Fish_Tales
Against the Current
- Joined
- Jun 24, 2011
- Posts
- 5,013
Jake Petersen flipped the coin as he strolled along the sidewalk. It was a warm evening and it had been a good day. Any day where he was free was a good day as far as he was concerned. He didn’t mind the people bumping into him as he walked and he didn’t even mind the noise.
No, being out was good.
Jake was looking for a bar to have a drink and to think about the day’s events....
*********************************
“Petersen?” said the man across the desk from him.
“Yes….sir?”
Sir.
It stuck in his craw to say that, but he had to be good, just for five more minutes.
“You’ve done well in here,” the man continued. “It’s only been eleven months, but it appears that this time you have applied yourself in an admirable manner.”
“Yes, sir.”
The man across the desk smiled, his pale face wrinkled by the passing of time. He had hair, but it was thin and grey and even that poor excuse for a coiffure he wouldn’t have for much longer.
Coiffure.
Peterson resisted the urge to smile.
I’m a smart bastard.
“Rehabilitation is the catchword of the day, Mr. Peterson, in fact, it’s the philosophy that society wants us to follow. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“In your time here, you have given me no cause for concern. You have been a model detainee, going about your business as requested and making sure that you stayed out of trouble.”
In his mind, Peterson smirked, but he couldn’t do that for real.
Not here.
Model detainee?
Wanker, he thought.
But the words that came out of his mouth….
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
The grey-haired man sighed.
“I’m not sure if someone like you can ever be rehabilitated….however, society demands that we should attempt to do so and your behaviour has met the requirements of what is expected.”
The man paused and then continued again.
“Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, sir,” nodded Peterson, ”and I appreciate it…..greatly.”
Peterson sat in his chair and looked at the man as he opened a file and pulled out a pen to write something in it. Then he closed the file and pressed a button on the phone on his desk.
“Peterson is ready to go,” he said, glancing up with a small smirk.
Peterson let the air out of his lungs slowly. This was it, he was back out and he had to make sure he was never going back again. This was his last chance and he had to make the most of it. He was thirty five now and if he didn’t stop getting into trouble, then he was doomed to a longer stint in jail, maybe one that would never end.
He hadn’t been out of jail for longer than two years at a time in the last fifteen years and things had to change. He knew they did. He wasn’t bad, not really bad, it was just that ….bad, well, it followed him.
The grey-haired man stood up and extended his hand across the table. Peterson stood up and shook it.
“I hope I don’t see you back here,” he said, “but I’m afraid I doubt it.”
Peterson smiled. It was the smile that most people fell for, the one they always believed.
Funny thing is, he thought, I am that person they believe in, it just never….happens.
“You won’t see me back, sir. I assure you.”
The grey-haired man smiled sadly.
“I hope you’re right. I like you, Peterson, I really do….I hope you’re right….”
*********************************************
Peterson kept walking along, flipping the coin. If he hadn’t thought better of it, he’d be humming some uplifting tune.
I don’t know any uplifting tunes.
It was good to be outside, free of walls, free of the uniform. He decided that he would let his brown hair grow out a little from the buzz cut they demanded inside. He might even take a few weeks off from working out. He liked how he felt from working out and the shape it gave him, but it was also a part of what he had done and what he had been.
What I used to do.
Not any longer.
Brand new day.
A break from working out would do him good. Maybe he could eat something like a burger and fries, just once and not be so disciplined. Maybe going straight meant getting fat. He didn’t care. All he knew was that he wasn’t going back, ever. He’d changed. This time it was for good.
This time.
He stopped and looked into the window of a bar. Peterson wasn’t fussy, all he wanted was a drink and this looked like the spot. He had over a hundred dollars in his wallet and he was in the mood for a night of drinking.
He was about to push on the door when he heard a cry.
“Nooooooo…….!”
It was a woman’s voice, distant, but not too far away.
Peterson turned around, trying to place the sound in the light of dusk. There were people walking all around him, but nobody seemed to be taking any notice.
Maybe it’s nothing.
He moved again to enter the bar.
“Please, noooo…..”
What the fuck?
His fist tightened, the coin he’d been flipping was digging into his palm and again he turned around. People were still walking along the street around him and nobody seemed to notice the cries. If anything, they were moving a little more quickly to pass him, desperate to ignore the cries, to not be involved.
Some things never change.
Peterson took a step back from the bar’s door, almost bumping into a suited man with earplugs who was oblivious to anything around him and just kept walking. The cries had stopped, which could be good news or bad news.
It’s the city.
It’s me.
Probably bad news.
He stood and concentrated for a few moments before he heard the cries again.
“Please, it’s mine….please….”
Peterson cocked his head to the left and then started to move slowly in the direction of the sound. He walked about twenty metres and then came across an alley. He looked into it, eyes scanning and then saw the top of a beanie moving behind a group of wheelie bins. He looked around at the people still swirling around him, and he felt like a rock in a creek after rain, the current parting to flow around it.
Maybe I’m hearing things?
“No………!”
Or maybe not.
His hand instinctively went to pat the pocket of his coat, but it was empty. Peterson smiled wryly.
Oh yeah….I’m supposed to be going straight.
He started to walk down the alley towards the bins and now he could hear scuffling behind them and the voices of men.
Men?
It couldn’t be just one, could it?
That would be too easy, too unlike him.
He rolled his eyes as he walked and in seconds he was behind the bins and looking at the source of the commotion.
An elderly Asian woman was sitting on the asphalt and there was a young man tugging at her handbag, trying to pull the strap from her clinging fingers. Around them stood another three youths looking like Snoop Doggy or some other such person, except they were white. Obviously skin colour did not determine one’s fashion sense. Everyone stopped when they noticed Peterson standing there, hands in his pockets. He nodded to them with a smile.
“Afternoon, lads.”
The man holding the woman’s handbag let it go, the bag snapping back into her arms.
“Fuck off, old man,” he sneered.
Old man?
I’m thirty five.
“I intend to, just as soon as this lady gets up and we can be on our way.”
“Fuck off.”
Peterson frowned.
“That’s not very friendly,” he said. “And there is a lady present.”
The other men had formed a semi-circle behind him and although he knew what they were doing, he wasn’t worried. Four gangbangers early in the evening didn’t worry him at all.
“Fuck….off,” the leader spat out again.
Peterson took a couple of slow steps towards the woman on the ground and extended his hand. She put out her hand and he pulled her up slowly. He was surprised at her lack of weight and in moments she was on her feet, dusting herself off.
“Thank you, sir,” she said, with only a slight accent.
“My pleasure,” he said, smiling. “I think the boys here made a mistake.”
“I think it’s you that made the mistake, old man,” hissed a voice behind him.
Peterson turned slowly, wanting to diffuse things before anything happened.
You won’t see me back, sir. I assure you.
He looked at the man that had threatened him and smiled.
“I’m good at fixing mistakes,” he said.
All of a sudden, Peterson heard the old woman gasp and then scream, just before he felt a sharp pain in his back. He knew that pain, he’d felt it before, but not like this.
Fuck.
“Fuck….,” he cried.
Everything went quiet and the men all looked at each other and then started to run back up the alley. The woman screamed again. Peterson tried to move and succeeded only in falling to one knee, his head now fuzzy.
Peterson frowned.
Fuck.
You won’t see me back, sir. I assure you.
He stayed on one knee and his head was becoming fuzzier. He really wished the woman would stop screaming because the men had already disappeared into the stream of people forty metres away so there was nothing to fear.
“Mister,” she screamed, “mister….”
He looked up at her, a confused look on his face. He tried to speak, but his tongue felt too heavy to move and he couldn’t think of any words anyway.
You won’t see me back, sir. I assure you.
He dropped to both knees now, needing one hand to hold himself up. The woman’s yelling was starting to annoy him now and as he looked up the alley he could see people moving quickly towards them.
“Mister……..”
He felt like he was about to fall over as the people got close and when he opened his mouth to say something, he felt warm blood running over his lips and down his chin, dripping onto his shirt in large red blotches.
Fuck.
His eyes were starting to close and he could see dark spots where the people’s faces should be. He started to topple over and then his arms were held up from both sides. He could hear sounds that were unintelligible and he really felt like he wanted to lie down.
He knew what was happening.
You won’t see me back, sir. I assure you.
Peterson knew one thing: for once in his life he knew he wasn’t going to face failure or a broken promise.
He wasn’t going back.
Ever.
You won't see me back, sir. I assure you.......
No, being out was good.
Jake was looking for a bar to have a drink and to think about the day’s events....
*********************************
“Petersen?” said the man across the desk from him.
“Yes….sir?”
Sir.
It stuck in his craw to say that, but he had to be good, just for five more minutes.
“You’ve done well in here,” the man continued. “It’s only been eleven months, but it appears that this time you have applied yourself in an admirable manner.”
“Yes, sir.”
The man across the desk smiled, his pale face wrinkled by the passing of time. He had hair, but it was thin and grey and even that poor excuse for a coiffure he wouldn’t have for much longer.
Coiffure.
Peterson resisted the urge to smile.
I’m a smart bastard.
“Rehabilitation is the catchword of the day, Mr. Peterson, in fact, it’s the philosophy that society wants us to follow. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“In your time here, you have given me no cause for concern. You have been a model detainee, going about your business as requested and making sure that you stayed out of trouble.”
In his mind, Peterson smirked, but he couldn’t do that for real.
Not here.
Model detainee?
Wanker, he thought.
But the words that came out of his mouth….
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
The grey-haired man sighed.
“I’m not sure if someone like you can ever be rehabilitated….however, society demands that we should attempt to do so and your behaviour has met the requirements of what is expected.”
The man paused and then continued again.
“Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, sir,” nodded Peterson, ”and I appreciate it…..greatly.”
Peterson sat in his chair and looked at the man as he opened a file and pulled out a pen to write something in it. Then he closed the file and pressed a button on the phone on his desk.
“Peterson is ready to go,” he said, glancing up with a small smirk.
Peterson let the air out of his lungs slowly. This was it, he was back out and he had to make sure he was never going back again. This was his last chance and he had to make the most of it. He was thirty five now and if he didn’t stop getting into trouble, then he was doomed to a longer stint in jail, maybe one that would never end.
He hadn’t been out of jail for longer than two years at a time in the last fifteen years and things had to change. He knew they did. He wasn’t bad, not really bad, it was just that ….bad, well, it followed him.
The grey-haired man stood up and extended his hand across the table. Peterson stood up and shook it.
“I hope I don’t see you back here,” he said, “but I’m afraid I doubt it.”
Peterson smiled. It was the smile that most people fell for, the one they always believed.
Funny thing is, he thought, I am that person they believe in, it just never….happens.
“You won’t see me back, sir. I assure you.”
The grey-haired man smiled sadly.
“I hope you’re right. I like you, Peterson, I really do….I hope you’re right….”
*********************************************
Peterson kept walking along, flipping the coin. If he hadn’t thought better of it, he’d be humming some uplifting tune.
I don’t know any uplifting tunes.
It was good to be outside, free of walls, free of the uniform. He decided that he would let his brown hair grow out a little from the buzz cut they demanded inside. He might even take a few weeks off from working out. He liked how he felt from working out and the shape it gave him, but it was also a part of what he had done and what he had been.
What I used to do.
Not any longer.
Brand new day.
A break from working out would do him good. Maybe he could eat something like a burger and fries, just once and not be so disciplined. Maybe going straight meant getting fat. He didn’t care. All he knew was that he wasn’t going back, ever. He’d changed. This time it was for good.
This time.
He stopped and looked into the window of a bar. Peterson wasn’t fussy, all he wanted was a drink and this looked like the spot. He had over a hundred dollars in his wallet and he was in the mood for a night of drinking.
He was about to push on the door when he heard a cry.
“Nooooooo…….!”
It was a woman’s voice, distant, but not too far away.
Peterson turned around, trying to place the sound in the light of dusk. There were people walking all around him, but nobody seemed to be taking any notice.
Maybe it’s nothing.
He moved again to enter the bar.
“Please, noooo…..”
What the fuck?
His fist tightened, the coin he’d been flipping was digging into his palm and again he turned around. People were still walking along the street around him and nobody seemed to notice the cries. If anything, they were moving a little more quickly to pass him, desperate to ignore the cries, to not be involved.
Some things never change.
Peterson took a step back from the bar’s door, almost bumping into a suited man with earplugs who was oblivious to anything around him and just kept walking. The cries had stopped, which could be good news or bad news.
It’s the city.
It’s me.
Probably bad news.
He stood and concentrated for a few moments before he heard the cries again.
“Please, it’s mine….please….”
Peterson cocked his head to the left and then started to move slowly in the direction of the sound. He walked about twenty metres and then came across an alley. He looked into it, eyes scanning and then saw the top of a beanie moving behind a group of wheelie bins. He looked around at the people still swirling around him, and he felt like a rock in a creek after rain, the current parting to flow around it.
Maybe I’m hearing things?
“No………!”
Or maybe not.
His hand instinctively went to pat the pocket of his coat, but it was empty. Peterson smiled wryly.
Oh yeah….I’m supposed to be going straight.
He started to walk down the alley towards the bins and now he could hear scuffling behind them and the voices of men.
Men?
It couldn’t be just one, could it?
That would be too easy, too unlike him.
He rolled his eyes as he walked and in seconds he was behind the bins and looking at the source of the commotion.
An elderly Asian woman was sitting on the asphalt and there was a young man tugging at her handbag, trying to pull the strap from her clinging fingers. Around them stood another three youths looking like Snoop Doggy or some other such person, except they were white. Obviously skin colour did not determine one’s fashion sense. Everyone stopped when they noticed Peterson standing there, hands in his pockets. He nodded to them with a smile.
“Afternoon, lads.”
The man holding the woman’s handbag let it go, the bag snapping back into her arms.
“Fuck off, old man,” he sneered.
Old man?
I’m thirty five.
“I intend to, just as soon as this lady gets up and we can be on our way.”
“Fuck off.”
Peterson frowned.
“That’s not very friendly,” he said. “And there is a lady present.”
The other men had formed a semi-circle behind him and although he knew what they were doing, he wasn’t worried. Four gangbangers early in the evening didn’t worry him at all.
“Fuck….off,” the leader spat out again.
Peterson took a couple of slow steps towards the woman on the ground and extended his hand. She put out her hand and he pulled her up slowly. He was surprised at her lack of weight and in moments she was on her feet, dusting herself off.
“Thank you, sir,” she said, with only a slight accent.
“My pleasure,” he said, smiling. “I think the boys here made a mistake.”
“I think it’s you that made the mistake, old man,” hissed a voice behind him.
Peterson turned slowly, wanting to diffuse things before anything happened.
You won’t see me back, sir. I assure you.
He looked at the man that had threatened him and smiled.
“I’m good at fixing mistakes,” he said.
All of a sudden, Peterson heard the old woman gasp and then scream, just before he felt a sharp pain in his back. He knew that pain, he’d felt it before, but not like this.
Fuck.
“Fuck….,” he cried.
Everything went quiet and the men all looked at each other and then started to run back up the alley. The woman screamed again. Peterson tried to move and succeeded only in falling to one knee, his head now fuzzy.
Peterson frowned.
Fuck.
You won’t see me back, sir. I assure you.
He stayed on one knee and his head was becoming fuzzier. He really wished the woman would stop screaming because the men had already disappeared into the stream of people forty metres away so there was nothing to fear.
“Mister,” she screamed, “mister….”
He looked up at her, a confused look on his face. He tried to speak, but his tongue felt too heavy to move and he couldn’t think of any words anyway.
You won’t see me back, sir. I assure you.
He dropped to both knees now, needing one hand to hold himself up. The woman’s yelling was starting to annoy him now and as he looked up the alley he could see people moving quickly towards them.
“Mister……..”
He felt like he was about to fall over as the people got close and when he opened his mouth to say something, he felt warm blood running over his lips and down his chin, dripping onto his shirt in large red blotches.
Fuck.
His eyes were starting to close and he could see dark spots where the people’s faces should be. He started to topple over and then his arms were held up from both sides. He could hear sounds that were unintelligible and he really felt like he wanted to lie down.
He knew what was happening.
You won’t see me back, sir. I assure you.
Peterson knew one thing: for once in his life he knew he wasn’t going to face failure or a broken promise.
He wasn’t going back.
Ever.
You won't see me back, sir. I assure you.......
---
