The world without Izaiah

4

Christo didn't sleep well that night. He tossed and turned so much that the older man in the bottom bunk had to tell him to quiet down.

He wanted to tell the guy that he had gotten three whole nights' worth of sleep the day before, but he knew better than to make enemies in a place like this. Finally, he fell asleep. According to the older man, he stopped moving around three o'clock in the morning and he awoke around six.

When he awoke, he stretched his legs and arms, wishing he was home in bed next to Izaiah. Part of him thought this was all a nightmare, and maybe Izaiah was still alive at home reading or writing, two of his favorite hobbies.

He was never very good at writing; Christo knew this because every time he finished a short story or a poem, he made him read it. Christo never wanted to add to Izaiahs poor self-image, so to boost his self-confidence, he would always tell him how amazing it was and buy him a tub of Ben and Jerry's ice cream to congratulate him on writing another piece.

He liked to watch Izaiah enjoy himself. He would always end up with half the tub of ice cream on his face because he was so uncoordinated he would miss his mouth. Instead of being disgusted, Christo just found it endearing. Izaiah got excited about small things like coming home to a pint of ice cream after a long day at work.

Christo couldn't resist the tears that were welling in his eyes. They came flooding out, and they wouldn't stop. He tried to bury his face in his pillow, but by the time he laid his face down, Arnoldo was standing looking up at him. "Come. Sit with me." He motioned for Christo to sit on his mattress.

"I'm sorry, I just feel like I'm losing my mind." The older man put his arm around his shoulder.

"You are grieving. You lost a great man. Ain't the one to apologize to. If you need closure, god is the only one who can heal." He made the sign of the cross and closed his eyes. Was he praying? Christo just stared over at the man, expressionless.

"Praying isn't going to do any good. It's pretty much the same as wishing on a shooting star."
The older man squeezed his shoulder and then let go.

"Tell me about him. What was he like." Christo wiped his eyes.

"Why do you even care? I'm the one that killed him." Christo sighed. "Sorry, it's just a sensitive topic at the moment."

Arnoldo looked down at Christo, who was now slouching forward. "Let's start with his name; tell me what it is."

"Was, you mean what it was." The older man smiled.

"In heaven, there is no way; no time just is."

Christo rolled his eyes. "His name was Izaiah, Izaiah Kingston; he took my last name."

Arnoldo smiled. "Ah, yes, Izaiah Kingston. God is especially fond of that boy."

Yeah, the man was losing his marbles. " You know, he spoke of you in my dream last night. He said, tell Christo Jesus to read his poem. He said it was about the day you met, and he loved it very much."

Christo sat up, confused. "How... what?"

The older man immediately fell asleep again. "No, you wake up and tell me how you know about that poem!"

A guard unlocked their cell and shook Arnoldo awake. "It's time for your library visit shotgun. You have overdue books."

"Do I get to sort through new books again?"

The officer chuckled, "You bet. You're the only one that knows how to do it properly."

Arnoldo smiled and turned to wink at Christo. "I'll see you later, young man."

Christo didn't know what to think. How did Arnoldo know about the poem Izaiah wrote right before he died? Maybe the older man was stalking him, but how? He was in prison. Perhaps he just made it up, and coincidentally, he was right. It wasn't too hard to guess that he may have written about his husband. He settled on that. Arnoldo was just a sick older man who believed in complete nonsense. After all, being in prison for murder was enough to make anyone go crazy.

Christo thought back to the poem; he read it a thousand times until he knew it by heart. It read: "My love. I knew we were forever all those years ago when you looked into my eyes lying in the snow. You looked like an angel, and I almost believed that one day, we would be up in the clouds, just you and me. I was dancing around on a rainbow, shining so bright. You make me want to bathe in your light. Stay with me, Angel, shine upon me; in your light forever I'll be."

It wasn't the smoothest flow of words, but Izaiah sang to his tune. He was good at being himself and expressing his emotions freely. It was something Christo was proud of.

Izaiah never wanted to be anyone else. He was his own man. Christo wondered what it would be like to think like Izaiah, what it would be like to walk in his shoes.

He wondered what Izaiah would do if he knew he had memorized all of his poetry. He would probably have been so excited. Christo would read some of Izaiah's poetry at his band's concert in two weeks.

Christo had been in a band ever since he dropped out of college. He sang in choir ever since he could remember; the band was his way of breaking away from the shadows and making a name for himself.

Now, that dream was tarnished. Now, he had shed his husband's blood, and he would never again be clean. Now, he was just a lowlife alcoholic craving a shot of whisky every moment since he woke up in the hospital.

He knew better than to drink and drive, but it was the pressure he felt to live a little that ultimately took him down.

All his bandmates were as drunk as they could get, even as they performed that night. They played about as well as standard; however, the people in the audience knew that they were utterly wasted by the way Christo was stumbling around on stage.

That got them a few boos, which is why they all left early. Why did they leave early? Why did Izaiah agree to get in the car with him?

Izaiah wasn't innocent. He is the one who got Christo hooked up with his band, knowing they were all alcoholics and druggies. But he never blamed Izaiah for that.

Izaiah had this way of innocently trusting people. He knew Izaiah never wanted anything wrong to happen. It was his choice to start drinking, and it was his choice to get in the car that night.