A few days after the visit with Aisha, I am still processing everything she said. It is taking me a long time to shift my focus. But I’m beginning to move away from fear of what life might be like outside this joint, to seeing that I have been punishing myself for what I did to Aisha’s dad. Ever since the day my guilt flowed out like hot lava, I have been struggling to get my feelings in check. That’s probably why I blew up on my dad. It’s probably why I failed the test on purpose, screwing up my chance to graduate. But the worst part is that I am now caught up with this gang stuff. And I don’t have Wired on my side anymore.
Collins comes by my room to tell me there is a phone call. I don’t know who it could be. I walk to the phone, half worried, and say, “Hello?”
Collins stands next to me so he can hear every word I say.
“Hey, Strider, it’s Strummer,” I hear.
Relief fills me. I say, “How are you doing, man? I’m glad you called.”
“I’m . . . okay. Better than you.”
“You heard?” My hand rubs under my eye where the bruise is still puffy.
“Yeah, news like that travels. What the hell happened?”
“I’m handling it. It’s all good.” But my voice betrays me.
“Listen, I called for one reason,” he says. “And I was only allowed to call because Jackson arranged this. For your benefit. My CO is listening at this end.”
I look at Collins. He is standing with his feet apart, legs stretched out. It’s the stance he takes when he means business.
Strummer’s voice echoes through the phone. “I called to tell you to stay out of it. Don’t get involved with the gang. Once you do, you never get out. They’ll pull you back in.”
It’s like he read my mind. It’s all I have been thinking about.
Strummer’s tone is grave. “The gang is priming you. This is real. You’ll get in deep the moment you say yes to anything they ask. Trust me. I’ve been there.”
He’s right. I know it. But I don’t like my face being used as a canvas for their fist-painting. “Got any ideas on how to do what you’re asking?” I say into the phone. “It’s not that easy.”
“I know. That’s how I ended up in here. You think juvie is hard? It’s nothing compared to this. We may not have the death penalty in Canada, but it doesn’t matter. Over half the guys in here have put a death sentence on themselves. I’m so done with this joint. If anything will help me get through my time, it’s knowing you get things on track and get out. Do you hear me? I need you to get out. And I need you to make it out there.”
His words hit me hard. I throw it right back at him. “Why don’t you do that for yourself? You can make it. I know you can. The two of us could hang out. We could maybe even write some songs.” As I say it, I know it won’t happen.
“I’ve talked to some dudes. They know the guys who are giving you grief. The guys there will back off. You know what I mean?”
I read between the lines. Strummer is saying that he knows some guys who can get to the gang members. In here. In juvie! Guys who can put pressure on them to leave me alone. But he can’t say it directly with the guards listening.
Strummer can tell from my silence that I’ve figured it out. “Just keep your head down and stay out of trouble,” he says.
“But how can you . . . What will you have to do?” I cringe thinking about what might happen to Strummer if he helps me.
“Let’s just say I made the right kind of friends while I was out. Listen, I have to go. Keep writing. Finish the song you and I started.”
The click of the phone is loud in my ear, like a door slamming shut. A door that might never open again.
Even though the line is silent, Strummer’s words ring in my ears.
I think about how everyone is moving on. My dad. Aisha and her dad. Even Strummer. Weed is gone too. Seems like the universe is telling me something.
Aisha has extended her hand to me. A hand that reaches to me from the future. A future that maybe doesn’t have to be as bleak as I thought. Not with her leaning toward forgiveness. If she can forgive me, can I forgive Wired? After all, he’s just trying to survive in here. My life was better when we hung out. Before he lost his privileges. Wired is doing what he has to. That’s the system he’s a part of, and it won’t change.
Larkyn-with-a-backwards-k gave me a gift. Even though things got royally screwed up, she made me think of a future. Something after this place.
I don’t want to hang out with Larkyn. I can’t trust her. But I guess I can cut her some slack. She was just looking out for her brother. The bigger question is if I can cut myself some slack. Or is it too late?
A song idea pops into my head.
Too late for you and me. Too late for an apology. But too late for moving on? My old life is said and done. What matters now is stepping out. Making time and losing doubt . . .
Kind of lame, but it’s a start. The chords are in my head. The percussion beats through my knuckles on the desk. It’s the first time words and a beat are coming together. They need work, but it feels right.
I think of Aisha getting married. Marriage isn’t on my radar. Hell, it wouldn’t be, even if I were out. But after Larkyn, I know I want something real with the right girl. Maybe with someone like Tanika.
I see us going to concerts. We could hang out at clubs, listening to local bands. Dancing. Kissing. None of that is possible in here. Making music isn’t possible here. But if I was out, I could see if the guys I used to jam with are still playing. Maybe they’d have a spot for me in their band. If they still have one.
For any of this to happen, for me to have any kind of future, I need to give Aisha more than I have so far. She came to see me for a reason. She expects something from me. And now I think I can give her what she needs. For real. I feel it in my insides. This tingling feeling that runs through my fingers. It’s like creating a song.
I know what to do. I will write her a letter. Something more than just the words I speak. I’ll give her those, too, so she can hear that I mean it. But a letter is something she can come back to, something she can read over again whenever she feels doubt. Whenever she doubts that I regret my actions that day.
I look at the calendar by my desk. The writers are coming in two days. I’ll work with Sean on tuning a letter, rather than a song. For now, that will be my focus. And if Strummer is true to his word, the guys will be laying off.
Then I can focus on something other than just surviving every day.