rboy27

As I sat in the dingy dungeon that seemed was going to be my lodgings for the night, I made it my first priority to make as little to no noise as possible for fear of being reprimanded any more. I was aware of the fact that I was in a small town, but I never imagined that in this day and age such a neglected jail cell had since existed from 1880. The cell made up most of the basement, along with some severely undeveloped modern technologies including iron-pipe pluming and an enormous air conditioning system. The fumes from the later were a particularly overlooked health hazard and made the air seem ten times heavier than it should be. The only source of light and ventilation came from a small rectangular window roughly seven feet above the floor, though to call it a window was a stretch; it was really nothing more than a missing section of concrete bricks.

I had but only one cell mate, though he didn’t appear to be the talkative type. He sat in the corner, sleeping under a colorful poncho and a large Mexican hat. If you think that sounds like a stereotype, you’re absolutely right. This man was the caricature that so many Mexicans would surely find offensive. Regardless, he was the closest thing I had to a friend at this point, so I attempted to start a conversation.
At first I thought of getting up and sitting next to him, but I then thought it best to keep my distance. I began with the only opening statement that I thought appropriate with your new cellmate.

“So, what are you in for?”

He picked his head up slowly, still revealing little of his face. “Que?”

“Oh, um, I’m sorry, I don’t speak Spanish very well. Let me see, what do I remember from high school…Que ser les en para?”

He replied with a light chuckle that slowly escalated into a roaring fit of hysteria.
“Oh Señor, that is very funny. Your Spanish is so bad!” he said as he continued to laugh. “Thank you very much, I needed a good laugh like that!”

Before I could reply, the basement door opened and a booming voice bellowed from above. “Ya’ll better keep it quiet down there or I’m gonna have to come down there and beat ya’ll till you can’t never talk again!” And with that, the door made a mighty slam.

I turned back to my cellmate and introduced myself. He said his name was Paco and that he had been taken in for being drunk in public. We got to talking more and shared our stories of conviction.

Like every young man of my generation, there was a time I dreamed of being a rock and roll star. Since my early teens I have been unrelenting in my quest for musical greatness. Every year or so, I would develop a need to learn a new instrument. The one I’ve never been able to tackle, however, was the instrument of voice. To begin, my speaking voice had very little conviction and, as you may imagine, my singing voice was no greater in presence or volume. Though most of those close to me agree that I have developed a more profound tone and pitch, I remain, at best, an average vocalist. Yet, I have never been able to shake the most embarrassing quality of my voice, both spoken and sung; I am a very petite man and have a very petite voice. As a result, I tend to sing more like a woman, or a young girl at best.

Of course, this never stopped me from singing. Like many, I sing in the shower, alone at home, and on long drives. I do so also, occasionally, on short drives, but more so especially on long drives. Before a trip, I make sure to pack a sufficient number of CD’s to which I may offer my bland falsetto accompaniment. Queen albums are a particular favorite, seeing as how Freddie Mercury, too, rarely sang on the low end of the musical scale.

When in high traffic areas, I am very often self-conscious about those outside may still hear me through the closed doors and windows of my Element and try and maintain a sense of choral decency for the sake of those around me. Once on the outskirts of humanity of course, I hold back nothing, though now even the open road is sure to keep me vocally pensive.

I was taking one of my long drives, this one being the longest to date, from my home in Aurora, Illinois to some unforeseen area of the Southwest; I find that planning a vacation takes all the fun and adventure out of things. I had just passed through Shamrock, Texas and was headed towards Houston. All 2 square miles of Shamrock is flat, no lakes or rivers, no parks or forests, and boasts a population of just over 2,000. The city is so small, in fact, that you can tour it all while on one road. There’s the Shamrock Public High School, a Best Western hotel, and at the very edge of town, a small police station. There are no traffic lights, only one lonely stop sign in the middle of Shamrock’s “bustling” downtown area. There are no posted speed signs either, which to a city boy like myself means all the freedom in the world.

Just as I was leaving this majestic oasis of Wheeler County, I switched my CD player over to the radio. Local radio always fascinated me, especially in small towns with no news to talk about. I recall, for example, driving through southern Illinois listening to the only station that came in clearly, 105.7 FM, “The Pickle”. I was surprised when during the second verse of “Stayin Alive” an urgent voice took over the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I hate to interrupt but I just received a news report from the Shelbyville Police Department”, the voice said. “At approximately two o’clock this afternoon, Mrs. Denkins misplaced her pie pan. It is a standard pan, roughly 12 inches in diameter, metal, and a slightly dented underside. If anyone has any information regarding the whereabouts of this pie pan, please contact the Shelbyville Police Department. Thank you, and now back to 105.7, The Pickle!”

Of course, being in Texas, the only local station that even vaguely came in played only country and western music. This wasn’t a completely bad thing mind you; I do enjoy some country music every now and again. As it turns out, the station, which I failed to catch the name off, was playing a full weekend of Johnny Cash. This was great news for me as I have always enjoyed the Man In Black and sang to his records with more vigor than most other artists. Perhaps it was his pleasing baritone that I found so appealing, as I always wished my voice were deeper. Just as I was passing the police station, “Jackson” came on to play and I turned my stereo speakers as high as they could go. It wasn’t until halfway through the song that I noticed the flashing red-and-blue lights behind me.

I pulled over to the side of the “road” and turned the car off. I always felt that the worst part of being pulled over by the police was the first few minutes before the officer comes to the car. “What have I done?” you think to yourself and may begin formulating ridiculous circumstances for this brush with the law now taking place. No amount of irrationality could have prepared me for what happened this time.
The officer approached my car window slowly and menacingly, making me more anxious than before. He was a great big monster of a man, nearly as wide as he was tall. He didn’t wear the traditional beige uniform one is used to seeing these days but rather a suit that appeared to be made of ivory or perhaps some other elusive material that common folk like I didn’t even know existed. In his mouth was a cigar, fat and finely rolled but not lit. He didn’t seem to be sporting a badge of any kind, though with an outfit as luxurious as his, one would have no doubt cheapened the effect.

“I suppose you’ll want to see my license and registration?” I said.

He removed the cigar from the corner of his mouth and brought his face in closer to mine.

“Nah, I don’t reckon I need that to tell you a Yankee.” He spat on the ground, though something told me he wanted to hit me in the face. “You playin’ that rock and roll music gonna frighten a lot of people ‘round here you know? This here’s a quiet community and I likes to keep it that way, understand?”

My mouth went dry. While I meant to say “Yes Sir, sorry Sir” it came out more like “Yeehaaasamndf”.

“Now I don’t know how they handle these types of things back in the great North and frankly I don’t care to know. But in this town, I am the law and I think you need some time to cool that fiery spirit of yours down in the basement of that fine po-lice station you so recklessly seemed to disregard.”

And with that, I was taken back to town and my car left stranded in the desert.

“That is a terrible story Señor, though I have been arrested for far less here.”
“How many times have you been arrested?”

“Oh my, I would have to guess at least five, this being my sixth. The first time I was caught smoking a cigar outside of the designated smoking areas, then there was the time I got caught throwing away a penny in a handful of lint I found in my pocket. The worst though would have to be when I was seen spiting on the sidewalk, Officer Hogg got me good for that one.”

“Why would he enforce such silly laws? This seems like a quiet, simple town where everyone would get along peacefully.”

“Oh si, it is very much a nice town. The people are friendly and there has never been a reported crime for decades. The problem is that this station is run without any funding from the city or the state, so Hogg is forced to pay for the stations bills and his own paycheck.”

“I see, so the more arrests he makes, the more money he can keep for himself.”

“Si, I know, it’s not a fair system at all. Everyone in town is scared to leave their own homes because – ”

And right on cue, Hogg descended upon the moldy planks of wood that could scarcely be defined as stairs.

“Well, sounds here like you boys is becomin’ fast friends being all jibbery-jabbity down here. Now I know how to respect the privacy of others, but I can’t help but feel y’all are talkin’ about me. Now, being the criminals that you are, I need to approach things of the sort with a heightened responsibility, you understand. I was going to let you both out of here with a warning and a bill for room-and board, but now I see you are both guilty of conspiracy against the government and aiding and abetting a known criminal.”

“This is ridiculous, I want out of this shit-hole of a town right now! You can’t treat people like this!”

“Whoa, settle down there Yankee. You don’t want another account of disturbing the peace do you?”

I knew I stood no chance at getting out of this early, so I just sat with Paco in complete silence.

It was about 5 o’clock, judging by the position of the sun. Hogg had confiscated my cell phone and my watch. Feeling comfortable enough, I took a seat next to Paco.

“Paco, you’ve been in here long enough, haven’t you ever tried to escape?”

He picked his head up from his giant hat just as he had done before. “Si, but there is only two ways out, that window above us or out the front door. I tried fitting through the window once, but it is too small. I tried to loosen the bricks around it, but Hogg caught me and made me pay to replace them.”

I’ve read the complete works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle; you’d think I’d have learned something about escape and observation from that. “Well, if we can find a way to get Hogg to open these locks, maybe we could knock him out and then escape.”

“No, I don’t think so, he never opens the lock for any reason.”

“No reason at all? What if we say you’re sick or something and need to go to the hospital?” The plan was cliché, but it did always sounded like a pretty good idea.

“Do you think he would really fall for that? The man has no heart, he would tell me to quit complaining and then charge me for Pepto-Bismol.”

He was right; Hogg was as unsympathetic as, well, the animal of his namesake. The only thing Hogg was good for was inflicting pain and despair. That’s when it hit me, and when I hit Paco.

I’m not a strong man, I’m very feeble actually, but I hurled my fist into Paco’s stomach as though it were a wad of dough.

“Señor! Why would you do that to me!?”

“I’m sorry Paco, you’ll understand in a minute, but you need to let me hit you a few more times.”

I continued to throw punches and Paco continued to holler. It wasn’t long before Hogg came down to see what all the commotion was about. In fact, he even said, “What’s all the commotion about down here?”

I had Paco on his back now. “I don’t understand, he just came at me and now he wont stop!” He didn’t lie either, I was actually doing a pretty good job kicking his ass.

“Well this is gonna stop right here!” And with that, Hogg opened the cell door and came at me with his baton. He scored a nice hit just above my left eye, I’m certain I was bleeding. I rolled onto the floor and Hogg continued his police brutality. Amidst my cries of agony, I managed to let out two words: “Now Paco!” Of course by that I meant “Now Paco, knock him out so we can both escape like the friends we are,” but apparently it came across as “Now Paco, escape to freedom and leave me behind to be killed on the floor of a prison cell,” because that’s exactly what he did.

I did the first thing that came to mind. I kicked Hogg square in the testicles. It was dishonest, I know, but it was my only option. I kicked and I ran.

Looking back though, I think he deserved it for all the misery he caused for so many others.

Now, if I could only find my car.

__________________
"What you don't understand, you can make mean anything." - Diary by Chuck Palahniuk

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