Apple Core

Eighteen: Passports and Prisons

The walls were too white, like someone had spent years scrubbing them clean. The floor was pretty dark, in contrast. The air itself felt absolutely organized, like the 10:30 planes would never spend a minute in this place after half past ten.

I kept following Derek, looking really awkward.

And then at last we reached a desk, behind which a skinny man with a huge mustache sat. He took our passports. He did something with Derek's that involved a computer, then nodded and set it aside. He tried to do the same with mine, but then paused and frowned, his eyebrows bending downwards like the mini versions of his mustache.

He tried it again, then sighed. He kept clicking, and though I had no idea what was going on, I knew there was something wrong.

Derek must have seen that too. "Is there a problem, officer?" he asked.

"Just a second, son" said the guy, and then he got out a little communication device the size of his palm. Pressing a button on it, he said, "Hey, uh, Jim.. I've got a little problem here. See, the computer's not finding this kid anywhere here..... Yeah, I did, twice...... Look, I don't know much about this stuff. Could you come here and check? It'll take you, like five minutes........ Great."

Then he sighed and looked at me. "Son," he said, "you better pray to God it's just the computer, because you could go to jail for this."

"What?" I said, confused. I haven't done anything illegal in my life. Except spying on Ralph for five years straight, but there is no logical explanation as to how that would have gotten to their computer.

Just then, the guy called Jim showed up. He was bald and a bit muscular, and looked just a couple of years older than me. He said hi, and then proceeded to frown as he checked the computer, just like the first guy did.

"We can't sort this out here," said Jim, "We need to get to the police station."

"Wait, what?!" said Derek, obviously panicking. "What exactly is the problem?"

"His passport is fake," said Jim, gesturing toward me with his head.

And at approximately ten that morning, I entered jail.

All the time I was yelling at them that it wasn't me, it was my mother who did this. But they wouldn't listen. Or maybe they did, and they didn't have any proof. Of course, my mother, a sixty-something-year-old-woman, running away at around the same time I went to the airport, didn't help things much. They maybe even thought she didn't exist.

At first Derek was still trying to argue, even though they had spent more than two hours questioning us before deciding I was guilty. Then he told me he was going to 'tell his dad to get me a lawyer or something', even though the only way they'd let me out was if they found my mother.

And then I was left alone.

I realized that countless cries of 'I'm innocent' won't really help me, and that only criminals say that. So I sat down, defeated, and sighed.

I tried to adjust to my surroundings. The cell I was in was a pretty average size, with a gray floor and walls. Even the uniforms were gray. There were a few other people there, and I avoided eye contact with them.

Two beds were in the room, bunks, one on each wall. The toilet was surprisingly a separate room (the only jail cells I have seen where in movies). Sunlight entered through the window, bringing in a bit of light into the dimness. It was a beautiful day, and here I was, getting arrested.

I don't know how long I sat there. Minutes. Hours, maybe. But then the door opened suddenly. My heart jumped in my chest: since I had lost track of time, I thought that maybe days had passed and Derek had come back to free me.

But my hopes were too high. It was just a bored guard. "Get out, or y'all are gonna starve to death," he said, swinging his keys around like they were nothing, and not the keys to our freedom.

It was lunchtime. Of course.

We lined up like preschoolers and blindly followed the guard. He led us to a huge hall, with tables on which many prisoners were already seated amid the low buzz of conversation.

We lined up and, each in turn, got trays and had our share of greenish goop plopped on top of it next to a small bottle of water and slice of bread.

I found a table at the very far corner of the cafeteria and put down my tray. The place overall seemed like the high-school cafeterias in movies.

And then less than halfway through my meal, a white-haired man walked towards me with his own tray. I immediately stiffened in my place and stopped eating.

"Is this seat taken?" he asked. I reluctantly shook my head and shrugged. What could he want? He sat down facing me.

"I noticed you didn't keep saying that you're innocent," he said.

I shrugged. "Yeah," I said, "isn't that what guilty people say?"

"That's exactly what I think." said the man. He took a scoop of his goop, whatever it was, and ate it. "You know, this stuff might look unappetizing, but it actually tastes pretty good." he said, taking another bite.

I had earlier regarded the green stuff as inedible, and just ate the bread and water. But when I tasted it it was pretty decent. I took another bite.

"What are you in for?" he asked.

I swallowed. "It's a long story, and you've got to hear the whole thing to get it. But, basically, my passport is fake."

"Oh," he said, nodding. "You got into a.. friendship you regret, or something?"

"Nah," I said, trying to sound nonchalant, "it was.. it was my mother."

"Your mother?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, "she made me a fake passport because she isn't my real mother, and because she kidnapped me right after I was born and ran away to some city, before returning to the town which she kidnapped me in ten years later. There I had to live only a few minutes away from my biological parents, and I befriended their son, without even knowing that he was my brother. Then when I was eleven my mother told me that my biological mother killed my father-who probably isn't even real now that I think about it, because I don't think my 'mother' ever even got married."

He took another bite of his green stuff, nodding. "That's.. messed up," he said, "how long are you in for, then?"

"Five years," I said, shrugging, "or until they find her."

"I'm in here for life," he chuckled, so I guess we'll find out."

"What are you in for?" I asked. But right at that moment, some guard blew a whistle.

"Well, that's the end of lunch," said the old man, and hurried away. Something told me he wouldn't tell me why he was here, even if lunch hadn't ended.