Conscious Party
It seemed like the world had forgotten about Josh for the three work days before Friday of Liquid Grooves, when they'd learned he'd been taken into custody.
The word got around that he'd been arrested for fighting with the police on a Monday at a very loud and obnoxious one man dj show that felt overbearing, before having to give up all his freedoms and placed with a hundred others who lived by their wits alone, in a large common jail cell. He'd already felt confined at that control based audio-visual extravaganza.
The beds were small steel slabs and other things that would normally be taken for granted, like being able to make a phone call.
After Josh's fingerprints were taken and the paper work finished for his arrest, all distractions and comforts that he'd taken for granted were taken from him, including the old fashioned key he kept around his neck for luck. Anything he'd come with, was checked at arrival and he was issued a plain orange jump suit with an inmate number on it.
The authorities asked him about where he’d lived and he told them that he lived with his mom. They asked what he did for a living and he had no answer. He was given an initial exam and blood tests to pry into his drug use. He’d never mention that again, because living with his mom had felt like a jail sentence: being in a small room in a small house with little conversation outside daily doctor's visits. Being there had been about just maintaining and not learning anything new. Now, he wished he could have that small bed back again, as well as the freedom to come and go as he pleased. He hadn't taken advantage of the real freedom he could of. His was a drug induced revelation.
With each day in jail, he knew it would never be the same, that he’d never have that again as it had been.
Many others in confinement couldn't sleep either which meant that they'd talk but that they had to listen to the multiple snorers in the overcrowded community holding cell. If he'd had any music to listen to, he could have gone asleep. But all that was taken away. The only thing available were some of the dullest book titles possible, mainly pulp fiction, like detective stories and westerns, if he could read.
Forget being in touch with anyone who you needed to call, either. It was so hard to make a phone call that he gave up. There was a long line and men cut in front of him. He had a few favors coming to him when he initially arrived. Someone named Aziz and another guy named Omar, did him a favor that required less of a wait for a phone. But the call didn’t connect as planned and he was now obligated to this questionable pair and would have to wait again in a line of at least eight others for one of the two phones that weren't out of order. He panicked because he didn’t really understand the procedure for getting an outside line and then entering some personal codes so the local call would billed to him. It was long and convoluted process for what was normally just be picking up a phone and getting a busy signal.
He felt like he was cut off, and that everyone from the outside had moved on without him. He had to survive on his wits alone, which he wasn't used to for such a continuous stretch of time.
The first three days there wasn’t a chance to talk to anyone from the outside and he feared that he never would because no one had money to pay his bail. Now he was hearing about sexual conquests gone wrong, near escapes and outright accidents, and he had nothing to add. Only days before, he’d met someone who’d he spoken to about being deprived. They'd made love in the backseat of her car, never aware that he was "sloppy seconds."
Nearing the end of the first week in confinement, he found himself filling out the paperwork and making requests that took so long, then he had hope was fleeting and even if he could get a public defender. Whoever he saw on the other end of that television connection during visiting hours, wasn't someone who would care enough to start the wheels turning for his release. His visitors were all just outcasts of society, none of whom were motived to do anything except to find love.
It seemed that he was just on hold, being locked in a holding cell with a hundred and fifty bunks lined up with nothing but a slab of steel to lay on, a rough blanket and a flat pillow. There were tiny windows but they were much too high up to really matter.
There were plenty of true crime stories, none of which turned out too well. The television came on with the bright florescent lights came at six am. Passing time and sitting in one place or another, someone always wanted him to know they were in charge and doing him a favor.
Such forgettables as Frankenstein, Hideous, Robo and Dez, made themselves known to him. But what about Don Pardo, who remembered the Thrill Squad waiting for their own big acting break.
Most would gladly admit that "pussy" was their favorite hobby and if you pressed them further, they'd tell you why too.
Josh was one of the few who could bring philosophy into his words as he spoke. When he said something, he didn't take it back and seemed cool about anything he was spoken to about. He was liked because he'd listen to whatever nonsense anyone else wanted to talk to him about, even if he didn't want to hear it, then he'd reply in a way that showed true kindness.
Attorneys had all the power, because they knew the system. They also cost a lot. So it felt like he was stuck, and in the hopelessness of waiting in vain for a public defender, he started to reinvent himself, angry at the error of his ways.
"Do you know what's happening outside?" asked a man who they’d nicknamed Hideous.
"What?" Josh asked, being lured innocently in.
"Nothing! Absolutely nothing. Everyone is just going innocently along watching their television, eating their comfort food and getting their pleasures."
"And being stuck in work routines," said Frank, short for Frankenstein.
As far as Josh could tell, the man had been forgotten for a long time. That's why he continuously justified the benefit of being locked up.
"Foresure. But what about Omar?" Josh said, knowing that Omar was someone who also admitted to having failed, and with no alternative, the guy worried him.
"He thinks we're unable to stand up for ourselves," said Frank. "Who's this Omar?"
This was an awkward man whose head was too small, who was short on looks and with a lopsided belief in love. But Frank seemed to believe that Omar was always too close to being inappropriate and starting a fight.
Josh wondered if maybe there were opportunities that the struggling missed because they'd resigned to not know of them.
"What are you in for?" Josh asked, and if he was told that it was for sexual harassment, he'd mention that he'd been arrested while trying to get some pleasure drug to random people so that they wouldn’t “harrass” anyone. That way it sounded like a public service.
"So you were doing a service that helped others?" Frank asked, even after Josh's joke.
No one cared if he was in the system and that scared Josh. On the first night, many of the failures he heard about were similar to his. But he was identifying too closely with the ones who were trying to find his vulnerabilities and starting to understand the error of his ways.
“Just looking for a little pleasure,” poor Frank said, too often touching someone else if he could get away with it.
"Hope should go to where it belongs, to the hopeless," Josh said, cleverly.
"Just listen with patience and find out what is really going on before you say anything," Frank replied. He'd taken notice of Josh for his ability to find wisdom about their mutual predicament, which should have worried him. Whatever happened, there were always exceptions for those with nothing left to lose, such as Frank.
"If you believe it's possible to recover your self respect, then tell me how?" Frank asked him, expecting all the good answers from Josh from now on.
But Josh found himself explaining an ideal that he would never be able to relate to again since it involved half measures and kindnesses. Only some with the hope of freedom were able to participate in those discussions. One of them was a guy with dreadlocks named Dez. At least that’s what they thought his name was. He was an ex-prizefighter who’d retired to jail and they called him Mr. Mumbles affectionately. He'd admit that he anticipated some change for the better and explain why. Wearing dreadlocks was about that hope.
"I'm waiting for a pardon, too," Dez said, but mumbled so much that no one understood.
"I hadn’t given it much thought," Josh said, winking at Dez, who got the impression that he'd really found a brother. When Dez said he needed a friend what he really meant was that he needed an interpreter.
When he said: "I had my drone in a cake case and a stranger said to me: I thought you were bringing me my birthday cake," what Dez really meant was to make a comment on the importance of expectations and patience.
He left his bewildered listeners with an awkward smile that revealed several conspicuous missing teeth in the front.
"What did you do?" Josh asked, possibly misinterpreting the mumbling.
"I asked if he was expecting a cake," Dez said, and Josh didn't like the look on his face at all.
"Was he?" Josh asked.
"Yes. So I said that he'd just have to be patient," was the answer. But Josh wasn't sure he heard him right.
"He doesn't remember beating the guy," Robo said, stepping in. "Hey, who's this Omar?"
"The little guy who hangs out with Aziz," Josh said, but dared not speak ill of them.
"They shouldn't bother you. You're my friend. You know what I’m saying?" Dez offered.
By this time Josh become aware that everyone was looking to him to interpret what Dez was saying, they also wondered why there were bruises all over his face.
The group of six who'd assembled around Josh, didn't know what Aziz was saying except that it seemed to upset him. Most had been grabbed on a threat from Omar, and they didn't know what Dez was saying when he intervened for Josh. They called him Mr. Mumbles and stopped caring to try to understand him. Josh proved himself by repeating what Dez said next.
"If we are to be understood, then we have no option but to change and to adapt," Josh interpreted.
Aziz leaned in toward Josh with a sneer on his face and continued to threaten him. From then on they listened to everything he said, interpreting for Dez.
"You need to be careful of who you befriend behind bars. Most are master manipulators who will get you into all sorts of trouble if you let them," Josh interpreted for Dez.
The group broke up and then Dez, in a moment of weakness, said: "Let's be friends and Call out anyone who bother's us. You know what I’m saying?”
Dez was so pleased that he was being understood, but so were Aziz and Omar who saw their fearful influence being diluted.
“Do not borrow anything: nothing is free, and you need to not owe anyone anything. Do not loan anyone anything. They will never let go of you if you start doing this,” Josh interpreted.
The big man with dreadlocks paused, kind of looking at Josh from faraway, as if he wanted to say it just right.
"Thank you. For helping them understand me, I can help you," he said, which brought more questions.
"Like how can you help me?" Josh asked.
"Yours for the asking," he said.
Aziz was the last of the group who was lingering.
"Your friend is like a God here. If he gives his permission, you can have anything. What do you want?" Aziz asked.
"Anything?" Josh asked, having never thought about it.
But this time he did think about it.
"I'd like to be able to make a phone call where I don’t have to wait in line and I can actually talk to someone who isn't going to lean on me."
"Done," Dez said, seeing the uneasy expression on Aziz's face.
"Yeah Man. I can't make any progress from where I'm at," Josh said.
"No chance to make another bad decision," said Omar, but Dez was already motioning for both of them.
"Come with me. We've got to talk," said the big mumbling man with the dreadlocks, and he patted the bunk that was his, as if there were any cushioning to it.
Aziz sat reluctantly across from him and then he had to call again for the smaller Omar, who he patted the bed beside him. Josh sat nearby as if he were a witness.
"Do you know why I'm here, Man?" Dez asked. "Because I'm misunderstood. Do you know what the dreads represent?"
"Acceptance of limitations and zero fucks for bullshit," Josh said, and the big man smiled for Josh was a quick study.
"When we keep it real, we succeed in others eyes and are not forced to make bad decisions that aren't ours to make," he said for Omar's sake, when he grabbed the creepy fool between the legs in a way that was excuciatingly painful. No one else had ever attempted such a thing, but it was quick and effective. He leaned in and whispered something to Aziz and it seemed clear that this time they both understood.
When the two bullies were banished, he suggested that Josh pray with him. It wasn’t a bad idea. Josh just didn’t know how to do it. He glanced toward the head of his tiny bed and at a Bible that sat there as if it were a pillow. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to follow his advice and try praying. The others thought he was speaking in tongues, but Josh knew better.
So he got out of bed, knelt on the floor and clasped his hands together. After a half hour of desperate prayer, even when his eyes were open, his mind refused to register what it saw. Was he really in a crowded common cell with stainless steel sinks and toilet bolted down in a separate area? His world had become very small but it forced him to do one important thing: to listen and to interpret.
He now understood that someone who was smart could be misunderstood by a lack of ability to speak.
An announcement came over the loudspeaker.
“Roll up for Smith!" came the amplified voice.
Josh sat and looked around. Another man heeded the call and was on his feet in the middle of the night, someone else with his name was leaving, someone he didn't know.
Breakfast was served. He could smell the eggs and bacon before he dragged himself from his hard bunk. Why was he the last one up? Everyone else was in line and all the bunks around him were empty.
In the common room, men who couldn’t look right even if they showered for an hour, took their places in a long and slow line, with late arrivals cutting in with their friends. Whoever that upset could be a victim in a fight. When Dez motioned Josh to the front of the line, it was a perfect example of a potential problem.
“Hey you! How are you doing?” Dez asked, but when Josh turned he could see that he was addressing whoever he'd cut in front of.
At first the fellow - who Josh was afraid of - didn’t acknowledge it. But the second time it was impossible to ignore.
“Yeah, I mean you, who I let my friend in front of in this long line!”
Josh turned. It was the one they called Robo who he had cut in front of. Although prone to anger, he knew the rules: that friendship came with a price. After breakfast, they'd go to court and he'd see just how much having some hope could drive a man. Dez clearly had hope, just because Josh was his friend.
“I want to know if you can help me in court?" Dez said.
"What's the matter?"
"They've never understood me. I've been here years longer than I should have been."
"What exactly did you do to get here?"
"It was a misunderstanding," Dez said.
Josh smiled at his new friend.
"Maybe I can help right those wrongs," Josh said.
“I’m in here for someone else. I don’t play games. You know what I’m saying?” Dez said.
“But you can't just decide not to play. You’ll get pulled into others games if you let them," Josh said. He felt that this man was a catalyst in important ways.
“I did let someone in long ago, but I’m strong now and I won’t let them in again unless they’re a friend. I'm like you, except I'm thirty-six now. You know what I’m saying?” said Dez, and Josh, who was well aware of Dez’ inability to communicate, was also aware that most would not have understood the significance of the many years he’d wasted sitting in jail and trying unsuccessfully to be understood.
"You're wise. And people are afraid of you because you’re big."
"I was convicted of a big misunderstanding thirteen years ago. I couldn’t defend myself then."
Josh listened to hear the story of a vicious home invasion.
“How were you blamed?”
“It was a misunderstanding. I was asked by someone who I thought was a friend to go in and stop it. They’d killed someone and I was blamed. You know what I’m saying?”
“And you’ve been sitting in here all along?”
“Yes. Someone knocked me out and left me on the scene.”
“What are you going to do when you get out?"
"Restoration for Auto Auction."
"The Auto Auction website?" Josh asked, knowing that he looked at it and dreamed about getting a deal on a car there.
"They seemed to have a soft spot for ex-cons.”
“If we can prove what you say is true. It will be a miracle.”
“But do you believe me?” Dez asked, and Josh nodded yes. Josh went to the law library the next day to prepare for court but neither he or Dez could read very well, so it didn’t get him anywhere. The only hope was a miracle. Dez said that he’d prayed for one.
Josh entered the crowded courtroom before Dez, with all it's participants dressed in orange and pointed out others who were talking excitedly about something.
"How could I defend you?” Josh whispered.
"You want a miracle? Listen to the next verdict.”
“What?”
Josh was so shocked by the next one, an attempt at compassion for someone who couldn't have taken another moment of despair, that he thought at first it was a joke. But the verdict was for someone name Lax, and man broke down and cried when sentencing was postponed because the public defender wasn’t available for him.
“He is glad! You know what I’m saying?” Dez said. “The man is resilient than that.”
“Who is he?” Josh said excitedly, determined to challenge this unbelievable. “He’s the one who did it. He just got in two days ago. I didn’t recognize him at first because he’s older,” Mr. Cloud said. “Hands together? Bible nearby?”
“Yes!” Josh cried, as Dez handed him his files and after Josh, who couldn’t read well, was certain that he found something significant there, said: "It’s a miracle! "
“Mr. Dezmonia!” the court clerk called, the next day they were in court and Dez stood. Josh stood right after him and said on the way up that he’d be representing the soft spoken and undecipherable man.
When Josh called attention to the one particular part of Dez’s files, he almost expected the miracle. Because as he used the word misunderstanding several times, the judge examined the well worn files. It had been the oppositions tactic to wear him down. But the two lawyers on hand were just talk and no action.
After a brief and tense discussion, the two opposing lawyers approached the bench.
“Are we going to keep moving along so slowly?” the judge said. “If so, I have a mind to hold you two in contempt.”
One of them was actually prepared to give his summation at any time, based on hearsay but the judge wanted to slow things down, hoping for a break in the case.
“Mr. Dezmonia is dead tired and maybe sick, although I don’t think I need to point that out,” The Judge said, and all three glanced back at the pale and wavering defendant. It seemed like he could barely sit up.
“Although I think we should release him to the custody of a rehab center. I’d settle for work release,” she added. “Now tell me about this Lex, who we just arrested?”
Josh did and the next day Lex was called to the stand. The damning evidence was in who he knew and his standard operating policy. That was the connection.
The judges decree transferred him to a private clinic. Then some good doctors to look after him! Josh hadn’t thought he’d have to go to jail to learn his most valuable lesson: which was try a little harder and look a little further.
Back in the holding cell, the televisions were all on. News, the usual collection of routine items filled the background like it was wallpaper. But the room seemed to quiet, and he heard what the newscaster was saying. A man held for a misunderstanding fourteen years ago is being released to a rehab facility.. That’s right, the case was about the meanness when no one will step up for someone who is not understood. Another prisoner defended him and has appeared to have earned an early release for good behavior. Now he will be out with time served. How amazing!”
"I got down on my hands and knees to pray and the answer came to me,” Josh said, after visiting the Auto Auction headquarters. It was right next to the police impound lot. How convenient.
“About time you did,” Dez said. “You know what I’m saying?”
“No one ever expected this,” Josh said. “Life had written me off too.”
Dez was sitting on a steel picnic table with three others surrounding him. Apparently, he'd just said something very funny because the others laughter lingered.
Dez was doing something he’d rarely done lately, biding time with his admirers. In a few short days, most had gotten quite cozy with him, wanting to know all about his life and crimes.
What had they promised Josh? The kind of power that he knew was possible? The kind of satisfaction that came from being respected? Yes. That and a lot more.
“Can you dance?” he asked.
“Like no one’s watching,” Josh answered, and the big man felt a barrier to him drop.