Page 30 of Burn

“I understand, sir,” I croak out.

“Good. Do you have any questions?” he asks.

So many, but only one that matters.

“Yes, sir. When?” My voice is barely above a whisper.

His smile is full of sorrow, and his tone is gentler. “Right now, son.”

My heart drops.

Now. Right now.

Every ounce of air instantly rushes out of my lungs in a whoosh, and the room sways. I need to steady myself to stay on my feet. Turning to my parents, my mother clings to my dad’s arm, her face red and eyes glossy. I’ve never seen her look like this. Like she could crumple at any moment. I spin back to face the judge, my eyes wide, and I open my mouth to argue. No. To beg. To beg for time with them. John puts a hand on my back and speaks before I can say anything.

“Thank you, Your Honor. May my client have a few moments with his parents?” I’m so thankful for his calm, even tone. There’s no way mine would have sounded like that.

“Well, I’m not a monster, Mr. Allen.” He chuckles as if he didn’t just rip my heart out. “Adrian, you have fifteen minutes. Don’t waste it.” I move for my parents, but he continues, “Wait. Adrian, I don’t want to see you in my courtroom again. I don’t want to hear that you’re in trouble again. Do not make me regret my leniency.”

I know this is lenient. This was the best possible outcome we’d hoped for. However, it feels like a life sentence. Still, I force myself to respond, “Yes, sir. I understand. You won’t be seeing me again.”

Fifteen minutes later, a bailiff approaches me as I sit with my parents. He comes from behind, and I see my mother’s expression before he says my name. I watch the blood drain from her face. Her eyes flit from mine to the man behind me and back, and she rushes out instructions.

“Don’t pick any fights. Don’t try to be the big man. Do as you’re told. We’ll come see you as often as we can. You’ll be okay, Adrian.” She’s speaking so fast as we stand, holding my hands in hers. “It’s only a year. You will be home before you know it.”

My eyes sting, and I pull her into a hug. Her frame is small and shaky as she wraps her arms around me.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I whisper into her ear as a firm hand wraps around my wrist and pulls my hand behind my back. I release her and supply the bailiff with my other hand, feeling the bite of the cold steel. My dad pulls me into a brief hug, made awkward by my inability to return it. When he pulls away, he places his hand on my cheek.

“We love you, kid. We’re proud of you. Just a bump in the road.”

With that, I’m led out of the courtroom and down a stark, cold hallway.

Brutality

Adrian

16 Years Old

The first week was brutal. It was an experience that will change me forever, I think. I felt the eyes of the other guys on me as I was led to my room. They stopped talking, watching the guard and I move through the common area. The guard pointed out the different areas and ran through the daily schedule all ‘residents’ stick to.

6:30: Wake Up

7:30: Breakfast

8:00-12:00: School

12:00: Lunch

13:00-15:00: School

16:00: Gym/Sports

18:00: Dinner

19:00-21:00: Free Time

Visits on weekends, in one-hour time blocks; therapy sprinkled throughout for ‘rehabilitation’ purposes. I tried to listen, but the more eyes I felt on me, the harder it was to absorb anything he said. When one guy catcalled me, the guard barely broke his stride to say, “Ignore them. They all think they’resotough.”

---