21. equal under law
Miss California picked up her GAP pool towel and patted herself dry.
She sat down and pulled out a granny smith apple from her united
white and green Wellington knapsack.
Thinking fast, Micky seized the opportunity to make verbal contact.
“You know, you can make a bong out of an apple. It‘s something I
learned in prison.”
Startled, she looked around and finally realized that the voice was
coming from the obscure individual next to her, also known as Micky.
“Excuse me?”
Squeeze me, he thought and chuckled to himself. “I said, you can make
a bong out of an apple.” He took a sip of beer and watched as she
comfortably positioned herself to exchange in verbal intercourse.
“You can make a bong? Why did you learn that?” she sarcastically
asked and pouted out her lower lip. “And why were you in prison?”
“I turned myself in.”
“What? You turned yourself in? What did you do that for?” she asked
and took a bite of the apple.
“Yeah. And it wasn’t easy, either. It took a while before I was
behind bars.”
“What prison were you in?”
“The new one, downtown.”
“What’s that like?” She licked her lips. “It certainly is one of the
prettiest buildings downtown.”
“Inside it’s clean and well lit. It smells very sterile.” He wiped
the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “They use some
sort of high-powered chemical cleaner and the cells reek of it. But
you know what’s funny? There’s still those fruit flies that some how
manage to get in. You know the ones that buzz around ceiling lamps
even when the light’s not on.”
“What?” She was a bit taken aback by this observation.
“But the flies weren’t my only company.” He sat up and crossed his
legs in front of him. “I was put into a holding cell with the cream
of Sacramento’s underground. There was this lovesick drunken youth
with a virgin mary tattoo and a bandanna who kept yellin’, ’Yo vero
lumiere, y esta muy bueno.’ Now, he smelled really bad. I guess he’d
pissed on himself before he came in and he was beginning to ferment.”
“That’s disgusting. Yuk!” she valleyed.
“Yeah. I know, and there was this asian guy who didn’t say anything
and kept staring at us. They picked him up for trespassing. Later, we
figured out that he was illegal and he was mighty worried about bein’
deported.”
“Did you do that?” She pointed to the Sutters Weekly that Micky had
laid out for all to read. “ALIEN SPACE SHI’T’. That’s pretty funny.”
“Thanks. Would you like a cigarette?” He reached for the paper bag
and removed a pack of generic menthol cigarettes.
“No thanks, I don’t smoke,” she said politely and popped open a
Redbull instead. “You know, I don’t think you’re allowed to smoke
here, or drink beer.”
“What d’ya mean? It’s outside isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but, I don’t know. You’re like on uh, on private property. I
think it is against the law.”
“So what. I break the law every day, somehow. Most of the time, I
don’t even know that I am doing something wrong. I’m just one big
mistake anyway. So don’t worry. Besides, I’ve been to prison and it
don’t matter.” He paused and lit his cigarette before continuing.
“Now, there was this one guy who I kinda recognized, he must’ve been
about fifteen, a kid really. J.J. You know. Jumpin’ Jamal’s Used Car
Lot. Those stupid ads on late night TV, where the two of them bounced
on trampolines quoting car prices.
She nodded exaggeratedly and took another bite of her apple.
“He was fuming about his father and told me that he was in jail for
shootin’ up his father’s house. I quess white rage even happens to
minorites. Later he told me that he told a different story to the
police. That he was defendin’ himself against a black intruder. It
was pretty lame ass of him but I guess they believed him because they
let him out shortly after.”
“Yeah. I remember seeing something on the news.”
“Me too. The house was a battlefield.”
“Come to think of it, I haven’t seen J. J. on TV for awhile.”
“The scariest bit though was a real big black guy who was lookin’ at
me mighty fine. This guy, he must’ve been ’bout a meter ninety and
100 kilos of bubbly fat.”
“Uh. You sound like an alien. It pounds and inches here.”
“Yeah I know. But don’t you find it strange that the US is the only
country that uses king george’s body measurements.”
“I didn’t know they were from a king.”
“Yeah. And an english one at that which makes it all the more stupid.
Anyway. Let’s just say the guy was really big. So he asks me about my
jacket, and comes over and starts petting me. Then he asks where I
bought it? If someone gave it to me? If I was seein’ somebody?
Freaky questions, if you know what I mean?”
She gave him a nod of confirmation.
“I hadn’t a clue what that was all about. I’m beginning to think that
he wants my ass. And the worse scenarios come to mind. But luckily,
he only wants to try at my jacket. So what could I say?”
She shrugged her shoulders and bit into her apple.
“I couldn’t say no. This guy might of been fat but he probably could
of ripped the jacket off me with his little finger. So I give it to
him, and you know what he does?”
She shook her head and finally offered Micky a bite of her apple.
“He like, takes to nosin’ my jacket, and I’m thinkin’, this guy is
out of his mind. Thanks.” He took a bite and handed it back.
“Oooh. Wabega!” he said chewing. “That jacket must’ve smelled really
funky. It was like, hundred degree weather outside and, at the time,
I was doin’ prep work cuttin’ onions.” He swallowed. “But this didn’t
stop him from rubbin’ his face to it and takin’ a good strong whiff.”
“Oh my god! That’s so disgusting,” she squealed and tapped her feet
on the pavement..
“Do you want to hear more?” Micky asked. “It’s like, the truth. I
know it sounds weird.”
“Yeah,” she quickly answered. “God. I never imagined. Like, does it
get worse?”
“Well kind of. Depending how you see it. Don’t worry. It turns out
he’s a pussycat and was just getting into the texture of the jacket.
Said he loved the feel of silk on his skin. So, we got to talkin’ and
I tell him why I’m in jail, and he tells me that he got arrested, get
this, for feeding the homeless!”
“No. Not true.” She shook her head and offered him the rest of the
apple. “No one gets arrested for feeding the homeless. You’re lying.”
“Thanks.” He took small bites eating down to the stem. “It’s true,
though.” He spat out the seeds. “I said the same thing. I couldn’t
believe it myself. Yeah man, there’s a law that you can’t feed the
homeless because it’s against hygiene regulations. I mean, the law is
out there to protect us from eatin’ unsolicited food that could
poison us.” He coughed. “But the people who would die if they didn’t
get their next peanut butter and jelly sandwich are up shit creek.
Plus it’s so political, you know. The city doesn’t want people livin’
on the streets. Idleness is a sickness in their eyes. It makes their
city look real and that’s bad for the tourist dollar. My question is.
What tourist is ever goin’ to come to Sacto. I can think of a zillion
other places to be a tourist.”
“Whatever.” She took a sip from her Redbull. “So how did you get into
prison? What horrendous crime did you commit? Did you beat someone
up or rob a bank or did you just do something stupid and get yourself
arrested?” She gave him a quizzical look.
“Oh yeah. Well, as I said before, I turned myself in. It wasn’t easy
either. I mean it was hard.” He put out his cigarette on the poolside
pavement. “See it all started when I got this phone call. I’ve always
been payin’ the man. I think, ever since I was born, I’ve been
payin’. So when the debt agency called and told me that I had to go
to the police or they would come and arrest me and make me pay for
that too, I decided to turn myself in.” He drained the last drops
from his can and reached over for the paper bag. “Would you like a
beer?”
She thought for moment and refused. “No. I better not.” She shook her
hand in front of her. “I’m drinking a Redbull. Maybe later. Thanks
anyway. You said you turned yourself in because someone called you?”
“Yeah. I was gullible in those days.” He lit another cigarette “I
didn’t turn myself in right away, that’s how stupid I was. No. The
next day when I was workin’ at a restaurant after cuttin’ up a heap
load on onions.” He blew smoke through his sentence. “I started
gratin’ the tons of cheese that were needed each day for pizzas, and
was thinkin’ what was better, cuttin’ cheese or prison life? Then I
started thinkin’ that I’m goin’ to have this monkey on my back for
years to come. I could never study again unless I paid it back and I
might as well get it over with.” He belched.
She continued to listen attentively.
“So, I just stopped gratin’ and walked out, for good. Walked right
down to the jail on 9th and J and pushed the doorbell. I pushed it
four times, standin’ out there like a fuckin’ idiot, smellin’ like a
peeled onion, askin’ myself if I really wanted to go this far. Too late.
Finally this cop comes to the door and asks me what I want
and I tell him how I got a phone call the other day from a debt
collection agency about my outstandin’ student loan and I am here to
turn myself in. Well if that didn’t throw him for a loop. He said for
me to wait and he would get back to me.”
“So here I was standin’ outside the jail, thinkin’ how unjust the
world is because I haven’t paid back my student loan. Education
should be free, I’ve always said. The reason why we have so many
morons runnin’ around is because it costs too much to go to school.
Just for breathin’ nowadays, you got to pay the man.
“So here I am, standin’ outside the jail. I’m not lookin’ my best but
I do have on this yellow silk coat that I got from my friend over
there.” He pointed first to Denver and then to the very same jacket.
“I smelled and probably looked like a goddamn taco. And you know
what I did?”
Completely enthralled, she took a quick glance at the article of
clothing and returned to staring at Micky as he continued his story.
“I rang the bell again.”
“Not.”
“Shit yeah. I’m the confessed criminal. I shouldn’t have to wait.
Finally though the same cop comes back, apologizes for leavin’ me
out there so long and says that this is not normal procedure.”
“I still can’t believe that you turned yourself in because someone
called you.” She smiled and asked, “Could you do me a favor? Could
you put some lotion on my back?” and reached a tube of Brand de
Soleil over to Micky.
“Yeah sure.” Micky tried to remain as nonchalant as possible, knowing
already that his plan had succeeded far beyond all expectations.
“It’d be my pleasure.” He quickly rose from his sitting position and
took the tube.
She turned her shoulders in his direction as he squirted a generous
amount of the powerful designer suntan product into his right palm.
“Do you need this stuff?” He took a whiff before rubbing it onto his
hands.
“Yeah. It’s good for the skin. Go on. Tell me what happened next!”
“Wow. This stuff burns.” He waved his hands in the air. “What’s in
this stuff?”
“What? I dunno. Just rub it in.” She wiggled her shoulder in
anticipation.
He knelt down behind her, began to massage the Brand de Soleil
tanning mixture into her pores, and continued recounting his story of
petty crime, all the while rubbing in a circular motion. “So where
was I?”
“Talking through an intercom.”
“Oh yeah. So finally, this other cop comes down. I tell him that I
received a phone call about my debts and that I was to report to the
nearest police station immediately. He also tells me that this is not
normal procedure. But if I want to I could wait in the chapel while
they check it out.”
“What?”
“Yeah. It’s actually a waitin’ room where every religion is
represented. It’s probably a spy room where there’s hidden mikes and
cameras to pick up you confessin’ to the lord. They got all the good
books on the shelf and every religious pamphlet you can think of.
They even had stuff from the Church of Opportunity, First Christian,
somethin’ that I was into when I was married.” He took the tube and
applied more lotion to his palms. “Funny, to read it now and to see
through all the crap they dish out.”
“Wait!” she interrupted, “back up again to that First Opportunity
part. What was that all about, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Shit, if you can believe it, I was a fuckin’ born again Opportunist.
My wife at the time was really into it. Oh, she loved that Preacher
Dan and all.”
In the course of his rant, Micky had absentmindedly squirted half the
tube of Brand de Soleil onto himself and his conversation partner and
was now finding it difficult to get rid of the excess.
“Preacher Dan! I know Preacher Dan!” She jerked suddenly, wondering
if she should tell.
“Yeah. A lot of people do. I know him, too. My ex-wife, like I said,
was really into Preacher Dan and we even had a velvet paintin’ of
Preacher Dan over our bed.”
“Oooh. That’s scary.”
“Yeah. Ain’t it? A part of my life, I would like to forget. But you
know, I was young, easily moldable. I mean, everyone believes in
something or another, whether it be Preacher Dan or Moe Hamin,
Moe Jesus, the Holy Spook or St. Elvis. It don’t matter. You get
together, sing a few songs, take some kind of drug together like wine
or poison fruit cocktail, you do the love dance and are united.
United for what, I’d like to know. To go around and kill people who
don’t believe like you do, believe in the almighty yahoo, in One God,
the spiritual fucked-up male, all in the name of institutionalized
religion. I mean shit, church is like a disco except you can’t fuck
in the bathrooms.”
“What are you talking about? If you don’t mind, I think that’s enough
lotion on my back. Would you like me to put some on you?”
“No man. I already got enough all over me. I think I’ll jump in the
pool first.”
“So go ahead.” she snipped.
“Here. Let me put some on your legs,” he suggested and moved around
in front of her. She rotated herself on the edge of the lounge,
leaned back and stretched her legs out in front of her so Micky could
better relieve himself of the excess tanning lotion.
“No please, don’t get me wrong,” he hurriedly added, knelt in front
of her and took her right leg in his hands. “When you are that age,
you are all pumped up with idealism and ready to take on the world.
It’s not like I stopped wantin’ to change the world into a better
place, but I don’t have that youthful dogmatism anymore. Now I’m just
an A.C.N.E. artist. I don’t worry about convincin’ anybody anymore.”
He smiled hoping to win back her undivided attention.
“So like, did they finally put you in jail?’’ she asked, stretching
her leg out to help Micky apply the lotion more thoroughly.
“All lovin’, they certainly did! And you know, the fuckin’ jail is a
fuckin’ nut house. How’s that for irony? Ha! I felt safer on the
streets of sacramento than inside the goddamn jail.
“So I’m in this waitin’ room, and after many moments of silence, some
broad built like a refrigerator with a mustache to boot, comes into
the room, stands me up, whips some handcuffs on my wrists and takes
me into another room. This time it’s a bare room, with only a table
and some scruffy lookin’ chairs. It’s only neon lit and it’s bright.
The room is painted in this ever so pale greenish-white color and
it’s super clean. You know you could splatter your soul in a place
like that. In fact, the room becomes your soul and there are no more
secrets.
“The bitch in the blue polyester uniform pushes me to a chair and
cuffs me into it. She comes back and throws down some forms for
me to fill out. And there were a lot of forms. They wanted to know
everything. Oh, and you know what?”
She shook her head.
“There was this one tiny little pencil on the other side of the table
but she doesn’t give me the pencil, she just knew that there was one
already there and I was supposed to figure it out. Then she leaves.
“I’m there for twenty, maybe a half an hour and I have some time to
think.” He cupped and rotated his hands over her knee in time with
the story. “All sorts of crazy things go on in your head. But there
was one thing that set me off, that made me think how prison life was
going to be. And that was that little yellow pencil. She knew it was
there but she didn’t make any reference to it. So that meant that I
was supposed to get up, get the pencil and somehow fill out these
prison forms, handcuffed and all. My life as a worthless amoeba
passed in front of my eyes and I imagined myself delighted, after
spendin’ years in solitary confinement, to stumble across a gift of a
little yellow pencil and to rediscover the essence of writin’ and
communication.”
“Wow. That’s awesome,”she whispered while looking into his eyes and
scooting closer to the edge of the lounge. She was as completely
captivated by Micky’s tale of criminal adventure as he was captured
in his art of telling her the story.
“Finally she comes back in and starts yellin’ at me, tellin’ me not
to waste her time and to get fillin’ out the forms. By now though, I
do have the yellow pencil clutched in my left hand like this was the
most important thing in the world. I was overcome with emotion and a
little regret for going this far.”
Micky’s hands were now resting on her upper thighs. He had an
audience and the thrill of conquest churned his hormones to an
intoxicating hight.
“I take a good look at the application to jail and think to myself.
Hey, why do I have to do everything? It took me long enough to get
this far, besides I’m the guilty one, not you. At least, I confessed
to something. Who only knows what secrets lies in your meat compartment.
“Well, she must’ve read my mind because things started to move real
fast after that. And before I knew it, I was behind bars, sittin’
there with a love sick Latino, an asian alien, a muslim
fundamentalist and a 300-pound black humanitarian.”
“And pee on this!” he said and moved forward to practically rub noses
with the beauty, “The story ain’t finished yet.
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