Deni rested uncomfortably on a soft suede couch, watching Heather play Santa Claus for the Atkins family. It was winter break from their freshman year of college and it was either spend the holiday with his parents, or with his brother, who was feuding with his wife. He chose the Atkins.
When Heather extended an invite from the Atkins family, he lied to his family telling them friends from school were going on a school ski trip. Really, he was a mile from home celebrating the Christian holiday.
The Atkins were okay people, but they simply weren’t his people. They were uptight Anglo Saxons, who’s Christmas cards looked like a picture from Town and Country magazine and there sat Deni, a dissident from the streets of Reading.
Heather reached under the Christmas tree for presents, “Here’s one for mom, dad, Jess and Jacob.” She searched under the tree and then handed one to Deni. “And Deni.”
It was a wrapped shirt box. Deni held his ear to it and shook it hard. “What could it possibly be?” he asked sarcastically. He wildly unwrapped the package, and lifted the lid of the box. “What do you know,” he said, pulling a sweatshirt out of the box, “A William and Mary sweatshirt. What a surprise.”
“I noticed how you were always envying mine.” Heather demonstrated the sweatshirt she was wearing. “Now we can match. We can be twins and maybe give you a hint.”
“Good Lord, sis, are you a nerd. Deni, I apologize for her nerdiness,” said her sister Jessica.
Deni pulled off his gray heather hoody and put on the William and Mary sweatshirt. He and Heather jokingly posed with goofy smiles and thumbs up for her mother’s picture.
“Well that will certainly be one for the family photo album,” said Mrs. Atkins.
Dr. Atkins reached under the tree and handed a present to Deni. “This is from me and Heather’s mom.”
Deni handled the gift carefully, shocked to receive a present from Heather’s parents. He unwrapped with much more care and found it to be a Citizen Eco watch. It must have cost a couple hundred dollars. “Thank you,” he said.
Dr. Atkins patted him on the shoulder. “You’re welcome.”
Heather curled next to Deni to get a better look at the watch. “Put it on.”
Deni put on the watch and modeled it for Heather.
“Very sexy,” she said.
“It’s not supposed to be sexy. It’s not jewelry,” remarked Deni. “I’m sorry,” he said Mr. Atkins. “I don’t have anything. I’m kind of embarrassed.”
“Do not feel sorry at all. It’s Christmas; it’s about giving,” replied Mrs. Atkins who then pat Deni on the back. “We consider you part of the family. You’ve already made the family Christmas photo album.”
Deni nodded shyly. It was barely a year ago that this man wouldn’t even let him in the front door to see Heather after the prom. Surely he would have thought I’m not good enough for his daughter, let alone buy me an expensive watch, he thought.
“I hope you’re not offended, in that you don’t celebrate Christmas,” said Heather’s mother.
“Muslims believe in Jesus; it is a special day, although Jesus wasn’t born in December. Christmas is really based on pagan rituals,” responded Deni.
Heather’s mother nodded politely. “Interesting.”
Deni bit his bottom lip, realizing he may have said too much. “The watch is really nice. I really like it. Thank you.”
“Who wants to sit next to a roaring fire and drink hot egg nog in June?” remarked Heather.
“Is that how it works: celebrate the birth of your savior when the mood suits?” joked Deni.
Heather glared at him and then nudged him with her shoulder. “Why do you need to be so smart?”
He leaned in to her and smiled. “I really like my William and Mary sweatshirt.”
“You better. I spent hours picking it out,” she joked.
Later after the unwrapping festivities ended, Heather and Deni sat together alone in a back enclosed porch. Only a single candle provided the light, while outside a wet, thick snow fell, covering everything in what looked like a white cake frosting. Deni never thought he would understand Christmas, but sitting alone with Heather in the candlelight, sipping egg nog and watching the snow fall, he definitely felt the spirit.
Deni played with the timers and gadgets on his watch. “There’s even a sprint timer,” he said.
“I think that’s the point,” said Heather, “You’re an athlete. Plus my dad thought it would be cool to get you a watch that has multiple time zones.”
“And I can always know what time it is at home,” he said.
Heather laughed. “Yeah dummy, you can just check your phone for the time here.”
“No, I meant Russia,” he said.
“You think Russia is home?” she asked.
“Well of course. I’m not from here,” He messed with her hair. “Now who’s the dummy?”
“You sound like you’re just doing time here, like you’re on a vacation or business trip,” she said.
“Sweetie, it’s been no vacation,” he said.
“What are you talking about?” she asked with concern in her voice. “Life’s been hard here? You don’t enjoy me or my company?”
Deni nudged his shoulder against hers. “No, that’s not what I meant. It’s like this; wherever you go in life, no matter where you live, Reading will always be home, right?”
“Yeah,” Heather sighed. “Do you ever think of going home?”
“Yes,” he said, “a lot.”
“What’s there, that isn’t here?” she asked.
“Me,” he responded quickly and then looked into her eyes. “I can tell you what’s here, but not there,” he said with smile.
Heather slumped in her seat. “I feel bad.”
“Why? It’s Christmas Eve; you should be happy,” he said.
“But you’re not,” she replied.
“I am. I have a spanking new watch and a cool new sweatshirt.” He could tell she didn’t believe him. He put his arm around her neck and pulled her close. “I can’t believe your father bought me a watch. I didn’t think he liked me.”
“Why would you think that?” she asked.
“Well let’s see, I ditched you for the prom. We had sex numerous times in your bedroom,” he said.
“He got over the prom and well, he doesn’t know about the sex.”
He kissed her head. “Don’t tell him; I really like the watch.”
Heather laughed and pushed him away. “You’re a nut.”
“You’re a fruit cake,” he teased.
They sat together for a while longer in quiet, just appreciating the night. When the time came for sleep, Heather helped him pull out the sofa bed and provided him with clean linen. “There’s a downstairs washroom if you’d like to take a shower.”
“I know,” he said with a wink. “I’ve used it before.”
Heather grinned bashfully. “I wish you could sleep with me, but it wouldn’t be prudent.”
“I know. This is cool. Don’t worry about it.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” she said and kissed him on the lips. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
When Heather left, Deni took a quick shower in the Atkins’ first floor guest washroom. It was like bathing at a spa. There were so many fragrances and bath gels. Deni didn’t know what to smell like—lavender or coconut. He went with coconut believing it to be just slightly more masculine than lavender. There were not just two soap scents, but soap for his face, shampoo and two types of conditioner. Just how much soap do Americans need to keep clean, when one bar will do? Does my hair need extra volume or do I want to control my split ends? And yes, my pores do need tightening, he thought and then covered his face with a green mask.
After his shower he lay on the pullout couch. It was more comfortable than any bed he ever slept in. Maybe one day I’ll have the dough to have a pad like this? I’ll be able to sleep like a king in a guest room. Looking outside
the window, he noticed the snow had stopped and the sky was pitch-black. Despite the company, the warmth of Heather’s family and their generosity, he felt even more alone and isolated. It wasn’t him; he didn’t belong there.
Deni blindly traced the outline of a cement brick with his finger. If only I could have accepted. Why is it so hard for people to accept the goodness that is handed to them and just accept the bad? Dr. Atkins has always been supportive and kind despite me.
For a brief moment, Deni allowed himself to do something he knew would cause him more pain, and that was dream of the future. He imagined marrying Heather. They would have a multi-religious ceremony and both families would be accepting. Knowing her, she would have worn a simple gown with little frills and a short veil.
He stopped there, anymore would cause too much heartache. Confined to his solitude the heartache would breed to insanity and maybe worse. He rolled over and grabbed the Quran placed by his bed. Flipping to the nearest page, he started reading.
A guard stood behind Deni as he sat on a chair at a phone booth. Not much privacy as all the phones were right next to each other with only a thin plastic divider separating callers. Of all the people he wanted to talk to it was Heather, but he was denied. He bit his bottom lip with hesitance and dialed.
Upon hearing his mother’s hello, he glanced over his shoulder and started mumbling quietly in Russian, “Hi ma, it’s me, Deni.”
She was quiet for a few seconds and then said, “How are you doing? Are they treating you okay?”
“Yes,” he said. “Wounds have pretty much healed and everything is fine.” There was a pause in the conversation and he heard her crying. “Ma, everything is going to be fine.”
“How can you say that?” she asked tearfully.
Deni slid back in his seat; he didn’t know. Nothing was going to be fine again; it’s just the words that came out of his mouth. There wasn’t really any point in talking about life at all; it was pretty much over. Any positive words would be a lie and both he and Kamiila knew it.
“What’s going on with the case?” Kamiila asked.
“I can’t talk about it, and if I could, I really don’t know much. My defender seems to be on top of everything, but I don’t see her very much. She only comes by when she has something to talk to me about,” he said. “And then I see a psychiatrist almost every day.”
“Why do you need to see a psychiatrist? You’re not crazy,” replied Kamiila.
Deni laughed. “I think that depends on who you ask. It’s just the standard stuff, talking about my life, my family, blah, blah, blah…”
“Your family? What did you say? They’re not trying to blame me,” responded Kamiila.
“No ma, it’s me and Mik they’re blaming,” he said.
“Well, you were both such good boys. They should know that. You should tell your psychiatrist that. Tell them it is American society that is crazy,” she said.
“Right,” Deni said with a sigh, “Is pop around?”
“Yes, he is right here,” she replied.
At the sound of Bashir’s voice, he felt comforted and ready to purge his entire soul. He wanted to beg his father to get him out, to help him, to save him, but he knew it was useless. “Hi pop.”
“Are they treating you okay in there?” asked Bashir.
“I guess as good as possible. I haven’t been raped yet,” Deni joked.
Bashir didn’t respond.
“Sorry,” Deni said. “I just don’t know what to say. I sit around all day and night not having anybody to talk to. You’d think I’d have tons to say, but I have nothing. I haven’t watched the news so I can’t talk about current events. Hell, I don’t even know what the weather is like. I only get outside for like an hour a day.”
Bashir was quiet and then said, “I love you. You make sure to take care of yourself. Don’t take any abuse from anyone.”
Deni rested his forehead on his palm. “I was pretty good at getting away from tacklers on the football field, I think I could do pretty well in here,” he joked.
“Be good. Do whatever they ask of you,” said Bashir.
“I’ll be the model prisoner,” said Deni. Most young men hope to gain success, fame or raise a family. Now Deni’s current goal was to be a model prisoner for as long as he lived.
“How often can you call?” asked Bashir.
“Once a month,” replied Deni.
“I’ll look forward to you calls,” said Bashir. “Take care of yourself and remember that I love you.”
“Me too pop,” said Deni. He stood up and faced the guard. “Okay, you can take me back now.”
When he got back to his cell, he wondered what kind of conversation he could ever have with his folks again. “I spent another night talking to myself. The shadows in my room are filling my head with conspiracies. The night time guard wants to be my special friend, but I don’t know if I’m ready for a serious relationship. I’ve only known him for six weeks. Hey, you know if it means some company, I might be up for it,” he said with a laugh as he paced back and forth.
There was still plenty of light in the day, or so he thought. It was getting hard to tell the day from the night. Sometimes he believed he slept during the day and stirred all night. The only way he could tell was when food slid through his door and when the guards would escort him outside for an hour of light and air.
“Model prisoner, what exactly is a model prisoner?” he asked as he walked around his cell. “Do I need to pose for the prison yearly calendar? I’ll be Mr. September. Do I need to keep my cell all neat and tidy, make sure my hair and beard are combed and my teeth brushed? Eat all my food; let none go to waste. There are starving children in America. All the starving children in this country and I am getting three square meals a day without having to work. I just get to sit here in my free room, eating my free food, while there are homeless, hungry children in America.” He plopped down on his bed and fell backwards. “That’s priceless.”
He stared at the wall noticing strange stains from the prisoners past. “I can read the Quran over and over and over again and become a Muslim scholar, but who would I teach when there is no one but me? What can I do? What can I do?” He threw his arms over his head. “I am so fucking bored!”
The slit for his food tray opened. Deni bounced up and looked through the slit at the guard. “Jesus, peace be upon him,” he said specifically to gain a reaction from the guard for his own amusement. The guard stared curiously at Deni and then shut the food slit.
Deni carried his lunch tray to his bed. “Said the crazy raghead in cell block twelve.” He sat down and fingered his food. “Ooh tacos.”
Chapter 18
Another day of his brain being picked apart by Dr. Sodhi; he imagined the gray matter in his brain melting through his ears and nostrils. From all this irritating nit-picking of his mind, she had ceased to be hot. Funny how annoyance can be a detriment to a woman’s beauty, he thought.
Dr. Sodhi opened his file and said nothing.
“What’s on the docket today doc?” Deni asked.
“What do you want to talk about?” she asked casually.
“It’s your show; it always has been,” he replied.
She nodded, but said nothing.
“Is this silent treatment, some kind of test?” he asked.
She leaned forward and stared into Deni’s eyes. “Tell me something. Tell me a secret. Tell me a story.”
Deni leaned back in his chair and shrugged. “I don’t know much.” He looked up at her. “What’s happening in the world today?”
“The usual: tornados, hurricanes, mass shootings, corruption, poverty,” she said.
“Locusts and seven horsemen,” continued Deni.
“I don’t believe in the end of times,” she said. “Consciousness will always remain even when everything else is destroyed.”
Deni grinned. “Consciousness or conscience?”
“We can have consciousness without the conscience. Conscience is s
omething not all humans have acquired,” she replied.
“You’re preaching to the choir, sister,” he said.
“So Deni, now that you recognize the difference between consciousness and conscience. Let’s talk about your conscience.”
Deni smirked and glanced away. “Is my conscience clean? Do I have regrets?” He arched his back against the chair and sighed. “I regret being in this hell hole. I regret not dying like my brother. I regret the fact I will never have sex with a woman again. There are many things I regret.”
“Prior to the incident here in the prison, did you ever think of suicide?” she asked.
He sat forward and looked into her eyes. “Did you ever wonder what the world would be like without you in it? Did you ever wonder if your existence was a mistake? In the big puzzle of life, your pieces just didn’t fit.”
“Is that a yes?” Dr. Sodhi asked.
“My life has been worthless, but perhaps in the end I could give it some meaning,” he replied.
“You think your life was worthless? How do you think your family and friends would respond to that comment? Do you think those who love you would think your life is worthless?”
Deni threw himself back against the chair, once again uncomfortable with the questioning. “I was lazy and good for nothing.”
“How would you come to believe that about yourself?” she pressed.
“You wouldn’t understand. Your life has worth. You’re a doctor; you help people…supposedly,” said Deni with a casual shrug.
“Not always. I was young once like you. Not everyone saw things through my perspective. My father wanted me to be a medical doctor and I don’t want to tell you his reaction when I told him I wanted to work as a prison psychologist and help inmates,” she said.
Deni laughed. “You wanted to work here?”
“I did. I love my job. It is the men inside this prison that need the most help, that need the most love. Something had bought them to this place, often something very terrible. If I could help alleviate that pain, then I have been a success.”
The Insurrectionist Page 18
