Inside the Tiger

by Hayley Lawrence

  That was real.

  Dreams are as real as it can get with Micah. It’s not enough, but, oh, I want it to be.

  I think about Micah’s husky voice, his brown arms, the intensity of his eyes, until I feel myself lifted off the edge of consciousness …

  I’m waiting outside the walls of Bang Kwang in the sweltering heat. A visitor emerges from the prison, pulling a cap down low on his face. He heads towards me, and I step back. Then he grabs me by the hand and pulls me towards the street.

  I catch a glimpse of his face.

  Micah.

  My heart is hammering.

  Micah just walked out through the mouth of the tiger. Without a word, we fly down the crowded streets. Run without growing tired. We jump fences and escape into the maze that is Bangkok until no guard could ever find us.

  In an empty corner of a back alley, we stop. Micah leans over me, pressing his hands either side of me.

  ‘Told you I was gonna walk free,’ he whispers in my ear.

  I grab at his shirt. Unable to believe it. I lift his shirt up and trace the words: Born to die, play to live.

  ‘You did it,’ I breathe. ‘You lived.’

  Then he leans in and we kiss and the warmth of his mouth flows into me. Until there’s no more coldness, no more sadness, no more aching deep in the core of my soul.

  I’m afraid to open my eyes, afraid that if I do, Micah will vanish. So I don’t open them. I keep kissing him until I’m gasping for air.

  But even with my eyes closed, he slips away from me, and I wake with my chest burning.

  None of it was real.

  Micah isn’t free. He never will be.

  When I wake, there’s a message on my phone.

  Eli: One condition.

  It takes me a second to remember what I’ve asked him, and then it comes crashing back.

  Bel: Name it.

  Eli: I’m in charge of social media. It all goes through me.

  Bel: Done. Thank you, Eli. Helpful, amazing, beautiful, loyal friend.

  Eli: Keep it coming …

  Bel: Thank you, thank you, thank you. Okay, so I was thinking a YouTube clip to start. Something personal.

  Eli: You make the clip, I’ll get it out there. You could tell Micah’s story, talk about conditions in prison, how you met the guy, that sort of thing. Remember, though, there’s a chance your Dad could see it. Micah’s family could, too. Are you sure it’s what he wants? Are you sure you’re up for this?

  I pull Micah’s photo out from beneath my pillow. Study his face like it’s a map to my own heart. Micah needs me to fight for him.

  The words ‘You there?’ appear on my screen.

  I will use every last weapon I have.

  Bring it, I type.

  I shift my laptop so that I’m centred in the middle of the camera. Glance at Tash in her bed, asleep. There’s no fancy backdrop. The wall of the dorm is behind me, lit by the light of my desk lamp and adorned with my lone picture of Micah and his boys. Eli will call it amateur.

  Clearing my throat, I inhale, look directly into the camera and hit record:

  ‘While I sleep in my soft bed at night, a friend of mine sleeps on a thin mattress not quite long enough to fit him. His elbow touches the guy next to him, and the light never goes out.

  ‘I never worry about my next meal, but my friend gets one bowl of soup a day. It’s thin, clear soup that might have a fish head floating in it if he’s lucky, and might make him really sick if he’s not. His toilet is a hole in the floor, and he limps from over a year in shackles.

  ‘My friend Micah is on Death Row in Thailand.’

  I unstick the photo from the wall behind me, and hold it close to the camera until it focuses on the image.

  ‘Micah’s not a drug addict. He’s never done drugs. But he tried to take them out of Thailand. He was told trafficking drugs would clear his father’s drug debt. It was a one-off deal. He would never see a single dollar, but his family would no longer owe a single dollar either.

  ‘Micah didn’t get far with the drugs that were taped to his body. Customs was tipped off before he even arrived at the airport. He was used as bait so the other drug mules could get through while customs was busy with him.

  ‘Micah is guilty and in Thailand there are no circumstances that will excuse what he did. He’d had just turned eighteen when he committed his crime, which made him old enough to be tried as an adult. And the penalty for drug trafficking is death.

  ‘The Australian embassy visited Micah and organised legal representation for him. Micah pleaded guilty to his crime and was sentenced to die for it.

  ‘The Australian government say there’s nothing more they can do, so Micah is forgotten. Left alone in a foreign prison without enough food or clothing or clean water while he waits for his execution. His family can’t afford to visit him, so he’s cut them off to spare them his pain.

  ‘Micah pays every day for his crime. The conditions in his prison are inhumane at best; cruel at worst.

  ‘I know this because I’ve visited him in Bang Kwang Prison. The prisoners call it Big Tiger because they say it eats them whole. And sometimes it does.’

  I pin his photo back on my wall, and turn to the screen. Look right down the lens.

  ‘Micah is nineteen years old. He has a big smile, plays cards and loves football. In another life, he could be your brother or the guy sitting next to you at school. Instead, he’s waiting to be killed by a justice system that says this kind of murder is legal.

  ‘Any night, without warning, guards could come for Micah. They’ll drag him from his cell. One hour later, they’ll inject him with three types of poison. The first will make him unconscious. The second will relax his muscles and stop him breathing. The third will seize his heart.’

  My voice cracks, and I clear my throat, take a couple of deep breaths.

  ‘Countries like Indonesia use a firing squad, others use hanging, beheading or electrocution. Thailand uses lethal injection. Lethal injection: it almost sounds kind. Except that doctors can botch up the dose of drugs, and it can take an hour for a prisoner to die in agony. They can’t move because they’ve been paralysed, but without enough anaesthetic to numb the pain. In any other situation, this would be called torture. But who’s going to complain, right? We’re told these killings are humane and necessary. Except that they’re not.

  ‘Execution is a defenceless death. It’s legalised murder. Micah’s death won’t be determined by disease, old age or an accident. It will be planned down to the last minute by the Thai Ministry of Justice.

  ‘Until recently the Thai government hadn’t executed anyone in years. But what did the Australian government do for Tye Roberts, who was executed a few weeks ago? Nothing.

  ‘Anybody who’s been paying attention to politics would know that we have an election looming in a matter of months. This is a time when Australians can stand up and say we care about our people. Yes, even our prisoners. And we expect our government to care too.

  ‘It’s time to stand up and be counted. To fight for the lives of those who are powerless to fight for themselves. To put pressure on our government and opposition going into the next election to make protecting Australians on Death Row an election issue. We don’t allow our own government to execute our prisoners, so why should we be silent when it happens to our people overseas?

  ‘Micah is one Death Row prisoner, but around the world, thousands are killed every year. Governments might sanitise the death penalty by labelling it punishment, but, no matter how it’s packaged, they’re ending the lives of people they are put in power to protect.

  ‘On the eighth of March, Micah celebrates his twentieth birthday. I call on anybody who’s willing to donate an hour of their time, to join me at eleven a.m. at Hyde Park for a peaceful demonstration.

  ‘In the words of Micah, peace out.’

  The croissant is stale, but I eat it anyway. My double espresso is just kicking in as Tash downs her orange juice beside me.r />
  ‘I’m so hungry I could eat a turtle,’ she says. ‘Even if it’s making that stink they make when they’re scared.’

  I pick at the croissant. I should have learnt my lesson, but I keep choosing damn croissants for breakfast.

  ‘Uh, hello, you’re so hungry, you could …’ she wafts her hand through the air.

  ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘I’m so hungry I could eat a … cane toad?’

  Tash slumps her shoulders. ‘That’s not even, like, a native animal, Bel. Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘You sure? This isn’t about the whole Eli thing, is it?’ Tash pushes her egg around on her plate. ‘Because I can cancel.’ She remains focused on her food. ‘You say the word, and I’ll cancel. I don’t care if I go.’

  World’s worst liar, right there.

  ‘No, no, go. Sorry if I’m being vague. It’s got nothing to do with Eli.’ I sigh. ‘Last night, I put together this YouTube clip about Micah, and Eli’s posting it this morning.’

  ‘Wow, honey. You’re getting political? When your dad finds out what it’s about, he’s going to ground you, like, forever.’

  I shrug. ‘It seemed like a good idea. Now I’m kind of terrified, though. Hopefully I don’t come off as a total–’

  ‘Idealistic wanker?’ she suggests helpfully.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Well, Bel, you kind of are. You can’t save the world, you know?’

  ‘Plenty of people try. Besides, whatever happened to “broaden and contribute”?’

  She stops her fork midway to her mouth. ‘You really want to spend your life trying to fix a broken world?’

  ‘No. Just a tiny pocket of it.’

  ‘And you picked prisoners?’ she says through her mouthful.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Bel Anderson! For the last time!’ Watchkins is standing by the table, exasperated. ‘Or shall I wait until you ladies have finished chatting?’

  She’s extending an envelope. I blush, as I pluck it from her hands.

  Tash raises her eyebrows. But this is one letter she will never see.

  I wait till my free period, when I can sneak up to our dorm alone. My heart’s thudding as I rip open the envelope and flop down on my bed.

  7/02

  Hey Bel,

  I still smile every time I think of how you came to see me. Twice. It felt kinda like a holiday that second time, cause when we were talking through the glass, it was like I was someplace else.

  Anyway, here’s the letter I promised after going to sleep thinking about you. No different to any other night but, cause I always think about you. Maybe you were dreaming about me already, cause Sydney time is ahead of mine.

  So in my dream, I was at your beach, hey, just like in your photo. And you were halfway in the water, in your swimmers.

  You called to me. Come in the water, you said, and you led me by the hand and took me in, and I swear, Bel – the water. It was all cold and rushing up my legs. And the wind in my face was dry instead of sticky like here.

  I stop reading, press his letter to my lips, goosebumps down my arms.

  If I could only bring him freedom. I want it so desperately. If I could give one person one gift, it would be that.

  So that was how my dream started, hey. I’d tell you the rest, but I don’t want to, you know, freak you out or anything. Just know that it was good. Better than good. And when I woke, I was warm all over. Like all over.

  It was about the realest dream I ever had, so I’m thinking maybe you had it too?

  You probably wouldn’t even let me kiss you on a real first date, hey? But if I get outta here, that’s the first thing I want to do.

  My heart is racing. I get the feeling he dreamt about more than just a kiss.

  I can’t stop smiling. He feels it too – the strength of the connection between us. Even though none of it was real. Those worlds vanished when we woke, but we were there, in our minds. Sharing a kiss on the same night.

  You mean the world to me, Bel. Honest. You’re the kindest, most beautiful girl I ever met.

  Peace out,

  Micah x

  P.S. That second letter there, the one that says not to open it, that’s for my mum. Something to give her, in case. Send it to her if I’m gone.

  My heart goes cold as I stare at the words dug into the front of the envelope: To Mum.

  He has trusted me to send his last words to his mother if they kill him. It’s as grim as it is heartbreakingly beautiful.

  I turn the second envelope in my hand. What would he write to his mum? Would he ask her questions like I did when I wrote to mine? By the time she got this letter it would be too late to answer them. I hold the envelope up to the light. Squinting at the folded paper inside, I can make out some slanted pen marks. I flip the envelope over. It’s sealed.

  I throw it in the top drawer of my desk. Slam it shut, disgusted with myself for thinking about breaching his trust.

  He has given me his last words. A huge responsibility.

  I reread Micah’s letter. Smiling again at all he didn’t say. I wish he’d told me the whole dream. All the details of what we did. I keep looking at that x at the end of his letter. He said the first thing he wants to do when he gets out is kiss me. Not go for a walk along the beach or eat a decent meal or have a long, hot shower. He wants to kiss me.

  I should have written a letter to him on the 7th of February, but I didn’t have the courage. Now I pull a sheet of paper from the printer and start mine.

  19th February

  Dear Micah,

  I’m sorry I didn’t tell you my dream straight away, but you were brave enough to write yours, so here goes.

  On the 6th of February, I went to sleep thinking of you. Your big smile, the cute way you bite your nails when you’re nervous, your tattoo, your husky voice. Next thing, I was back before those big gates at the prison. But this time, you were coming out!

  We ran together and when we were safe, you pulled me into a corner of the street and pressed me against a brick wall. You kissed me, and I kissed you back. Just like you said you want to in your letter. I touched your skin, traced the edges of your tattoo, and my fingers left goosebumps on your skin. I didn’t want to open my eyes, because I was scared that if I did, it would end. I wanted to stay with you in that moment forever.

  Have you ever wondered if dreams are premonitions? A way of foretelling the future?

  Meeting you for real has made it harder to keep my distance. I’m in so deep, Micah, and I wouldn’t have it any other way, but sometimes my hands shake thinking about you. Everything can be gone in a second. Everything. Nobody is forever.

  I need you to stick around. I need you to believe it will all work out.

  I love you, Micah.

  Love Bel xxx

  P.S. By the time my letter reaches you, it should be almost your birthday so I’ve sent you a present. Please tell me if you receive it, and don’t open it until your birthday … promise?

  My laptop bings as I’m folding up my letter.

  Eli: You’re not going to believe this.

  Bel: What?

  Eli: Thirty thousand hits. It’s been up 2 hours.

  My blood freezes.

  Bel: You mean …

  Eli: That’s YouTube for you. And it was raw, Bel. Good work! Anyway, will keep you posted. In class ATM.

  Bel: Uh, okay. Thanks.

  Eli: Hey, be happy. This is what you wanted.

  I jump onto YouTube – 39,000 hits, 10,601 likes, 6000 shares. Shit. This could get big. Bigger than I meant it to.

  This assignment, me, Micah, it could spiral out of control.

  Shit, with these numbers, Dad is totally going to find out. What’s he going to say when he finds out my real reason for going to Thailand? That I’ve been writing to a guy in prison? That I’m championing something so totally opposed to everything he stands for?

  The numbers jump up the screen while I watch – 41,000 hits, 43,000. When Eli puts
something online, he knows how to pull a crowd. Five minutes later, we’ve cracked over 60,000 hits.

  I jump onto Instagram, check out Eli’s profile. He’s shared my clip and already has over three hundred comments, six hundred likes. God knows how many shares.

  This is what I wanted. So why do my insides feel like they were just gouged out?

  By midnight, I’ve quit watching the numbers jump on YouTube. And I’ve started reading the comments. Hundreds of them.

  Dudes on Death Row deserve what they get. Drugs kill millions.

  Micah has been punished enough. Why isn’t our government intervening here?

  Isn’t this that chick whose mother was shot by some druggo?

  What is our government doing? Why is an Australian kid on Death Row? Bring him home. Let him serve out his sentence here!

  Justice Minister’s daughter has found a cause! Looks like it’s slightly different to Daddy’s, LOL!

  And then, a message that hits me hard:

  I am the cousin of Tye Roberts who was executed in Thailand six weeks ago. His family is still bleeding. They will never stop bleeding. Tye was twenty-four years old. He made a mistake, and now we are shattered forever. Save our boys from Death Row. They are our cousins, brothers, sons. People love these boys, even if they’ve done the wrong thing.

  It doesn’t take a genius to figure out how much trouble I’m in. I phone, then smash out a text.

  Eli pick up. Please.

  He answers his phone on my eleventh try. By which time I’ve virtually worn a track in the floorboards of our dorm.

  ‘Sheez, persistent,’ he says.

  ‘I don’t know how to handle this.’ I glance over my shoulder at Tash, who is frantically reading the comments as they come through. ‘You need to tell me what to do.’

  ‘Hey, I’m no expert at activism,’ he says. ‘I just got it out there.’