Behind Bars

Christmas behind bars

Christmas behind bars is just another day in prison but a day where we are reminded of how messed up we are and how truly lonely we have become.

The weather during Christmas in Tampa is perhaps our only holiday gift, because the clothes on our backs could do little against the cold weathers.

Speaking of clothes,I had been forced awake from the comfort of the bedsheet cover Ariel had given us by a certain bug.

"Merry Christmas",he exclaims again with so much enthusiasm,it could almost make la la land feel real,a contrast to our reality.

I yank the covers over my head trying to drown him out as much as possible.
Maybe if I ignore him,he would give up.

"Merry Christmas,wake up gentlemen,young and old, healthy and sick. Rise up because the Messiah was born–"

"Aargh,shut up!"

"Toooddaaay"

One of the guys on the bed opposite ours throws his pillow at Shawn.
"Dude,shut it before I make you."

"You guys wouldn't know a melodious voice even if it punched you in the balls,"he grumps.

Just when I'm about to give in to sleep again, the noise of screeching metal against metal shoots my eyes wide open.
"Rise and shine princesses. Christmas doesn't walk into this part of town."

                 •••••••••••••••••••••

"You did what?",I ask confusedly, still trying to process Shawn's words.

"I signed both of us up."

"And why would you do that? You're aware it's a Christian gathering, right? You literally have the attention span of a child on sugar rush."

"When we have an actual descent meal in front of us later, you'll thank me"

"How aren't you aware that the meal is free regardless of whether you attend or not."

"And you know that how?. Are you the one giving out the food?"

"There's no need to argue,you'll just find out on your own."

He pokes his tongue out at me just as his name is called out and my name immediately follows his.

He'd already signed me up and I know I can decide not to go but it isn't like I have many options.
It's either I stay inside and pretend to be interested in whatever some random group of so-called saints have to say, or be outside with a bunch of people I know will likely piss me off.

I grudgingly follow after Shawn.

I watched on as one event followed another—first, an opening prayer, then songs, and a quick sermon about the birth of Christ.
I grew up in church and though I left, I'm surprised I remember it all, even after so many years.
I stood when others stood, closed my eyes when they did, going through the motions.

Out of boredom,I start flipping through the Christmas card given us when we arrived.
The applause around me startles me, pulling my attention to the makeshift stage ahead.
A buff looking man in a shirt and jeans trousers walks to the stage toward the podium and he is handed a microphone.

"Hello," he booms into the microphone, drawing our attention to him instinctively.

"I'm Frank Walter, sixty four years old and an ex-convict now redeemed by God."
Few claps ring around the hall following his words, but he pauses for it to subside.

"I'm no motivational speaker," he continues,
"I'm just a man with a story who God has granted the opportunity to share in hopes that people will learn from."