Chapter sixty nine
It was a cold and windy night at Los Angeles correctional center. A rare silence washed over the building, except for the occasional stamping boots of the police guards stationed along the corridor.
It was gold.
Most of the inmates should expectedly be asleep by now, myself inclusive. However, I was fully awake, not reading nor staring at the clouds, but getting prepared. After the daily night exercise and a cold shower, I was waiting patiently for 9pm. It was supposed to be my first rehab session with a couple other inmates, Alan and Dad inclusive.
Concluding my prayer with the cross sign, I was on my feet and whispering my farewell to Alf who'd slept off in his sitting position.
"Everything ready, Jeffery," Cyrus muttered from the corridor with a hushed tone. Meeting his stare, I simply nodded.
The walk was barely going to be a few minutes. Asides from the cold wind sweeping through the window and washing over me, there was something completely different creeping over me as I followed Cyrus along the dimly lit and empty hallways.
As much as I was sure we were the only ones present here, I did not feel so. A scary sensation that there were creatures lurking in the darkened corners made my skin tingle and my breaths hitch.
Anyways, I shook my head in dismissal and focused to the path ahead of me.
After descending a few flights of stairs and squeezing through several doorways, a lit room came into view at the end of the corridor we presently traded on.
"This is more or less a therapy session where y'all share your most difficult stories," the guard explained as we both neared the door. "It makes for mistakes comparison and bonding, breeding better people and dealing with the depression you're currently dealing with."
Again, all I did was nod. My words were lost in the thought of sharing my difficult stories with my father. This suddenly did not seem like a good idea anymore.
As though to get me to say something at all cost, Cyrus added. "I'm glad you signed up for this, Jeffery."
With a sigh off my chest, I glanced at him, forcing a smile to lighten up my features. "Thank you, Cyrus."
Pulling the handle down, Cyrus pushed the door in and stepped over the threshold, tipping his head as some sort of invitation for me to follow. Although unsure, I complied rather reluctantly.
Seated in form of a circle were no less than thirty inmates at the center of the darkened room. Only a bulb hanging above the gathering was the attempt at lighting.
My father seemed to lead the gathering. He had a notepad in hand and was seated at the very head. At my advent, all pairs of eyes fell on me, most shocked, others pleased.
With a hand, Alan gestured towards an empty seat by his side. My legs began to obey without my consent as I strode to where I was presented to.
The sound of the door clicking confirmed Cyrus's exit and only made me more awkward in the midst of mostly strangers. Just like a coy kid in a new class, I settled by Alan's side with nothing but a nod to acknowledge the people with me.
"I almost thought you wouldn't make it," Alan whispered without any trace of enthusiasm. I was used to that by now. "Now that I think of it, you really do look like Dylan."
"You could say I'm a chip off the old block," I responded and soon leaned away so I could meet my Dad's solemn eyes on me.
"I want to introduce you all to our newest member…," he began, "…someone y'all might already know as Jeffery Thompson. Judging by his recent dilemma of attempted suicide, I believe he needs this more than any one of us."
At that point, I wished I could roll my eyes without being so obvious about it. Deep down, I believed he had no right to care so much yet lie to me right in my face. I almost despised him for that.
Anyways, I was distracted from hating him when the inmates shared a low applause to welcome me. I felt uncomfortably strange; the awkward feeling of not knowing what to do. In the end, I chose to look at Dylan Joe and sigh. "Thank you, Dylan. What do I do now though?"
"Oh, nothing much," he said. "You'll just have to share your story with everyone here."
I felt a nerve pop up at my temple. Staring at him, I could tell he was having fun teasing me. My heart racing, I had to grit my teeth to hide my anxiety. After taking my stare round every present soul, I sighed and looked upon my father once again. "Very well."
***
"My father was a soldier before my mother told us he died in a war one stormy night. I was about four then and my elder brother, Noah, was about eleven. Soon though, we had to go squat with my Uncle because we barely had what to eat."
I saw Dylan's gaze narrow into something slightly annoyed just then. At that thought, I realised this might be a good thing afterall. Anyways, I'd gotten myself comfortable on my seat, adjusting and leaning back so that this attempt at teasing my father into a tight corner with my life story was going to work out. Thinking of it, this session was his own little way of wanting to know my story while he'd been absent.
I found it a little bit arrogant but I had my own interests to gain.
"Several nights, my Uncle would lose it and lash out; anyone of us could be his victim. One night, he gave Noah a scar, another night…" I paused, raising my eyes to stare at Dad and swallowing a pain in my gut, "…he killed my mother."
The gathering grew stiff. Several uncertain glances were exchanged amongst the inmates, almost as though they each trying to confirm if they'd heard right. In the end, their looks of pity fell on me, making me feel vulnerable all over again.
Dylan Joe, however, had bowed his head to conceal his expression. Scrutinizing the pen in his grip, I could tell he was shivering. Day after day, all he did was confirm that he truly was the one; his concern, his reactions. Everything.
My stare on him a stone glare, I resumed. "In our struggle for survival, Noah secretly resumed drugs, supposedly losing his life in the process." I chose to pause at all those extremely crucial moments just for the purpose of studying Dylan's reactions.
Even now, I watched him as he suddenly stared up at me, emotion laced in his eyes as he struggled to keep it in check.
He was my father; and I was certain by now. Anyways, I went on to the later parts of my childhood life.