If I Were Your Boyfriend (5 page)

'
d just finished putting on the gray sweat suit and was standing by the mirror giving myself one last glance over. The sweats were huge and I had to pull the drawstring to its limit in order to keep my pants from falling down. The water at the detention facility was very hard and as a result my skin got very dry and had begun turning white. I exited the shower area and found Officer Sanchez waiting for me.

  "Do you have any lotion? My skin is all dry," I said.

  "Yeah, I do," he said. "Hold out your hand."

  I did as he instructed me to do and he squeezed some lotion that he had gotten off of a countertop that was nearby into my hands. Once I finished applying the lotion to the exposed parts of my skin he took me into the main group area where the other detainees were sitting around talking, playing cards and chilling out. I found a spot to sit down and just watched everyone, feeling slightly afraid and a little paranoid. In my mind I knew that I didn't belong. I wasn't this type of person. I didn't consider myself to be a troublemaker or a criminal. I just made a mistake, that's all. A lot of guys looked evil, hard and mean. It wasn't difficult to tell which dude had a street reputation and thug credibility. Those type of guys had a certain persona and presence about them. Their body language spoke for them.
This is a drag,
I thought to myself. Just sitting around waiting for the day to end was enough to drive me crazy if I let it.

  "What's up?" asked this guy who sat down next to me.

  I looked at him and studied him for a moment. I knew him from somewhere but I couldn't exactly remember where we'd met. He was slender with large almond eyes. His hair was combed out on one side and braided up on the other.

  "Nothing," I answered.

  "I know you," he said. " You don't remember me?"

  "I sort of remember your face but I don't remember your name."

  "It's Deon, man. You hang out at Tricked Out Nightclub with that chick Liz Lloyd, right?"

  "Yeah, Liz and I are cool," I said.

  "I also partied with you at a house party a while back. You and your boy had scored some alcohol and everyone at the party got completely smashed."

  "Oh, yeah, I remember you now," I said, feeling better that I knew someone.

  "My name is Wesley," I reminded him.

  "That's right, Wesley." He snapped his fingers. "So, what are you in for?"

  "Stupid stuff, what about you?"

  "I was at a party celebrating with my basketball team. My school team had just won a big tournament and I shot the winning point at the buzzer. It was a sweet shot too. I got the rebound, got around two de fenders and dribbled the ball hard up the court. I glanced at the shot clock real quick and noticed that I only had two seconds left. I arrived at the three-point line, to find Joey, another defender, waiting on me. I faked him out as if I was going to take the ball to the hole. When he went for the fake out, I launched myself high into the air. Joey tried to come back and block the shot, but it was too late. I released the ball, watched as it soared through the air and then whoosh, nothing but net, baby. The buzzer sounded, indicating that time had run out, and I tossed my arms up in the air to celebrate the victory. Unfortunately, Joey got nailed in the face during my moment of jubilation. Before I had an opportunity to apologize, my teammates swarmed me." He paused for a moment, a look of regret crossing his face. "Anyway, getting back to the party, it got out of control when Joey showed up with a few of his teammates. I apologized to him, but Joey wasn't there to receive an apology. He wanted to fight."

  "His boys probably hyped him up to battle on the way over," I stated.

  "Joey and I got into a shouting match and then he swung on me and nailed me right on the jaw. I wasn't about to get my butt whipped so I tackled him, got him on his back and unloaded on him. The next thing I knew guys from my team were fighting with the guys from the other team. It became a full-blown brawl within a matter of moments. The entire situation snowballed out of control. A lot of screaming, furniture was being broken and people getting bloody knuckles and split lips. I don't know how long the brawl went on because I was caught up in the moment. I came to my senses when I heard someone shout, 'The cops are here!' Everyone scattered at that moment. I tried to get out before the cops came in, but they cornered me and then took me into custody."

  "But what for? You were only defending yourself. Did you explain that to them?" I asked.

  "Yeah, I explained everything to them, but since I had alcohol in my system I was brought in on charges of disorderly conduct and underaged drinking. Joey went to the hospital because I'd knocked out one of his teeth during our fight. I heard that he's been released already and is doing okay."

  "Well, did the cops arrest him?"

  "Nope."

  "Well, why didn't the cops bring him in for disorderly conduct too?" I asked.

  "That's what I'd like to know," Deon answered as he shrugged his shoulders. "This entire situation is real jacked up." He leaned back in his seat. "I'm worried about going in front of the judge and what this is going to look like on my record."

  "It probably won't be bad," I tried to reassure him.

  "No, it is bad, man. My coach came to see me yesterday. He told me that two college scouts had come to see me and he had to tell them that I was in here. On top of that I'm going to miss four games that I know college scouts planned on attending. Man, I just feel as if I've blown my scholarship opportunities over something really stupid. Colleges look at this sort of thing, you know. This is my senior year, dude, and I may have just blown it." Deon released a sigh of frustration. I could hear the fear and anxiety in his voice. "If Joey had just accepted my apology, none of this would have happened."

  "Have you ever gotten into a brawl before?" I asked.

  "I've had my fair share of fights but nothing major,"

he answered. "Say, have your parents been here to see you yet?" he asked, changing the subject. I could tell that reliving events that landed him in this place was causing him more stress than he had anticipated.

  "No, and I really don't want them to come." I repositioned myself in my seat. "I especially don't want to see my mother because we don't get along. I get along better with my father."

  "Well, my parents came here and, man, I'm telling you, it was hard for me. I feel as if I've disappointed them. I didn't want them to see me in here dressed like this." Deon stopped talking. Judging by the look in his eyes, I knew he was hurting but trying not to show it by acting macho.

  "Everything will be fine. This is no big deal. Is this your first offense?" I asked.

  "Yeah," he answered. "I've never been in trouble like this before."

  "I think the judge will probably go easy on you. It's not as if you're a repeat offender or anything," I said.

  "This isn't me, man. Being in here is the last place I ever expected to be. It's cold in here. I don't like the single rooms with the hard mattresses or the stainless steel toilet. This will be the last time that I ever mess up. I'm hoping that the college scouts will look at this as a small mistake and nothing more." Deon ran his fingers through his hair and then met my gaze. "Come on, Wesley. Tell me what you're really in for," he inquired.

  I didn't answer Deon right away because I was trying to figure out a good starting point. There were so many events that had led up to my being locked up.

  "Hey, man, if you don't want to talk about it, I understand."

  "No, it's not that I don't want to talk about it. I'm just trying to figure out where to start."

  "Well, for starters do you like being in here?" asked Deon.

  "You know, at first I didn't but now that I've had a chance to calm down and relax, this place isn't so bad. In fact, it's okay because I can hear myself think."

  "Man. If you like this place, things must be pretty bad at home."

  "'Bad' isn't the word for it. 'Chaotic' would be a more accurate description," I said. I relieved some of the tension in my neck by rotating it in a circular motion until it cracked. "I'm tired of all of the constant screaming matches that I get into with my mom. At least in this place I get a chance to escape from her. In here she can't touch me, or tell me what to do or belittle me. Now that I think about it, I'm actually in a pretty good mood," I said.

  "Is it really that rough?" asked Deon.

  "Dude, you have no idea," I said, and was silent again. "When you get out of here you'll probably go back to a loving family," I continued. "Your family will probably look at this as a learning lesson and all will be forgiven."

  "Don't get it twisted," Deon corrected me. "My dad is not happy about me being here. And when I do go back home, I know that things are going to be different."

  "Yeah, but your parents care and understand, right?" I asked.

  "My dad sort of understands but my mom couldn't even talk when she saw me in here. She just cried. It was hard for me to see her so hurt." Deon swallowed hard.

  "That just means that she cares, man, and that's a good thing. My mother will come in here and raise hell with me. That's how she is. She'll remind me how all of this is my fault and I deserve what I'm getting. I swear, sometimes I wonder if she's really my mother."

  "Come on, let's walk around a little," said Deon.

  "Walk where, man?" I asked, looking around. "This place is like the inside of a bank vault."

  "I know it is but the moving around helps to keep me from going completely nuts. By moving around I feel like I'm going somewhere."

  Walking around was cool with me, so Deon and I slowly strolled around the outer walls of the common area. No sooner had we begun moving about than he started pretending that he was shooting jump shots. "They have a gymnasium in here for us but the floor is being fixed." Deon shared more information with me but I couldn't have cared less about the gymnasium.

  "Okay, go on. What's the deal with how you ended up here in prison paradise?"

  "Saturday night I took my mom's car while she was asleep and drove myself to Tricked Out, the teen nightclub. When I got there, a line of people was wrapped around the building waiting to get in. I parked my mother's car next to a black Chevy Caprice that was filled with people. When I got out of the car, one of the guys recognized me. They'd scored some alcohol from a nearby convenience store and asked if I wanted a drink. I joined them and hammered down a few beers and a few wine coolers. There was no need to go inside the club because the party was right outside where I was. The guys said that they were going to go get some more alcohol and asked if I wanted to come with. I said no, because I wanted to catch up with some more folks who were inside the club. I went inside and hung out with Liz Lloyd and the crew. I was feeling great when all of a sudden I felt as if the room was spinning around. I knew I was feeling that way because of all of the alcohol I'd drank. At that point I decided that it was time to head home. So I walked back out to the parking lot and got in my mother's car. I knew that I was too buzzed to drive so I got in the passenger seat, pulled the seat lever and lowered it into a reclining position. I then drifted off to sleep. The next thing I knew cops had surrounded the car and had their flashlights beaming in my face. They were yelling and shouting, 'Get out of the car!' I had no clue as to what was going on. I got out of the car and was detained and placed in the back of a squad car. Several officers searched the car but didn't find anything unusual. Then an officer comes over and opens up the squad car door to talk to me. He says, 'The car you're in has been reported stolen.' At that point I got ticked off.

  "'Get real,'" I said, snapping at him because I thought he was on some racial-profiling power trip. "'Look, man,' I said to him, 'I have keys to the car. I didn't steal it.'"