Chapter 2
Okay Bieber, read back your reg number to me.
One seven six three five dash zero eight six.
Alright, get in. You've got the top bunk. Your roommate is Hernandez. Don't bother talking to him, he doesn't speak English.
The door slams, and the key turns the lock into place. Once the officer leaves, my cellie looks at me with piercing, angry eyes.
How old are you baby face?
Hey, I thought you couldn't . . .
There's that look that reminds me to keep quiet---this guy could explode in a heartbeat.
So?
Uh...huh?
I asked you your age, baby face!
I'm 19, why?
So, you are a baby! Holy s...say, you ain't in here for messing with kids, are you? I'll paint the wall with your face right now, if you are?
I must have turned six shades of purple as I blurt out that I'm in for bringing a few bottles of pills across the border.
I'm Canadian, man...how was I to know that the U.S. is so facist about "unregistered pharmaceuticals?
Quiet down, Bieber. Chaplain's coming by. Either be quiet or ask him for a Bible, but please don't get into some long-winded theology discussion, cause I got a headache.
I figure I have to bring down the tension a few notches, and show I'm not a scared little kid--even though I feel like one. So, I call out for the chaplain.
Hey, Padre!
Oh, hey. I haven't seen you before. Did you just get in?
Yeah, yeah...Hey I need you to do something.
Oh..how can I help?
My cellie here, Hernandez. He don't speak English, but he seriously needs Jesus. Can you help him?
Hernandez, you really want Jesus, man? Quiere Jesus en su corazon?
Hernandez just smiles and says thank you, so the chaplain moves on, catching my little game.
So, Hernandez, why does the staff think you can't speak English?
Cause I can't, man. Saves me lots of hassle. Sure glad your Spanish is so good that you understand me, bro!
In my mind I sigh relief. I might get through these next few days okay, after all.
