Here I sat in a light grey concreted furnished cell. Well, my version of furnished anyway. It’s been the same for what? Ten years? I really should keep better track of time. But who really gives a fuck at this point? I have my shitter, my sink, my bunk, a nice stack of books I get to exchange frequently, a small shelf to hold my snacks.
Pretty simple living. Not quite the Marriott but, at least the mattress is nice.
One hour a day, I get to leave this humble home. Called the recreation room. Mostly I venture down the bookshelves and find new (technically used) books to find, or re read some classics. Perhaps get some kind of interaction with the uniformed guards.
When I’m not in the recreation room, I try to maintain my figure by doing some cardio and strength training in my cell. Push ups, sit ups, jumping jacks, lunges, squats, whatever the fuck I can do to pass the time. I’m not saying I’m ripped like a fucking male Calvin Klein model, but I’m lean.
Because really, all I have – is time.
I’m 26 years old, no college, didn’t graduate high school, found myself in a fucked up situation I didn’t know how to get out of – and now I’m in a looney bin.
The guards rarely talk to me, or anyone probably for that matter. I haven’t seen another inmate since I’ve been placed here in isolation – for the rest of my existence – probably. I don’t give them a reason to inflict pain or whatever to me. I remain compliant. I’d rather not add more time to my stay here. That’s one thing I give a fuck about.
Oh, yeah, why am I in a cell? Perhaps I should tell you why. Then you’ll understand…why they think I’m totally fucking nuts. I’m gonna take you way the fuck back, right before things went wrong. So buckle up fucker.
Yeah, I apologize. Horrible language. Slight disclaimer.
***
Okay, I was 15. Freshman at my local high school. Typical quiet kid. Smart though. Parents wet dream. Made the Honor roll (some call it the Straight-A club), took Advanced Placement courses, I only missed a week of school a couple of years ago when I caught the flu. Other than that, I focused on school and reading books.
I wasn’t into doing sports or band at school. Just wasn’t my thing.
My parents were worried I was depressed or had social anxiety or just couldn’t make friends. None of those were the case. I just didn’t fucking like people. I liked my family, sure. That’s different.
I had to see a psychiatrist, because of course I wasn’t of adult age and I had no choice in the matter.
“We just wanna know what’s going on inside your head. You won’t talk to me or your father. Or even your sisters or brother. You just keep to yourself Joseph, and it’s not okay. It’s not healthy.” My mom told me as she drove me to this appointment in the passenger seat of her Dodge truck.
See, I loved my mom and my dad. My two sisters and brother. Both were good parents really. I didn’t really hang out with my siblings. I did what my parents asked, I wanted to make them proud of me! It’s why I did all the chores. I did it without being asked and did it without question. Unlike my siblings. They whined and complained – shut up and just do the damn thing.
I had to prove to my parents, that I really honestly was fine.
Because I was.
I sat in the waiting room, with my mom. It was carpeted in a dark blue, a few cozy soft chairs, a glass circular table in the center. Well lit. Had some kind of aroma – eucalyptus maybe? It was actually kinda nice smelling.
My mom was pretty tall, about 5’11. Dark brown hair, hazel eyed. Perfect vision – this woman was a walking Eagle. Lean figured from head to toe. Worked as a CEO at some corporation. Always dressed nice in public, whether that was suited up with a skirt, a fancy dress, make up all done well. In private? She didn’t give a shit. She’d throw on pajama pants and a t shirt.
I loved my mom.
So I was really doing this for her.
I was face deep in a paperback, about a post apocalyptic world when an ice age destroyed the Earth. My mom was on her phone, answering emails and text messages. Didn’t bother me – she’s a business woman. Busy. Got shit to do.
Here I am, taking her away from her job.
Felt like an asshole.
“I’m sorry for taking you away from work to be with me.” I told my mom while my face was still in my paperback.
My mom stopped what she was doing and looked over.
“Sweetheart, I’m not mad at you. Maybe it’s my fault we’re here ya know?” She replied with her hazel eyes looking at me.
I felt her eyes. I left my paperback and looked at my moms face.
She reached for my face with her right hand, and her phone remained on her lap.
“You’re a good kid. Your dad and I don’t have trouble with you. You’re so independent, headstrong. I just wanna know what’s going on upstairs. That’s all.”
She let my face go to reply back to her vibrating phone.
“And trust me, I’d rather not be at work every day. So this is a perfect excuse to not be there!” She smirked while replying back to the email she got sent.
I smiled as I went back to my paperback.
I love my mom.
The door opened up, and a young lady stuck her head out. “Dr. Hendricks will see you folks now.”
So we walk to the door, follow this lady down a couple of hallways, to the psych doc. He’s sitting at a really nice ass desk, clear of any clutter, everything’s all neat and organized – even his damn pens and pencils. Paper clips in different sizes. He appeared nice, no hair on his head but a salt and pepper goatee and silver framed glasses. He smiled at both of us and offered the seats in front of him.
“Hello Natalie, is this Joseph?” Dr. Hendricks asked as he stood up and held out his hand to me. I shook it firmly because it was the polite thing to do. Plus it’s something my Dad showed me.
After they talk for a bit, explaining about my academics, and just how I interact, she gives him a small little spiral notebook.
He’s flipping through the pages.
My own Mom was writing notes about me, like a little diary. Timeframes. What I was eating. Where I was in the house. If I said anything. Did anything.
The fuck?
So this was planned for me to see someone.
Nah, don’t take it personally.
Dr. Hendricks smiled at me.
“Well! I don’t think honestly anything is wrong here, other than you’re anti-social. Which is not quite healthy, but it’s something that can be fixed. I wonder why Psychology referred you to me.” He said and thought for a moment.
“Joseph, do you have any weird dreams?”
“Well, no sir.”
“Do you hear any voices? Telling you to hurt someone or yourself?”
“No sir. I don’t want to hurt anyone.” I shrugged, “I just don’t like talking. I really don’t like the kids at my school.”
He looked at me, and so did my Mom.
“Did someone hurt you at school, Joseph?” He inquired while writing in a notepad.
“No sir. To be honest,” I looked at my mom and at the Doc, “I’m just bored. When I read my books, I just disconnect. It’s my only hobby, really.” I replied.
After some more talking and answering questions, Dr. Hendricks excused me to go in the waiting area, as my mom and the Psych Doc talked.
I hope I wasn’t rude. I didn’t think I was. Just honest.
The door opened a few minutes later, and they were both laughing and seemed happy.
“Well Joseph, it was absolutely a pleasure to speak with you.” The doctor held out his hand, I stopped reading my paperback and shook his hand again, looking him in the eyes.
“Here’s my number, Joseph.” He hands me a small card with his office number and cell number.
“Should you need to talk to me, I’m free. Anytime. I mean it.” I looked at the card, ran my right thumb across the indented lettering. Nice shit. “Don’t hesitate. That goes for your Mom and Dad.”
We left the office and jumped into her truck to head home.
She was quiet, paying attention to the road. I was almost done with my paperback. I had a knack for knocking out a book in two days. Sometimes in one sitting.
“You hungry Joey?” She asked as we got onto the highway.
“Mom, I’m always hungry.” I replied, and she laughed.
“Okay. Let’s go somewhere. My treat.” She smiled and held my hand for a brief moment.
“You’re a good kid, Joey.“
I was a good kid. Was.
Story Time 