Snippets of Memory - The Umbrella Academy

A ray of sunshine

"Don't get comfy, Shirley Temple, and don't start snoozing."
I massaged my wrists and sat down on what I - for sure - would use as a bed, and the officer continued:
"In two hours maximum, this will be sorted out and I'll have you out by the scruff of the neck. This place ain't no shelter, and it sure as hell ain't rehab".
"Francis, honey, remind me again what time is the Tuesday chili con carne served?"

A young and slightly nasal voice, weary and intentionally lustful. I almost laughed, but I restrained myself. Yes. Because "Francis" wasn't laughing at all.

"You're really lucky it's in half an hour, you junkie faggot, because I doubt your moldy brain is capable of calculating that."

With a flick of his truncheon against the bars and an annoyed grunt, he headed back down the corridor, leaving the one he'd referred to as 'Shirley Temple' to sit on the floor against the bars of the adjacent cell. Even the insults had made him laugh.

"Oh, if I had a penny for every time I heard that..."

In the dim light and through the bars, I couldn't easily distinguish him. Enough, however, to make out a thick layer of dark brown curls above a black crop-top with wide-mesh fishnet sleeves. I could hear him chuckling once more, as if his own jokes in response to that asshole were making him gloat inwardly.

"'Course it is, it's chili on Tuesdays," he muttered, as if conversing with someone else. "Or is it on Wednesdays? Unless it's mac and cheese... And you know what? I was thinking it was better here than at the South Argyle police station. And even better than at..."
"Who are you talking to?"

For a moment, I wondered if it was to me - because we were the only ones at this end of the aisle - but I soon realized that it wasn't, so I dared to ask. I was already not the shy type, nor one to sugarcoat my questions. I stepped closer, and peered straight through the nice openwork design of our prison wall. He was about my age, though that was hard to assess for such a damaged person. Pale olive skin, raccoon-like green eyes with eye-liner, and a goatee that he was obviously struggling to grow. He looked at me, clearly surprised that I'd come up to him. I suppose his little monologues and heavy hooch smell were usually enough to discourage his neighbors.

"To my left hemisphere," he answered. "The right one can't fuck with me anymore".

Oh, great. Second-degree self-preservation, witty and slightly absurd black humor, a cotton-like tone that actually let you guess the results of the tox screen... I leaned on the bars, still looking down at him. And I think I understood at that moment what 'Francis' had meant by barking that I wasn't going to get bored.

"Oh, why," I asked, " what did you do to get it that pissed?"

I sensed that underlying his little quip was a hint of sarcasm directed at himself, and not entirely unfounded. He sighed, I think he wondered for a moment if he was going to keep throwing jokes at me to sidestep. But finally, he replied as if the only answer to my playing along with his game was to turn back to pure honesty:

"It says it'd like to sleep in peace. That I've never really tried. And that five months is a long time without a regular place to stay."

Today, I'd almost laugh at that last statement, because it never really ended, even today. But at the time, I asked:

"Do you come here often?"
"Quite often. I don't know if you've noticed a surprising climatic fact: since autumn, the weather has been getting colder and colder."

I smiled at him. I'm perfectly incapable of feeling sorry for people, and anyway, I don't think that was what he needed. He just wanted someone to talk to. But I could easily guess the pattern of his life. A probably complicated start in life, a spiral into drugs starting with a recreative marijuana, a family that had probably kicked him out recently... For all this, and possibly for a sexual identity they weren't fond of. I didn't even need to have him tell the story. So instead, I whispered: