Alone In the World

Chapter 9: Let The Rumble Begin

As we went back into the prison room, two buffy prison guards were pulling away two juvenile kids away from each other. It was like seeing two angry stray cats fighting. The kids who were cooped up in their cells, crawl out of their beds to watch the fight. "Give me a break!" the policewoman sighed as she joined in the chaos.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!" the kids chanted. Curious, I walked over the guards' back and cranned my neck to see the fight. As it turns out, it was my cellmate and a pudgy African-American boy, yanking a lighter away from each other. Crap, I thought. It was Aaron's lighter, and an idiot happened to see it and take it for himself.

I minded his business, I didn't talk to him, and I never even touched one of his Victoria's Secret magazines. "Give it back!"  my roommate insisted. Instead of giving the lighter to him, the pudgy boy punched him in the face, sending him on the ground. Now, the blond kid has a huge bleeding cut over his nose.

He looked like he was ready to murder the kid until the prison guards pulled them far away from each other and made them calm down. "He has my lighter!" My cellmate yelled, pointing his finger at the pudgy kid. "No, I-" the other kid began. "Shut up!" shouted one of the prison guards.

As soon as he yelled, the spectators instantly grew quiet. The policewoman reached into my cellmate's pocket and pulled out Aaron's rusty lighter. It still has the minty gum I stuck earlier. "How did this lighter end up in this cell?" the policewoman hissed. Both kids shrugged then pointed their fingers at me. So much for escaping. She gave me a mean look then walked over to me.

She waved the lighter at my face as if I was blind. "Where did you get this lighter?" the policewoman asked. Every spectator who once turned their eyes on the fight stared at me. "I don't know that it was there," I lied. "Some kid must have dropped it." A strange smile appeared on the woman's lips.

"Oh really?" she said, pointing to the two boys who were captured under the guards' grasp. "Now be a good boy, and tell me who dropped it." Both boys gave me anxious and desperate looks. As much I couldn't careless about these morons, I also care about my decision.

I swallowed a gulp then pointed my finger at my cellmate. "It was him," I answered. "He dropped the lighter." My cellmate's face turned red and vicious. After a long silence, the pudgy kid spoke up: "Yeah, about a week ago I saw him with a box of cigarettes." Without a warning, the policewoman stormed over to our cell and rummaged her pockets for the keys.

I immediately shut my eyes, praying that the policewoman wouldn't notice that her keys were gone. Just then, I heard a small jingle coming from out of her pocket. When I opened my eyes, I gasped when the cop pulled out her silver keys, shoved them into a lock then twisted it.

The door opened maniacally as the cop woman stormed inside my cellmate's part of the room and rummaged through his things. Magazines and bedsheets were everywhere. My cellmate looked ready to kill her until the cop saw a wooden box of untouched cigarette sticks.

She took the box walked out of the cell then nodded to the prison guards. "Get Dash out of my sight," she ordered. They nodded at her command, released the pudgy boy, and sent Dash out of the door. As soon as he looked at me, he went ballistic. "Your dead meat, kid." Dash vowed. "DEAD!" I could only bite my lip and stare at the cold tile floor.

As soon as the chaos was over, the juvenile kids and I headed back to our beds and went to sleep. In a dark empty void, I saw my eight year old self sitting in front of a keyboard next to my father. His hair was disheveled and his nightclothes were drenched in sweat. He wore black rimmed glasses, covering his tired eyes.

I remembered bugging my father to let him play something for me. I had a scary nightmare and bawled in the covers. "Okay," he chuckled, lifting me up. "I'll play you something on the piano." Back in my old house, our keyboard was perched in next to my parents' bed.

He sat in front of the keyboard, turned it on,  and plopped me in his lap. He lined his fingers on the keys then looked down at me. "So, what do you want me to play?" I shrugged my shoulders. "Maybe some John Lennon?" I suggested. John Lennon was Dad's favorite singer and idol. I remembered that he once told me that without him or Beatles, he wouldn't know how to play the piano.

I watched Dad as he pressed the piano keys with his fingers and quietly sang Imagine. While I stared at his face for a moment before blurting out a stupid question. "Have you ever been to Hell?"

Dad stopped playing for a moment then laughed. For an instant, I felt a bit hurt. "Yes," he sighed. "There is Hell, but there is a Heaven too. Don't forget it." "Why were you laughing about a minute ago?" I asked.

"Just because we are in a society," he began. "Where Heaven and Hell exists, that doesn't mean that there is a downside." "What do you mean?" I asked. "We have our bad days," Dad continued. "Because of this, we have wars about greed, murder, racism, religion, and politics."

"But under all the tragedies and pain, there is happiness." I tilted my head in confusion. "When you are older," Dad smiled. "You will understand." He stroked my head then resumed playing Imagine on the keyboard.

The song was brutally interrupted when something banged on the doors. As I woke up, I saw Aaron and a guard standing in front of my cell. I wondered what they were doing here in the middle of the night.

Just then, I saw the guard reaching into his pocket and took out the keys. My eyes widened in fear and excitement. The prison guard twisted the key and opened my cell without expression.

"What's going on?" I asked. Aaron told me to gather my books and get out. "There has been a mistake," he said calmly. "You are free to go, Luke."