Page 1 of Spike

CHAPTERONE

Spike

Eight years ago…

THE VAN PULLED upto Ridge Park High School and we quickly filed out and lined up. Our group oftwelve were all too familiar with the rules and weren’t about to risk ourwalking papers over lack of following proper procedure.

“Gentlemen,”Sergeant Hopper bellowed. “I’d like to remind you that we are guests heretonight and that you’d all better be on your best behavior or Mr. Fields willbe more than happy to drive us all home early. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” we responded inperfect unison.

“Good, because ifa single one of you steps as much as an inch over the line tonight, you’llallcatch extra time.”

“Yes, sir,” Isaid, making sure my voice was loud and clear.

My release datewas exactly twenty-seven days away. All I had to do was toe the line and be agood little robot and I’d be free in less than a month. I had no idea what thatfreedom would look like, but I knew it was free of curfews, beatdowns, guards,inmates, and forced labor. At least that’s what my young, dumb ass thought atthe time.

We walked in asingle file line, eyes set straight ahead as Hopper led us to the gym. As wemade our way through the campus, I spied everything I could. Taking as manymental snapshots as possible. Storing them away in my memory until I had theopportunity to write everything down in my journal. The walls were lined withrows of lockers, painted in alternating green and white. Vending machinesfilled with everything from snacks and sodas to pens and notebooks werescattered throughout. The school was old, but well maintained, and somehowcheery, even at night. This was the type of school where I should have spentthe last four years, but instead I’d been enrolled in the Lakewood YouthCorrectional Center, courtesy of a hard-ass judge and Portland’s shittiestpublic defender. My education came to me in the form of beatings, hustles,systemic indifference, and legal travesties. When the world was trying to teachme some sort of lesson, I was educating myself. I read everything I could getmy hands on. From Covey’s Seven Habits of Highly Effective People to Kipling’sSeven Seas. When I wasn’t reading, I was writing in my journal. Something mymom had encouraged me to do for as long as I could remember.

Arriving at thegym, Hopper took one more opportunity to address us, this time a little lessformally.

“Now, look boys.This will be the first time some of you will have seen a girl in person inquite a while and I’d better not see any foolish behavior from any of you. Youare to keep your powder dry at all times. No fighting over who dances with who,and no advances, sexual or otherwise. The young ladies that are here tonightare good, clean, Christian girls, and with the help of their church, have putthis evening together for you. Don’t go spoiling it for them.”

“Yes, sir,” wereplied, once more.

“With that, enjoyyour night and your first taste of freedom, but remember that I and thechaperones will have our eyes on you.”

Sergeant Hopperopened the double doors and the sight of the gym just about brought tears to myeyes. It was the first time I’d even come close to crying for years, and I wasthankful that the rest of the group were also too busy gawking at oursurroundings to notice. The gym had been completely transformed into aCalifornia beach scene, complete with a volleyball net and real sand whichcovered every square inch of the gym except for the dance floor. Even though Iwas born in a coastal state, I’d never been to a real beach before. My mom tookme to the shore once, when I was five years old, but the beach was covered withrocks and driftwood, the water was freezing cold, and the wind gusts were sohigh, they’d knock me on my ass. I was miserable and did nothing but cry andmoan the entire time. I’ve never gone back to one of our so-called “beaches” sinceand have always dreamed of seeing the Pacific Ocean from the shores of SouthernCalifornia. For now, this would do nicely.

A band, made upof teenage guys and girls, played Fifties-style instrumental surf music on astage at one end of the room, and on the other was a large grill, loaded upwith hamburger patties and hot dogs. Styrofoam coolers stocked with sodas,chips, and cookies were nestled into the sand throughout the “beach.” I thoughtI’d died and gone to heaven. Our diet back at the House was very restricted andregimented. It was high cuisine next to what they flung at us back at Lakewood,but still nothing like this.

Our group was madeup entirely of “long timers.” Inmates who’d been at Lakewood for three years ormore. Besides my bunkmate “Screek,” who’d been inside for almost five years, Iwas the next most senior member of the House.

Inmates who dotheir time, without stirring up too much shit, got to serve their last sixmonths as a resident of the Lakewood Resident or ‘the House’ as it was known tous. The house was a minimum-security halfway house that was more like a youthhostel than prison. We cooked and ate our meals together, did all the householdchores as a group, and even got to watch a movie on Saturday nights. SergeantHopper lived onsite and monitored every move we made. Mr. Fields, or ‘Fieldy’as we called him, was our driver, handyman, babysitter, or whatever else Hoppertold him to do. He played it straight around the boss but was always cool tous. Sometimes he’d sneak in junk food or slip in a movie that wasn’t on theapproved list. We were still incarcerated, but the House was pure luxurycompared to gen pop at Lakewood.

Screek elbowed mewhile pointing to a large banner that read, “Lifesprings Church welcomes you.”

“How welcoming youthink these church girls really are?”

“I swear towhatever God these people believe in I will strangle you in your bunk tonightif you get us bounced out before I get to eat at least three burgers,” Ireplied.

“Welcome,gentlemen,” a middle-aged woman with bright red hair said as she approached.“We’re so happy and honored to have you as our guests this evening. I know thestudents are all very excited to meet you and celebrate your upcoming…graduation.”

“Thank you forinviting us Mrs. Mitchell,” Sergeant Hopper said. “Our boys are going to be ontheir best behavior tonight.”

“Of course, theywill,” she said cheerily. “And please call me Sherri.”

“Will I get thechance to see your husband tonight?”

“No, I’m sorry,”she said, almost singing her response. “Pastor is in Tacoma, attending aconference and won’t be back until tomorrow night, just before eveningservices.”

Screek leaned inand whispered, “Did she just call her husband ‘pastor’?”

I shrugged,equally as confused as he was.

Besides neverstepping foot on a decent beach, the soles of my shoes had never crossed thethreshold of a church before, and even though this was a school gymnasium, itwas clear we were currently standing on holy ground. Or at the very least,Lifesprings Church ground.

“Please, boys,come and get something to eat and drink. Our students are ready to serve you.”

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