Walk Away A Savior

April 9, 1995

As you can see by the date in the upper left-hand corner, today is April nineth, 1995. What that date doesn’t tell you is that it’s my eighteenth birthday, so I’ll tell you instead; today is my eighteenth birthday. Best one I ever plan on having, I’ve been counting down to this day since I was twelve. I guess most people are excited to turn eighteen, but not for the reasons I am. Most teens are excited to finally move out of their parent’s house, buy cigarettes, graduate high school, get a tattoo. Not me.

No. I haven’t lived with either of my parents, again, since I was twelve. I’ve been trading drawings for cigarettes since the age of fourteen. I got my GED two years ago through the juvenile detention program that, yet again, I’ve been in since I was twelve. And I got my first tattoo from my roommate while smoking one of those cigarettes and digging my finger nails into my thigh cause I’m so goddamn scared of needles.

I got something worthwhile though. The letters MJW on my shoulder for my brother. He’s not dead or anything, I just miss him a lot. I haven’t seen him since I got locked up in juvie. I guess he’s the reason that all happened. I’m too overprotective of him.

Well, no, not too over protective. Just as protective as I should be. No way I wouldn’t go back and do the exact same thing that got me in here in the first place if I saw it happening again to him. But we’ll get to that later. I haven’t gotten to why I’m so goddamn happy to be eighteen.

I’m happy to be eighteen ‘cause turning eighteen means my sentence is over and I’m on probation.

Being eighteen means this morning, I was released from the Newark Juvenile Detention Facility on probation. They let me go with an offer for a job working for the city, a five thousand dollar pension check to get me going ‘til I land on my feet, this journal, and a restriction order to stay within a hundred feet of each member in my immediate family; my mom, my dad, and my little brother, Mikey, the one I mentioned before. You can see where I’d begin my reservations.

Well, the probation requires me to go counseling every few weeks back at the detention center. Right now I can tell you I won’t be caught dead going back there. The job... I’d never work for this shithole of a city after living in one of their mandated bullshits for six years. Needless to say I respectfully declined. The 5k is practically blood money. I donated all but five hundred to the first child abuse help center I could find in the phone book. I figure the money will buy me some clothes and food for a few months at least. Other than that, the money is dirty.

I’ve obviously found the journal useful, given that I’m using it now. I figure it’ll help clear my head since I’m so used to those psychiatrists back at the center picking it over. So used to telling someone every single thing I’m feeling, every single thing that goes on. Of course, I can be more honest with you, since you’re just two black pieces of cardboard and some sheets of lined paper with a little metal spiral to keep you all together instead of a crony that the head-peepers use to keep an eye on the wack-job kids they have locked up for a few years there. They expect me to write like I’m talking to one of those counselors, then show it to them when I come back for my sessions. I’d shoot Mikey before I showed anything to those guys again. Nah, I’m writing in here for me. Me alone. Just cause I’m so used to talking to someone at least.

Anyway, I forgot about that last part I’d mentioned up there, you know? What they let me out with? I lose track of myself sometimes, that’s why it’s so good to have it here in writing. Proves my point about how it’s a good thing I have this, doesn’t it?

Like I was saying though; that restraining order. I’m feeling pretty mixed about that. And I guess I’ve decided that it’s a bad thing. First off there’s my little brother. After I got put in there for what I did, there’s no way I’m not going to go back to see him. Go back to make sure that I at least got put in jail for a reason. I did what I had to to keep him safe. If that didn’t even happen, some people have some goddamn explaining to do to me, I’m telling you.

What I mean is, to hell with anyone who thinks I’m going to just sit back and wonder what happened to him, stand around and not know if he’s alright. Plus, I miss Mikey. You’ve got no idea. Growing up, he was always my best friend. And I don’t even give a damn how weird that might sound considering he’s those three and some years younger than me. You don’t know the kid. You wouldn’t understand.

Other than Mikey, I’d like to have a good long talk with my parents, given that all of this is their fault too. I shouldn’t’ve had to stand up to those two so hard to end up in jail for my brother. I’d like to talk to them about their parenting skills. I hope they sent Mikey off or the state took him to a foster home once I was hauled off, but if that’s not the case, I’d like to make sure my parents treated him good while I was gone. If they didn’t, they got me to answer to again.

Last time I was just a twelve year old little kid with an adrenaline rush. But I’ve been in jail for years now. When you’re in jail you get a thing for working out. Tends to be one of your only releases, plus you gotta stay tough to keep out of some unfair fight with a dirty little bastard who just wants to show off for his buddies. I’ve been keeping plenty tough; given my reputation in there I had to, so this time, those two won’t be dealing with just a little kid. They’ll be dealing with a guy who knows how to fight. Got my black belt through the EC programs and everything, and hell if I don’t know how to use it.

Yeah, I’d like to have a talk with my parents alright, given they had anything to do with Mikey once I left. If they didn’t I couldn’t give a damn about them, but as my old house is my only lead I figure it’s the best place to start. Hah, they’ll be surprised to see me. I’ll make sure to tell you how that goes.

Right now I’m sitting in this park I used to take Mikey to. There’s a lot of kids here, little toddlers, some middle ones and then a few cliques of preteens hanging out here ‘cause they think it’s where it’s at. It’s kind of funny. I came here to see if Mikey might be here. I keep thinking about him when he was nine, kind of funny, isn’t it?

Hell, that kid’s fourteen by now. Fourteen! I wonder how much he’s changed. Wonder if he got a girl while I was gone. I wonder how he’s been doing in school. If he’s still wearing his glasses. I wonder if he wants to see me. Hell, I’ll back off if he doesn’t, but I’d still love to see him again…

I’m going to head out though. Back to the old house. If I see Mikey, it’ll be worth going back to jail.

Until next time,
Gerard.