Skip, Walk, Run
The only noise you can hear at 4 a.m. is fucking Timmy two cells down, banging a short branch against the bars. Sometimes he snaps to a rhythm and sometimes he does it just to do it. I bet he wished he had his record player that he always talks about. A big red and blue one with all his bad music. If I could have a record player I'd play all the good music my sister taught me to like so that I wouldn't get made fun of later on. She would say things like, “listen to this Skip, it'll protect you.” It was always weird because my name isn't Skip, it's Walker but, I also liked that she called me Skip, it made me feel special.
They let me keep a journal because I said It would help me sort out my feelings, but I would just write things like, “You're a dumbfuck” and fold it into an airplane like dad taught me and fly it to Don across the hall. I guess if I had to pick someone to call my best friend, It would be Don because I felt like he was the only one who was a little less insane than everyone else here. Dons older than I am. He was here before me but he never tells me how long he's been here. I know he got in for dealing drugs but thats because Lucas in cell 34 told me at lunch one day. I’m only 10, I think. We don't really celebrate birthdays here, we don't really celebrate anything here. I ask sometimes but they never really give a straight answer. I know I got here when I was 9 and they told me I was 10 last year and the year before, I think. How are you supposed to act when you might be 10 and you might be 14? Do I act like a 10 year old or a 14 year old? I like Don because when I ask him this he looks at me and takes a deep breath like he's sucking in a cigarette and tells me, “Act like you belong here.”
Don and I like to scare the newbies when they come. We tell them that little Kyle died of starvation in their very bed and that the red paint in Charlies cell isn't actually red paint and that you should never make eye contact with him. Then we crack up about it later in Dons cell which feels a lot more like home than mine does. I spend a lot of time thinking about being at home. I used to have this big room with blue walls which I could cover from corner to corner in pictures if I wanted. Sometimes my sister and I would build massive forts between my twin bed and the old walnut desk near the window. We would stretch sheets over the top using chairs and heavy books and get all of dad's fancy flashlights from the kitchen drawer and spend hours in there. Sometimes we would wake up underneath the illuminated sheet and sometimes I’d be in my bed and she’d be in hers. I really love my sister. I loved that she would stay home on saturday nights, even though some dumb jock was having a big drunk party. We would listen to her music and put two spoons in the carton of ice cream. It hurts to think about her because I don’t remember what her face looks like anymore, sometimes I think I’ve got it but then I don’t. I just want her to come see me and her and Don and I could build one big fort out of the pee stained “mattresses” and pillows. I wish she would come and tell me what I did wrong. I wish she would come and tell me why I’m not where she is.
The food here tastes like vomit, Don calls it shit stew. When we sit around the big table at lunch he likes to tell me about how things used to be when he was young and how it was just him and his mom. He likes to tell me about how he’s going to get back to her one day and keep her safe again. That always makes me really sad because his mom is dead. They have these brain doctors here because sometimes kids have really big issues. One time when I got in trouble and was sent to go clean the toilets I passed by a doctors office and I overheard them talking. The doctor was sitting in a big chair and a dark brown desk separated Don from him. He said things like, “I’m trying to help you remember” and, “can you try real hard to remember?” Don would just shake his head once or twice. The doctor kept on going and he said, “Your mother? Do you remember her?” And Don would nod his head a lot. I could hear the leather chair compress and exhale as the doctor sunk back into it and he said very softly, “You killed her. Can you remember that? Your mother is dead.” And Don wouldn’t move. I still listen when he tells me about how pretty she is and how when he gets out of this place hes going to take her to a nice restaurant and make up for all the time she's been alone. He would say things like, “Oh man, I bet shes still got that dumb photo of the two of us at the fair up on the table, that was a real fun time..” And then he’d look at me like if I ever repeated his soft words again they would be my last and then he would tell me about how he's going to leave this place and he won’t ever look back.
The nights are all the same here. We eat dinner, we come back, me and Don do our handshake while we can and then they lock us up. Don told me he had to go see a doctor in the morning so I wouldn’t wonder where he was. Going to sleep that night was easy, waking up was not. At first I thought someone had filled my lungs with water. Then I thought someone had taken them out entirely. When I had the courage to open my eyes and see for myself, I realized it was smoke that was in my lungs. Thick, black smoke like the whole floor was the top of a chimney. I whipped my blanket around trying to clear it and found that my doors were open. All the doors were open and Dons cell was empty. I began to run down the halls and as I did I glanced into the cells. Everyone was still in their beds but I could tell they were finding their way to consciousness just as I had. I ran to the end of the hall and past the kitchen and past the courtyard doors. If I went to the courtyard I wouldn't be able to climb the fence so I put all my hope into the front doors. I jumped over a guard lying on the floor knowing that that moment would come back to haunt me my whole life. The floor began to stretch and I felt like a ball in a pinball machine, my lungs squeezing and crying. Something to my right exploded and I felt my left shoulder flatten against the wall. Something like a dog whistle rung in my ears and through my watery eyes I saw bricks and stone and a different kind of smoke that made my nostrils sting. I lifted my self using the jutted bricks on the wall but it felt like someone had dropped an anvil on my leg. I ran slower with my new injuries but I was so close to the front door. It was usually locked with more locks than I wanted to take the time to count but it seemed open. I pushed on it and took two steps before tumbling down the concrete steps. My eyes blinded by the new light as I choked on the fresh air. I crawled a few steps before I found my legs running beneath me. Something else exploded but behind my back this time and I felt my feet lift up like I was flying until I hit the grass on the front yard. I rolled over to see a white smoke mix with the black smoke and the V of Ventura Youth Correctional Facility fall off land on the dirt. I felt like I needed to cough up all my organs and I squeezed my ears to try and make the ringing go away. That was when I saw him. A figure appearing from the side of the building running towards me but not right at me. It was Don, I could tell by the way he pumped his arms when he ran. When he was close enough to recognize me he dug his heels into the ground, stopped, and squinted.
“Walk! Walk! Is that you?” When I couldn't say anything he ran over and lifted me up, “Walk! You’re alive! You’ll never believe what just happened.”
I struggled to open my throat and find enough oxygen to produce the words, “You lit Ventura on fire.” He nodded like a child awaiting a new toy, his face was charcoal black like he had climbed up a chimney. It made his green eyes stick out, and his hair was slicked back with sweat.
“Yea! I did it! I’m sorry I didn’t tell you Walk I just hadda take my chance while I could. See I was sittin in that doctors office and he tells me hes gon go get somethin from outside and so I lock the door and I climb onto the desk and open up one of them vent thingies you know? So Im crawlin through the vent hopin to god I don’t fall through. Imagine that, fallin through the ceiling right in the middle of breakfast, can you imagine? So I’m crawlin through the tunnel right and I get to another vent so I peek on in and Its Dean Swiders Office! He aint in there but he had a fine lookin pack of cigarettes on his desk so I climb on down stick one in my mouth, light it up, and while I’m snoopin around I find the button that opens every goddamn door in this hellhole. I was thinkin of you when i pushed it. But as soon as I pushed it I knew I hadda get out of there so I get back in the vent and keep on crawlin with the best goddamn cigarette I ever had, the first goddamn cigarette I had in years Walk, years. But it’s burnin down to a stub and I drop it into the next vent thinkin I put it out enough already but I guess not. But Walk, I got out. I mean look at us! We out! I burned the place down but we out! I did it for my mama, I’m gonna keep her safe now Walk, just like i done before.”
Don started to run, he ran so far I couldn’t see him anymore and he didn’t look back once. I spit on my hand and cleaned up as best I could, took off the neon orange jumpsuit and went back close to Ventura and watched it turn to ash. I walked around in my t-shirt and boxers until I found a little dollar store. The cashier was asleep on the counter so I grabbed a pair of shorts and walked out like they belonged to me. I had to stop and ask for directions because while I remembered my home address I couldn’t remember how to get there.
I had been walking so long that my ankles burned and my feet ached and my head spun. I couldn't think about what had just happened, I couldn’t comprehend what had just taken place. Nothing made sense and suddenly I saw such a familiar shade of blue that it made me sweat. The shingles made my head hurt, the crack in the downstairs window made my stomach turn, The hole in the steps made me dizzy. I felt like throwing up, or passing out, or crying, or just sitting down and never getting up. I found the courage to go up the steps to the white door but it was locked so I hurried around to the back before my mind decided against it. My hands felt like flames on the cold doorknob and the rust seemed to crawl up my forearm and seep into my bloodstream. The door made a funny noise that sounded like my own voice which made my muscles tense up and when I could see finally see into the kitchen I felt the sloshing acid in my stomach fall still and the hairs on my arms stick straight out. There was a pancake suspended over a pan that was connected to my mother, and my dad looked at me half through glasses, half through glossy eyes, and my sister just stared. The pancake fell, dodged the pan, and slapped the tiles. That was the only noise.
