I Guess My Race is Run
A tapping on glass woke me up from a frigid and miserable sleep on a thin
mattress; utter confusion filled my head as I pulled the thin wool blanket over me to
block the fluorescent light that persisted on keeping me awake. I wanted so badly to
close my eyes and wake up in my own bed and believe that I was not sitting in a jail cell,
but the harder I tried the more I started to remember glimpses of how I had gotten there
the previous night. I sat up and pulled the rough grey blanket around my shoulders to
face the correctional officer who was trying to tell me that my bail had been posted and I
was to be released within the hour.
Thoughts started to race through my head faster than I could comprehend them.
The faster they appeared the more fleeting they became. How did I get here? How am
I getting released? Do I still have a job, when I had no way to call out? As I curl back
up into the corner of the cell to look out of the window and watch the new arrests start
to trickle in for the night I started to analyze my physical state. All of my jewelry and
personal possessions were gone, my mouth was dry and tacky, and then I turned my
gaze down to my hands. My left hand was stained with blue chalk between my middle
and forefinger, but that was not surprising since I had been playing pool at the bar the
night before. What caught my eye next was the state of my wrists, which were covered
in scabs and swollen, I must have been fighting the cuffs the night before.
While starring down at my hands I blocked everything else out, nothing seemed to
be able to break me from this trance. A stern voice spoke “Fields,” and broke my gaze,
the Corrections officer told me he had been calling my name for a few minutes, he was
ready to escort me outside. The cuffs were put back on with a dull pain as scabs were
re-opened. I was taken to the gate just as the sun was setting, the heat of the day was
melting away. I was handed a bag with all of my possessions as I starred in confusion
with no idea of what I was supposed to do. I quickly snapped back and walked out of
the fence still in a haze of disbelief.
I looked towards the parking lot to see my roommate Tom and my girlfriend Alex
standing outside of our white Buick Lesabre. I felt the first hint of freedom as a
tremendous burden rose from my shoulders, but weighed heavy on my mind. The
doors of the car were open as I approached, and I heard the song that was playing
from the stereo, “I fought the law, and the law won” by The Clash. As happy as I was
for being out I could not hold a smile for long. Tom noticed and handed me the bottle of
whiskey, and for the first time in years I handed it back without taking a sip. I, along with
everyone, was in utter bewilderment as I heard myself say “This is the last hangover I
am ever going to have.”
