Another

Another

It would be a gross understatement to say that “home” wasn’t exactly a grand palace; in fact, here is a step-up, condition-wise, from there. My apartment building was about the lowest place on Earth. It was as close to being condemned as it could be without actually being so. The paint was peeling and if you stepped on the floor just right, your foot would go right through and you’d spend the next half hour plucking out splinters. The plumbing was extremely temperamental and only worked when it felt like it. There seemed to be no end to immortal rats that scattered about and not a day went by when I stared at the ceiling wondering if it was going to come down. It was all right, though, considering I was living there for free. I mean, I was supposed to pay rent, but the landlady was this strange old woman who thought I was an angel, or at least, I’d grow up one day. I told you she was strange. She’d have to be; she actually rented the apartment out. Anyway, she’d always tell me that I could pay her when I had the money. Well, I occasionally did have the money; I just chose not to pay. I got away with it because I could. I usually did get away everything I did. But I digress.

I had just lost my fifth job of the year. It didn’t matter; the job was boring and paid next to nothing, not to mention the discomfort it caused me to wear that silly outfit all day in the sun. Still, it bothered me that I couldn’t hold down one job for longer than a few months. Anyway, I had planned to drown my woes at the local club. It was sleazy, but why not? I’m a sleazy guy living in a sleazy apartment on the sleazy side of town. Why not go to a sleazy club? It fits.

Since I never could dance much, I tended to just sit at a dirty table and watch. If you were lucky, the gals from the strip joint next door came over for a few hours. They would dance a bit, and then go get a drink. That was pretty much the highlight of the place. I remember this one night when one tried to talk to me. Looking for another career option, I guess. She slid onto the chair and ran a hand down her thigh. “Hey, there. Thought you looked lonely,” she said. Yep, looking at other career options.

I didn’t feel like talking; after all, I had just lost my job. However, if I wasn’t in such a grumpy mood, then maybe. Her husky voice graced past her full collagen-pumped lips and she had a killer figure. In any case, I find that when you drink yourself into oblivion because of misery, it’s best you do it alone. “No, not really.” She frowned at me for a second. I guess she realized that was bad for business because I was suddenly blinded by her huge smile.

“Don’t be silly, honey. I know a lonely boy when I see one.” She licked her lower lip in what she must have thought was an enticing manner. Yeah, I know. I really wasn’t in the mood for a sales pitch. I gave her a side-ways glance, hoping she would get the hint.

She put her hand on my knee, and if it wasn’t for the loud music, I could have sworn I heard her purr. Apparently, her occupation didn’t require a high SAT score. With my forefinger and thumb, I picked up one of her fingers and removed her hand. “Really, I appreciate the offer, but I’m just not interested,” I said. She looked insulted. I don’t know what was so offensive. I mean, she’s got to know that what she’s doing isn’t exactly respectable. Mind you, I’m not the type of guy that demands respect myself, but whatever. She stood up, and with a swish of her bleached hair, rejoined her friends.

I finished my drink and went home. As I laid there on my bed, listening to drip of water from who knows where fall to the floor and praying that I wouldn’t get stuck with a runaway bedspring, I realized that things weren’t going to get any better. Ever. It was a pretty depressing thought. It wasn’t enough for me to want to kill myself or anything, but still depressing. Besides, even though you don’t need much to kill yourself, I didn’t even have that.

Over the course of the following week, I amused myself in trying to find another job. I knew it wasn’t going to happen. Nobody seemed to like me. This was confusing at times, because I was such a likeable guy in high school. Luckily, I’ve always been laid back and really couldn’t care less if they like me or not. So, I went from one interview to another and listened to every excuse there ever was as to why I couldn’t be hired. It went from “sorry, we don’t have a position here for your ‘talent’” to “somehow all of our place have been filled up from the time you read that advertisement to the time you walked in here”. I’m not kidding; someone really did try to use that one. Ever hear of tact? Well, apparently, he never did.

When I got home one day, I was surprised to find company. Not just any company, mind you, but company in funny blue uniforms. I think they thought I was going to run for it because they all had their guns out and pointing them at me. You’ve seen the cop shows, you know what I mean. They had their arms perfectly straight out in front of them and had a death glare in their eyes. You could tell they meant business.

I didn’t mind the handcuffs. When I was a kid, I used to get arrested all the time. Nothing major, just some stupid stuff. The most I ever did was wave a gun around at a party. It wasn’t even loaded. I wouldn’t have actually shot anybody, but it was funny to see their faces. My friends thought it was funny, anyway.

The cops read me my rights, which, by now, I knew by heart. “You have the right to remain silent.” Well, that’s good to know. “Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law.” Well, that’s useful to know. “You have a right to an attorney.” I don’t have one. “If you cannot afford an attorney,” and I can’t, “one will be provided for you by the state.” Good, because I can’t represent myself since I forgot everything I learned in law school. Oh yeah, I didn’t go. They kept talking and only one question danced in my mind. What was I being arrested for?

Ah, yes. We’re finally at the point that you’ve been dying to get to. The crux of the matter. The main point of this account. We’re finally past the boring background stuff that nobody really cares about but is still important. What did the idiot do to land himself a spot in prison? Well, I was wondering that myself the whole ride to the station and the whole time I was waiting to be questioned. What exactly was going on? I hadn’t done anything lately that I was aware of. Did they make up a new law I wasn’t aware of and somehow horribly broke? No. This one had been in the books for a while now. I was arrested for murder.

That’s right, my friend. Are you scared of me? Oh, he killed someone, so now he can’t help but kill me now. Well, get ready to feel honored because I’m about to let you in on a little secret. I didn’t do it. I couldn’t have. I didn’t know her and I only talked to her for a space of maybe two minutes. Ah-ha, you say. That random conversation I mentioned earlier is making sense. Yes, that was her. It wasn’t a major tragedy, definitely not up to par with Kennedy or Martin Luther King, Jr., but still people shouldn’t go around killing other people. It’s not right. Therefore, law-abiding, voting citizens want someone in jail for it.

I met my attorney, the one that was appointed me, you know. He was a charming fellow, the type you can’t help but like and trust. We talked a bit about some random stuff. I don’t even remember what was said. Anyway, we got down to business. He told me that the best option was to plea insanity. There was obviously enough evidence to get me arrested and obviously there was enough evidence to go to trial. He kept talking like I knew what he was babbling about. He certainly was one of a kind, my lawyer was.

The idea was to say that I was stressed out over losing yet another job and over the misery I call my life, then I went to the club, snapped at the sight of all the happy people, and popped the first person I saw. It was a really bad defense, but what can I say? It wasn’t my idea and he said that we had a semi-good chance at…something.

The trial was boring. I won’t give you a play by play of it because I know that you really don’t care. I don’t care. I didn’t even care then, come to think of it. Mostly, I zoned out during most of it, so I didn’t notice that things weren’t going my way. When I started to pay attention, I saw that practically everyone was looking at me as if I was the spawn of Satan. Okay, this is not good.

The second hint that my little boat and me were going against the current with no way of getting to shore was when I was questioned. My lawyer asked me some questions and I told everyone about my rotten childhood and the pains of not being able to live up to my own unrealistic expectations. It sounded good to me, but I don’t think it impressed the jury. No, I guess not.

The DA came up to me and eyed me suspiciously. He had a weird look on his face as if he knew something I didn’t. “Sir, you do realize that you are on trial for murder?” I think he noticed that I hadn’t been paying attention. Whoops.

“No shit?” Like I didn’t know.

“We do not use that type of language in a court of law, sir.”

“Sorry, Judge.” I really hadn’t meant to curse, you’re not supposed to, but that was such a dumb question , it kinda slipped out. I mean, who doesn’t know that they’re on trial for murder, of all things, until the actual trial? Thank you, Mr. DA. You really cleared a lot of things up for me.

He looked agitated. I suppose he was used to defendants quivering in fear before him and not so used to people talking back to him. Well, tough. “You say your childhood was less than perfect?”

“Well, yeah, nobody has a perfect childhood, not even you, I’ll bet.” He bristled. Yup, I was definitely getting under his skin. Not exactly a good plan when one is fighting for their life. I never said I was smart. “It’s just that mine was especially bad, but since you heard my testimony, you already know that.”

“Ah, yes. Your mother was a stripper, was she not?”

Oh hell. How did he find that out? Oh yeah, I told the whole court that when I was complaining about my childhood. I told you I wasn’t paying attention. “Yeah, so?” I really didn’t like where this was going. I wasn’t completely stupid. I knew he was going to go on and on about how I resented my mother for being a stripper in my youth and now every time I look a tone all I could think of was that resentment. He would explain that I hated the lot of them and when I saw that stripper at the club, I killed her in some sort of sick revenge against dear Mom. Later, in the closing argument, he would say that I would do it again given the chance and I should be locked up for all eternity. You know what’s funny? He did do exactly that. Maybe I should have been a psychic. Well, maybe not. I tried that once and got fired. I kept telling the people who called for advice that they were losers who couldn’t deal with making their own decisions. It turns out that my boss didn’t like that.

Anyway, the penalty phase was pretty much the same and I ended up with a life sentence. I sat down on the dingy be without bothering to put on the sheets on the mattress. For some reason, I felt panic creeping up my spine. I’ve never panicked before, and I didn’t like it. Thoughts raced to take precedence in my brain, but I couldn’t seem to concentrate on one thing. What happened? Did I actually kill that woman? I didn’t remember much about that night; I was drunk. Maybe I did shoot her. No, I couldn’t have, I don’t have a gun. Should I have told my lawyer that? Probably. Was my landlady going to be mad that I’m never going to pay her rent? Does she even remember I used to live there? She’s not going to rent it out again, is she? If she is, then that is a crime. Well, in any case, there wasn’t much my attorney could do.

I was all but done beating myself up for being a dumb shmuck when a guard tapped on my new home. “Hey, you have a visitor.” Frankly, I was surprised. I didn’t have any friends and my family had decided to forget that I was born. I sat down in an uncomfortable chair and faced the plastic barrier. I hoped it was someone I liked.

It wasn’t. Sorry, but you’re not what I had in mind. I didn’t feel like talking to some young doe-eyed reporter that needed a story for experience. However, I wasn’t keen on going back to my cell, so I agreed to this interview. A brand new notebook was opened and a freshly sharpened pencil was chosen. Who uses pencils anymore, anyway?

“Well, where do you want me to start?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you start with where you lived?”