISH BASH BOSH! All the kids looked at me from the whole school. I stood out like a saw thumb. Anxiety and worry followed me every single day. Out of coincidence, one of the Muslim boys from near my mums attended. He knew my reputation, and who I was before telling the rest of the lads in my year. That day forward, I was watched over, protected and respected by the hardest lads in that school from different gangs around Preston. I don’t why that happened, I didn’t exactly have a claim to fame, but it was instant respect, especially from all the Muslim lads. Not everyone appreciated how I appeared from thin air, gaining more respect than they did, so it caused a bit of friction. It was mainly from one lad that couldn’t take his eyes off me. I could see it in his eyes that he wanted to do me over. He had a black girlfriend that took a liking to me, which didn’t help. Sexually active by then, I took his girlfriend off him. He was so pissed off. She was hot as well. We kissed in the alley after school near my grandparent's house, rubbing hands all over each other. My hands rubbed up her skirt grabbing her ass, while she tried to calm me down. The urge to touch and kiss girls drove me nuts at fifteen. Most of my time at that school, I shared a class with the cock of the school called Jamie. He was massive lad for his age that looked like Griff from Back to the Future 2. Not only was he big, but he was as hyperactive as me. With random actions, he would pick up chairs and launch them across the room at pupils entering the room. The chance that one of the legs would stick into someone’s eyes was pretty high. Being under the wing of a dragon, it was no concern of mine. I had spent my entire life under the wing of numerous dragons. No one wanted to be on the receiving end. Having my own front door key, I was able to nip home at dinner time to get some dinner. It felt great calling it my new home.