Eight months down, 12 hours to go . . .
My last night here and I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep at all. Ian either. “Dude, I feel sorry about leaving you in here all by yourself.”
The springs of his mattress squeak as he shifts up on the top bunk. “Really, my heart is bleeding. I won’t be able to go on without you,” he says sarcastically. “It’s two more months and I’ll be out of here too. Besides, you’ve been holding me back this whole time.”
From what? Winning the inmate of the month award? Mr. Congeniality?
“So after you get out too . . .” I trail off, feeling like a girl for even bringing it up.
“Caleb,” Ian pauses, “Are trying to ask me to be your bestie in the real world too?”
“Not my best friend,” I tease, “Remember, I’ve got Dante for that. But I suppose you can be my second best friend.”
“You are such a loser,” he says coolly. Then his tone changes to upbeat, “Hey Caleb.”
“Hey Ian,” I mimic him.
“Remember in middle school, when you went through that gay phase?” His question is absurd. Look up heterosexual in an encyclopedia and you’ll see my picture. When I was five. My silence doesn’t deter him from his obviously delusional train of thought. “And I said, ‘Caleb, could you try not being gay?’”
“Ian, I think you’re confusing me with yourself. And a conversation you had with your dad.”
Ignores me again, “Well, from how much you’ve been pining over your girlfriend the past eight months, I’d say that my advice totally worked.”
“Oh no, remember, that was you, Caleb?”
“I hope your next cellmate is deaf. I’m so happy to be getting away from you. At this point, execution would be preferable than staying here.”
“Quit being a whiner, Caleb. You’re the one who got early release. If I’d sat around the last eight months with a paintbrush up my ass, painting my feelings, I’d probably be getting out of here too.”
“More like, if you hadn’t gotten in so many altercations, you’d be getting out of here also.”
“Whatever. What do they expect a bunch of delinquents to do when they detain them together? Act like a boy scout troop? We have to entertain ourselves somehow. Not all of us can be the next Salvador Dali.”
“Dali was gay.”
“And painted in a different style than me.”
“I hate you,” I say in only half-seriousness.
“I’ll miss you too, bro.” He says in a choked up sounding voice. What an ass. From the bottom bunk, I kick at the underside of his mattress. To my disappointment, that doesn’t cause him to roll off the top bunk.
“Hey, could you do that again, Caleb? But this time, a little more to the right?” Ian shifts again up there.
“Only one more night that you have to refrain from killing him,” I mutter to myself, but loudly enough for him to hear.
He ignores my remark, “When you come to visit every Saturday, will you sneak porn in for me?”
“I refuse to buy gay porn for you, Ian. Ask that Gage guy.”
“Man, what is it with your obsession with gayness?” Ian tone is shocked and so full of crap.
“Go. The Fuck. To Sleep,” I grind out between my clenched teeth.
“Yeah, you’re right. Good night, buddy.” Minutes later the bastard is out.
Just hours from now, I am out of here. I’m so freaking keyed up right now, no way am I sleeping.
A few days ago, I had my hearing before the judge and whatever my parents paid that lawyer, I will totally pay back them someday, cause he was worth every thousand dollars that it cost them. He made me sound like the altar boy that I’m not, even brining up the ‘bright future’ that I have with my art. The judge