A List of Best Intentions

And I mean it when I call myself a moron.

One stroke of genius landed me in the county jail for two weeks. An entire half a month. No school, no friends, no list…basically, a really shitty way to spend the last moments of 1999.

Not to mention the heaps of trouble I was in. I had a police record now. I’d have to make up all the crap I’d miss in school, or else I’d get held back a year. Oh, and the grounded-for-life thing hanging over my head. My parents probably wouldn’t even let me go to college, they were so fed-up with the crap I was doing when they weren’t around.

Guess who I was spending jail time with?

If you guessed Ricky Martin, luckily, you’re wrong.

It was Dakota.

Mmhmm. The kid kind of lied when he said he stole his sister’s car. He was drunk. Speeding. On speed. That’s the kind of crap that would kill me. It was also the kind of crap that landed him in there for four months.

I won’t lie. I was terrified.

Because of a stupid list, I was thrown into territory I’d never roamed in. Badass territory. Dakota territory.

As far as I knew, he didn’t hate me. I was scared to talk to him when we first really met in ISS, but it’s not like he was always at my throat. Still, I didn’t officially call him a friend for a while, and even now I feel a little weird callin’ him one when he wasn’t really known to warm up to folks.

After some time, though, when I actually got used to waking up in a cold foreign cell, I was pretty sure he didn’t think of me as annoying. Good thing too, ‘cause if I was in juvie with anyone else, they’d have killed me by then.

And by the time Thanksgiving was a little while away, I could call him a friend. November was soon nearing its middle, and that meant there was only a month and a half to live it up….if I could, you know.

Our “dinner” that night consisted of processed ham slices and play-doh mashed potatoes. And guess what? It sucked. I had no room to complain, though; I was lucky they didn’t fry my ass in an electric chair.

Dakota didn’t touch his tray. “I wouldn’t eat that shit. Last year I did and got herpes,” he warned, pointing to my food.

I pursed my lips, not bothering to ask if herpes was just an STD. “That sucks.”

He smirked. “Always does.”

I shook my head. “Everything sucks here.”

“I take it you’re now kickin’ yourself for makin’ that list.”

I shrugged and stabbed my fork into the rubber meat. “Guess that’s a little obvious.”

Dakota waved his hand. “You got into some crap you can’t get out of. Been there,” he mumbled, “it’s crazy at first.”

I shut my mouth. How’d he know? Before I could get too deep in thought, he slapped my shoulder.

“It’s how I felt when I first got in here. Just thought everything was goin’ outta control, you know?”

He flung a glob of mashed potatoes at the wall – it stuck.

“Before I knew it,” he continued, “it got numb. You know? I got in trouble every week pretty much. It got routine. And now it’s to that point where I don’t feel like I did shit if I ain’t getting yelled at. My mom hates me. Grounding me don’t do no good. She does it anyway. And I hate it. I hate it all.”

He drank the lukewarm glass of water given to each of us. I didn’t dare speak.

“And it never would’a happened if I didn’t get mixed up in all the stuff my sister and her boyfriend used to do. I know how you feel, bro. Regrets. Every day,” he added.

I tried to smile but all that surfaced was a groan. Dakota sighed and peered through the bars of the cell.

“Don’t end up like me,” he muttered, biting his lip.

I gulped, not exactly sure what he meant, but not exactly wanting to ask for clarification. After a while of silence I had it figured out. We came from such radically different places, with nearly opposite upbringings and ways of life, and yet in the end, we were in the exact same spot in that moment. Same planet, different worlds, ya know?

Despite me knowing what was going on, I had my mouth parted a little as if I was in a daze.

“What I’m sayin’ is, don’t let go just ‘cause of some stupid theory that ain’t even real, probably,” he clarified.

“Yeah,” I nodded.

“And eat your vegetables.”

I chuckled. “Yeah.”

“And wear clean underwear.”

“Can’t,” I said, “only pair I got is on me.”

He nodded. “That’s right. But in a couple days when you get out, remember it.”

“I don’t think I’ll forget.”

Dakota heaved a heavy breath and turned away. “Better not. Or when I get out I’ll hunt you down.”

I smiled a little, looking at the colorless ceiling. “You already been in here a few months, right?”

“One. New Year’s time, I’m up for bail,” he corrected. Dang. I’d wondered why he suddenly disappeared after the ISS thing.

“…Well, yeah. But…when you get out, and by some freaky chance the world’s over…” I trailed off, not exactly knowing what to say next.

“You’re gonna tell me you love me. Gross, man,” Dakota laughed.

“Nah, man. Just sayin’ I used to be scared of you.”

“Everyone is.”

“But after the time in the cell with ya…man, this is gonna sound fruity…it ain’t that bad to be around you.”

Dakota smiled genuinely and glanced at me. “I don’t think one sane person’s ever said that to me, even if that was the worst compliment I think I’ve ever gotten.”

“You callin’ me insane?”

“Nah. I’m sayin’ you’re prob’ly the only bud I got now.” Silence. I couldn’t look him in the eye until he added, “Thanks, Kev.”

I reached across the gap between our beds and gave him a knuckle-bump. “No prob, dude.”