WARNING: The following story is in no way a threat, or something based off of any plans of the author. It was written for two reasons, to display his writing skills, and to make people think. Don’t call your campus police department and ask them to search my apartment- again- because it’ll just waste my time, as well as theirs- which is precious. Read on at your own risk.
Reader discretion advised.
Enjoy.
As I paced back and forth in the dark jail cell, I wondered why life was like it was. Why did bad things always happen to good people? Why are the laws the way they are- so stupid? This was my third day in the cell- the most recent of the trilogy of the worst three days of my life.
Three hots and a cot.
One hour recreation time a day- that I chose not to participate in.
Smells that put the worst bathrooms to shame.
Testosterone.
A lot of testosterone.
I was a ladies man. I didn’t dwell well with these men who were in here for murder, rape, stealing…etc.
My first day and night in jail, I couldn’t even sleep. I just sat in a corner and looked around, listened and got used to the sounds of a prison.
Not pleasant.
Jail sure wasn’t my apartment I was so used to going back to after a long day of work and school.
School.
Ugh.
The thought made me sick to my stomach- from the circumstance that placed me here, to the work I was missing as I wasted my time in jail.
I spent the second night trying not to think about anything and getting used to the hard cot that made me wonder if there were people out there who seriously tried to make terrible bedding for inmates. Usually when people make mattresses, they try their hardest to make it as soft as they can- as comfortable as they can…
Obviously not these guys.
I thought about anything that had nothing to do with the reason I was here, or when I would be getting out, or how long I’ve been here…
I just tried to think positively.
That was impossible to do in a jail cell.
I fell asleep after hours of thinking about everything, including the misfortune that happened just a few days ago. I fell asleep and dreamed about it.
I woke up in a cold sweat, shivering. Wondering where I was, what I was doing, and why I was so damn uncomfortable. Then it dawned on me…
I wished this was a dream, or some type of Twilight Zone trick, or something- anything that would take me out of the pot I was in.
I stopped pacing, lay on the stone of a mattress, and tried to go to sleep. That’s all you could do here. Sleep, read, write, waste time, go crazy, or the worst- think.
Thinking is what I tried not to do, but that feat was impossible.
I closed my eyes and thought of the night.
The night that got me here.
* * *
“Hey love, are you coming to the library?”
“Ugh, I’m tired of studying! My brain can’t take anymore!”
“I know, I know.” I responded. “But this week is hell for all of us. But just keep in mind, that after this, it’s summer time, baby! Me, you, and the beach. Think about that, and this week will fly by.”
“If I think about that, there’s no way I’ll focus on studying.”
“Let me make a deal with you.”
There was a pause on the other end of the phone.
“I’m listening.”
“Okay. You come to the library and keep me company so we can study together, and I’ll get you some coffee. Then, when we head back to my apartment, I’ll give you one of those full body massages that put you to sleep. How does that sound?”
“Mmmmm…with the coconut oil?”
“With the coconut oil, baby.”
I heard her smile through the receiver.
“I’ll be right there as soon as I can get out of this bed.”
“I’ll be looking for you, because you know I don’t have service in that dungeon.”
“Normal spot?”
“Normal spot.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, baby.”
The dial tone rang in my ear, and then died away as I slid the phone closed.
It was finals week, and everybody was stressed. The campus library was packed- it looked like registration day. Everybody was getting their last minute cramming on, some getting distracted, and some staying on track. Bottom line, the hang out spot for this last week in the semester was the library.
I paused before I headed back into the library, and that’s when I met him. He was sitting on the stairs staring at me. I looked behind me before I made any assumptions, but there was nobody in sight. I looked back at him and his eyes were trained on me. I started to walk to the library doors, and he stood up and stepped in my way. I backed up a safe distance.
“Can I help you?”
He was a short, stocky black male in heavy clothing. I could tell he didn’t attend the university by his looks, as sad as that sounds. He had headphones on, over his beanie hat. He had facial hair that was as unkempt as his clothes, and acne covered his dark face. He wore a black shirt with a big black jacket; stone washed jeans, and black boots. He looked as if he walked to campus straight from the hood. Two different dimensions.
But who am I to judge?
There were many reasons I hated attending a university with an open campus, and this was one of them. People can come on and off of campus as much as they please to do whatever, whenever. That was a risk for every student, and I hated it. The school I attended was right in the middle of the ghetto- the hood. Projects surrounded the college as a sea surrounded an island. You’re on the island to learn, and the sharks are off the island to do the opposite. I hated it.
He stared at me.
“Can I help you?” I repeated myself.
“Why can’t I be the first black president?” he asked.
“Excuse me?” I lost some of my uneasiness. Maybe I was just on edge because of finals.
“Why can’t I be the first black president?” He continued to stare at me- I within arms reach.
“Maybe you can, bro.” I tried to get past him and enter the library, but he stood in my way. My interview wasn’t over.
“Would you vote for me?”
“Yeah, I would vote for you. Why wouldn’t I?”
He stared at me. I had a bad feeling about him. I decided to feel him out.
“Would you vote for yourself?” I asked.
He stared at me before answering, “I don’t know yet.”
He gazed some more before he started laughing. His laugh was like the laugh of the lackadaisical, the careless- yet I heard the fires of hell within it. Or maybe that was just his breath.
Either, or- I was scared.
“What are you listening to?” I asked him. I wanted to know what kind of music got you into this mood.
He held a goofy smile as he pulled on his headphone cord…and pulled out nothing but the plug. He was listening to nothing, unless of course they started to sell pants with a built in MP3 player in the pocket.
It was obviously not music that made him act this way.
I backed up a little.
“Tell that boy he owes me ten dollars.” He said, as a goofy smile remained plastered on his face. I wanted to peel it off.
“What boy?” I was pretty much through with entertaining his foolishness.
“He knows who he is.” His blank stare returned. “And I bet he’s scared.”
On that note, I was gone.
I maneuvered around him, told him farewell, and headed to the doors of the library.
I heard him mumble behind me, and didn’t turn around when I heard him call out, “So are we the niggers, or are they?”
Crazy local.
Upon entering the library, my dimension, I forgot about the crazy man. I just hoped the books would scare him away…
They say the best way to hide something from someone like that was to put it in a book…
I was surprised that I hadn’t seen my girlfriend yet. Figured she’d still be in bed, if not on her way here. I’d go out and check on her in a little bit to make sure she didn’t run into the foolish man.
I entered the usual place we studied- the Internet Cafe. It was a room full of computers with some benches and desks spread around, with a couple of couches. In the corner of the ‘café’ was a coffee shop. The Bean. Their coffee wasn’t as delicious as PJ’s, but it was close. It was lounge area- a place to study if you needed a little background noise.
The computers called for me, but I knew if I got on one, I’d get no work done. Facebook, MySpace, Blogger, and all my hip hop sites that I visit daily would take up hours of my time. I had to remain focused.
I sat on a couch, and pulled my Accounting book out of my bag. Ugh. I hated this tedious crap.
Well, you have to do what you have to do to get where you want to get.
* * *
I was in the middle of a day dream when I heard the yelling outside of the café. I paid it no attention. Finals week was the week most fights happened, if any.
The loud bang jolted me from my thoughts and made me think that this may be more than a simple bickering.
Whatever, I thought. Somebody probably dropped something, or the freshmen were being stupid again. I ignored the noises.
I started to stare at my book, and then I was pulled away from that when I heard the screams.
Sitting on the couch, my back was facing the entrance to the café. I turned around to see what the ruckus was about.
I heard more bangs.
A guy with a red shirt ran into the Internet Café and slammed the door behind him.
Was this a joke? Why were people playing around?
I was getting angry. I stood up.
People came to the library to study! Not to play tag.
But then I noticed that the guy was holding the door closed, and he had a terrified look on his face.
Then I noticed his shirt wasn’t red. It was a gray shirt covered in blood.
He was bleeding.
“Somebody’s shooting!” He yelled.
Gasps and discussion erupted in the room. Panic was present, but not to study.
More bangs from outside the door.
Bangs that sounded like shots from a gun.
Freshmen weren’t being stupid, and nobody was playing tag.
Somebody was shooting.
Somebody was killing people.
I dropped down to the ground and took cover behind the couch.
“Where is he?” Somebody asked the guy holding the door.
“I don’t know where he is now, but he was outside a second ago! He came from upstairs! Somebody please help me keep the door closed! Oh my God, I’m bleeding! I’m shot!”
Nobody went over to help him, so he limped over to the coffee shop and slid over the counter to the other side.
Nobody wanted to be closer to death than they already were.
Nobody wanted to be near the door.
The entrance was the only way of escape, and nobody was going to be the first to run out.
Death could be patiently waiting on the other side of the door.
Nobody in this room wanted to meet him.
“Are there knives in the coffee shop?” Somebody called out.
“Shut up!” Somebody yelled. “If he hears us, he’s going to come!”
“Somebody turn the lights out!”
Nobody got up. Nobody wanted to be a hero. Nobody wanted to die.
Silence was outside the room.
Suspense and terror grew thick inside the room.
You could hear whimpers and crying sround the room. A girl was under a computer table crying out, asking “why” over and over and over. Three people were behind the couch with me, more behind other couches. A girl across the room behind a couch was shaking uncontrollably as someone hugged her and tried to tell her everything would be alright.
This wasn’t the time for lies.
Suddenly, a thought crossed my mind that made my heart drop to my stomach.
My girlfriend.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and attempted to call her. I had to make sure she wasn’t on her way.
Or even worse- here already.
Oh my God, I thought. What if she was here? She came because I told her to. She could be dead. I couldn’t live with that on my chest.
If I lived.
The number wouldn’t even dial out.
No service.
Damn T-Mobile.
I tried again with no luck. I tried to call my mother. No luck.
Just as I was about to attempt to call the police, someone called out that the police were on their way.
I heard running outside the door.
I prayed to God that the police would arrive here on time, because they always took their time in the hood- killings were an everyday thing, so it was last priority for them.
Maybe things would be different since this was a school.
I prayed things would be different.
And then the door to the Internet Café opened.
Copyright © 2007 by Lucius McCall
All rights reserved.
No comments:
Post a Comment