Reaper's Lullaby

Gus: Juvie

"I know from my own clinical work that when people are beaten and hurt, they numb out so that they can't feel anymore."
- John Bradshaw

One week after being arrested, Gus received his first piece of mail.

"Crady!" one of the guards shouted across the rec room.

The rec room was where everyone hung out after school. It was a spacious white room with linoleum floors in the center of the facility, and it was where inmates played cards, read, wrote and talked. Gus had been staring absently at the TV in the upper corner, which mostly showed the news and a couple of daytime talk shows. There was nothing else to look at, and he didn't feel like talking to any of the other guys.

"This came for you today," the guard said, thrusting an already opened and searched package into Gus's outstretched hand.

Gus waited until the guard left before opening it. Inside, there was his copy of the Boxcar Children and a letter. He took the letter out first and read it.

"Dear Gus," it started.

"It was two for you/ten for me. I'm sorry. They caught the asshole who killed Mahaylia. There's nothing for me here now so I'm on the run. Going someplace. Don't know where. I just want you to know I'm sorry. When I said I couldn't be your mom I meant that you deserved a better one. And you still do. I hope someday you can forgive me and find the family you deserve. I figured you'd want your book. Skid Row sorta took care of the rest of your stuff. You know how it is. Sorry. - I."

Gus read the letter a second time. Two for him meant he'd only do jail time until he was eighteen. For Ida, it would have been ten years or more. Even though Gus understood why she'd done it, he crumpled up the letter in anger and threw it across the room, where it landed perfectly in the corner trashcan.

"Nice shot," someone said.

Gus opened the fragile pages of his most prized possession and began to read the book again, from the beginning.

************

Life in juvenile hall was predictable with a chance of insanity, kind of like Skid Row. First, wake up. Then morning chores: making beds, preparing breakfast, cleaning up, washing dishes. Then school. Then lunch. Then rec room. Then dinner and evening chores. Shower time. Then lights out.

At any point during the day, something crazy could happen to disrupt the monotony. Usually an inmate would lose it on another inmate or a guard, get tased and put everyone on lockdown for a while. Fights broke out in the cafeteria and in the rec room, the only places they were allowed to roam freely and talk to each other. Gus kept to himself the first few days, trying to feel things out before attempting to fit somewhere.

He didn't let himself think about Mahaylia. Didn't let himself even think her name. He shut it out like he shut out the thought of Adam. It was all he could do to control the pain.

At night he laid in his small bed with one arm wrapped around his torso and imagined that it was Adam's arm, holding him, the way he used to after Gus had a nightmare. With Mahaylia gone and his plans for the future annihilated, Gus once again began to long for Adam. Sometimes he felt the presence he had felt in the car and on Skid Row, the wispy trace of Adam's hand in his. A few times he woke up to the feeling of a body pressed against his and soft breathing on the back of his neck, and he would keep his eyes closed, willing Adam's spirit to stay, but the sensation always dissipated too soon. He was unbearably lonely and talked to Adam in his head, his mind a refuge from reality. The others saw the blank expression on his face and labeled him a weirdo right off the bat.

"What'd they get you for?" asked his roommate the first week.

"Drugs. Possession of a firearm," Gus mumbled.