Twisting In-Sides

A inmate reflects on the decisions he made that led him to become incarcerated.

I used to have a little pooch named Tucker. He wasn’t completely right inside of that fur ball head of his. If the old geezer had not of chased the chicken across the road, I would ask him how he does it, but he is now painted across the front end of Earl’s roofing van instead. It looked like a fresh coat of candy red that I wish the old lady would let me spray on the Harley. I was always captivated by how he managed to spin in all of those circles, and yet be so happy. Maybe it was because he was mentally handicapped, or had a better drug dealer.

            See my life did not always run in continuous circles. I did not have the white picket fence and a pair of Golden Retrievers, but it was normal. I had a wife that loved me dearly. A job that was just bearable enough so I could continue to pay the bills, but most of all my mind was as clear as the summer sky. Eventually life becomes too hard to bear sober. I soon tried the bottle, but that only increased the doubt. So I tried long walks along the broken beer bottle beaches inhabited by twenty-foot pole women.

            This was the usual moonlit stroll I would take to go to the bar. On this night I was meeting up with a buddy from work, Curry was his name. When I walked into the Silver Dollar, Curry was already sitting at the bar wearing the same grin he wore at any opportune moment. Now let’s not jump to any conclusions here, this is not one of your B.S. a guy walks into a bar kind of stories or punch-liners. So I took my usual seat, in my usual bar, all with the well thought out plan to get annihilated until I cannot even conjure up any bad thoughts like I did usually. So a shard Barbie comes in and heads straight for us. “You guys looking to have a good time?” She said. Curry presumptuously mutters out with a victorious grin, “No way Jose, I self-medicate the natural way.” I ask her what does she have, and she pulls out a small bag of white powder. My mother always said that curiosity killed the cat, and that night it had me by the tail. “What does it feel like?” I asked. “It makes you feel invincible to any pain the world can throw at you. With this stuff, you might as well be at the top of the world.” She replied. “Well I don’t take candy from strangers, so what is your name little lady.” I requested with a devilish grin. “Well if that is the case, I am Luci, and I will see you in the back in 5 minutes.” She said with low, alluring tones. “Man I wouldn’t do that if I were you. She may be smokin’, but that stuff will destroy your life. The natural way will never hurt you.” Curry pleaded with a slight air of wisdom. I should have listened to my friend that night, but the pain hurt too much. So to feel numb for one night, I sold my soul to the Devil.

            That night I felt amazing. We ventured the night away like superheroes out of the comic books I read as a kid. I felt nothing but the high on the inside, and that was a feeling I never wanted to give up. The next morning, I woke up inside of a place I had no clue where. The couches were stained of yellow sin, and smelled of an acidic aroma. Luci on the other hand had not woken up yet, because she was over-dosed on the kitchen floor. I should have stayed, and called for help. Instead, I ran back to my normal life to escape a world that was new to me.

            When I got home, the wife had already left for work, and I was 2 hours late for my own job. So I said the hell with it, and went to bed. The weeks to come I missed more work, and spent nights as my own doppelganger. The nights were wonderful, filled with women with looks out of magazines, and the numb made me feel like I was in a fantastic ecstasy. The mornings were slightly different on the other hand. My mind would return home, and stand witness to all the deeds the other guy had done the night before. The mornings after I would only feel more pain, and want for that feeling once more. I yearned to send my mind away, so I could not feel the pain.

I began to medicate more, and feel less on the daily basis. Eventually I lost my job because I missed so much work. I was pissed off at first, but I later realized that it was my own doing after all. I had no daily thing to go to anymore, so I spent all of my time medicated. The money eventually started drying up, and the wife left to stay at her mom’s. That was one headache gone, but I had to figure out how to make money. I did not care about the money in a sense, I just did not want to lose my hidden oasis. At this point, I could no longer focus with all of my senses firing off. Lightbulb. Angels singing. Morgan Freeman announcing my acceptance speech. Why don’t I just sent my mind elsewhere, and let the other guy decide? So I gathered up the rest of my savings so I could send my mind away for the time being.

            That night the other guy went too far for even my standards. As I watched helplessly, the other guy went on a theft spree. On the third house my mind was coming back home, and I could hear the sirens. I wanted to run, but I was done running from life. So I spent those last ticks of the clock staring into a broken mirror. I did not recognize the thing looking back at me. Its eyes seemed to be lacking a soul. Black tar oozed out of the stranger’s nose from constant abuse. Lips that resembled a crumble paper bag from malnutrition. Was this really what I have become? I have been numb for so long I was completely unaware to monster I have become. With that last happy thought, I was thrown to the ground. They screamed and pointed their weapons at me, like all humans do to anything they cannot comprehend.

            They took my clothes, and dressed me in orange. Stole me from my home, and gave me a bunkbed that I shared with an oversized child. All I had was a name, and a tote full of pictures, noodles, and the occasional Nutty Bar. I couldn’t complain much though. They fed me three under-portioned meals a day, washed my laundry, provided free cable, and company to suffer with. Mealtime was the most confusing time of the day. The man who handed out our trays would always ask for a name, so I would scavenge through my wasteland of a mind. It did not take too long because they only cared about last names, first names made things to personal. I would reply “Sides,” but what side was controlling this host today. My mind was able to keep things in-check most of the time, but the pain gets too hard to handle locked inside of this cage. That is when the other guy would want to inhale the shard-like powder to be able to come out and play. So now I sit in my twin-sized bed looking down at my state provided orange slippers. This was a time for rehabilitation, to pick up the rest of my scattered self. “Just breathe, and keep your mind home James, we will find our path again. There is no need for second arrows for this kind of pain.” Today must be a beautiful day. I can see this from the sliver of window pane they allowed us to have. The window is in direct view from my cramped bunk. The sky projected a blue only found inside of a sapphire, purified from any clouded judgement on this day. The sun shined through the pane, and radiated a loving warmth that I had missed for so long.               

Reviews

[KingJoseph]

Amazing detail! Much I can learn from it! Great story btw and I really loved the detail as if I could picture exactly what that man had been going through. It helped make someone like a medicated man relatable! It had a powerful end as well :) Wonderful story and great use to promote awareness!