3 months in the correctional facility.
Today, all the students were eager, some hopeful to see their parents. Every child, even the most troublesome ones in the prison, with their annoying attitudes, their gang activities, or drug dealings, all wished to see their mother or father bringing some delicious food, a new piece of clothing, or just the affection that could counterbalance life in the correctional facility—a life that involved various unbearable treatments for the youngsters.
Can you judge a man? Can you judge a child? But if his mother is a model for nurturing and loving, even among the coldest characters, they'll remember a good mother, one who gives love and delivers affection with her spoon-like smile. Mothers are that social element that teaches you to love your neighbor. No one asking for their mother can be judged. If they do, let them, but they must know that judging a mother for the love she gives contradicts human nature. A child with a mother learns to love.
-Get ready, you slackers. Everyone needs to be ready for family visits. You'll wait in the dining room until your relatives are ready, - said the guard, a new one Billy didn't know.
Billy woke up; the sun had just risen through the windows. He was somewhat eager—maybe more than eager—to meet his mother. How good it would be to meet his mother, so many mixed feelings.
The last words spoken by the old Billy Carson were like daggers: "Get out of my life." Now lived in Billy's mind, knowing that things couldn't get worse after hurting the only loved one he had.
-Get your ears cleaned, everyone. Your parents will come. We don't want rumors that in Twin Towers, we're raising a bunch of dirty kids. I'm talking to you, Blake; wipe your ass, - said the guard.
Laughter ensued, even Blake himself chuckled, shrugging. Billy hurried into the bathroom; it was better to wash quickly. The last ones always received reprimands, and those reprimands couldn't be more uncomfortable. It was better to go unnoticed as much as possible.
The cold water hit his body, but he was used to it and couldn't stop thinking about his mother—what wrong had he done?
-Visits start at 10:00 am until 3:00 pm. I'll call you by the list each time someone arrives. You can use the cafeteria and the backyard to chat, - announced the guard to everyone, following a seemingly well-established protocol. It was a protocol. All the kids were eager, even if they didn't look like it. Some were depressed by the way they ate their trays. Austin's gang hadn't approached him to join.
Billy looked at the sky; it was as blue as a cream pie. There were no clouds, and the sun wasn't shining brightly, but the morning breeze combined with the tasteless sun. It was nine in the morning, and everyone was running back and forth. He saw Connor getting up and going to the music room.
He followed cautiously; snooping had become a recurring thing in his routine, and he couldn't help it. This would be a reason why snitches existed in prisons. Knowing something and not telling was an achievement in itself, but he knew that informants didn't fare as well as they should. The music room was open, and he saw a shadow. If Maestro Spencer came on a Saturday, what could be the reason?
There he was, dancing to classical music with a new style, a rather funny mustache he had started wearing a few weeks ago.
-Maestro Spencer, - said Billy from the door.
-Oh, Billy, come in, come in. Have you come to practice the piano? -- Billy nodded. -- I come on some Saturdays to escape from home. It's better to make good use of time, and here I have little to no distraction, - Spencer said.
-I see, Maestro, - said Billy, taking a seat at the piano. He had adapted to following the piano's steps. He could now play simpler scales and some of the more complex ones, but there was still much work to do.
-Now, try playing this song. We'll practice enough, and this will be your first piano piece. Our dear Frank Sinatra has a unique voice, a reverberation that sounds and fits your voice. If you can do both at the same time, you'll be a master of music. I guarantee it, - Spencer said.
My Way—the title of the song sung by Frank Sinatra.
-Who is Frank Sinatra? - said Billy unknowingly. Spencer's eyes almost popped out upon hearing such an offering.
-How little, how low we've fallen. I'll bring a CD on Monday and introduce you to one of the best voices, my dear lad. When someone learns to sing like this man did, the Grammys are just a step away. So pay attention to this artist; he'll be your new teacher, - Spencer said, adjusting his posture to a classic jazz position.
-You too, Connor. The drums will accompany the voice of Billy and the piano, along with a good flute, we'll have what we call a trio—composed of a vocalist, a drummer, and a maestro. Match your rhythm well; we must follow the main tonality, and then they'll follow our rhythm, - Spencer continued, instructing both Connor to fine-tune his ear and Billy to mark a defined and harmonious pace.
Connor nodded as he continued playing the drums. They practiced for a while until a young, smiling security guard arrived. Billy's mother was in the cafeteria waiting for her son.
Billy's eyes lit up, and Spencer noticed. Spencer, who was still composing some classical music, hardly running out of patience, switched genres to country or perhaps a good blues to ease his sorrows.
-I'll be right there. See you later, Maestro, Connor, - said Billy, jumping off the piano, eagerly thinking about his mother.
He descended the stairs to the first floor, and there she was, Agustina Lopez, with her fabric bag, a wide, long dress worn at her father's request. The dress was embroidered with white and red flowers—pure joy. Amid his eagerness, he stopped in his tracks and didn't know what to do. But his mother looked up, saw her little boy, and, with as much gentleness as one would expect from a saint, she walked slowly, extended her arms, and embraced her little one with joy. Three unbearable months—her anger lasted a week. Since then, it has been downhill. Not seeing her child sleep at night, watching him eat breakfast and sit in the living room watching TV, laughing, being happy about something, hugging him, and when... It was so good to see him.
-How are you, my little sun? - Agustina said in Spanish.
-Good, Mom, I'm very well. I missed you a lot, - said Billy, particularly expressive, something he rarely did.
Agustina smiled and led him to a chair to be with him. -- Well, I think you'll miss some things. Unfortunately, I can't prepare many packages, but I brought empanadas and some baked meat, - Agustina said, taking out a container of food.
Billy tried the empanadas with minced sausage, potatoes, and rice, and the taste melted in his mouth. He saw the chili, and his heart sighed. His mother watched him eat with delight, her little one still the same as ever. -- There are many; I made a batch, -- she said.
-So delicious, - Billy said, particularly satisfied. This meal couldn't compare to the prison's mass-produced food.
-It is, isn't it? If you try this sauce I made, you'll love it, son, - Agustina said.
Chimichurri.
-What a delight, - Billy whispered, eating slowly.
-So, how's the correctional facility? -- his mother asked. -- Are they treating you well, my son? -
-They are, they are. Although I would prefer to go back to my old life, - Billy said, downplaying it, which annoyed his mother. It annoyed her because he seemed so indifferent to what he had done three and a half months ago.
-You'll be a fool. Behave for once. It's six months—what else can happen? You've been there for three months. Just endure, son, - Agustina said.
-Thanks, Mom, but they say no one gets out in six months. They say they'll surely find a way to make me stay, - Billy said.
-Oh, just behave well, Billy. You've always made excuses for everything, -- Agustina said, raising her voice. She realized her attitude and paused. -- I'm sorry, son, but you must understand that things need to be faced. If you do something wrong, own up to it, and don't shy away. Life isn't easy, my son; from now on, stop making excuses. Surely, things will pass, - she said.
-Sure, - said Billy. His composure was shaken by this woman, his new mother, but his feelings accepted her as such and saw her as such. What a powerful blow. Act like a man? What will he do? What to do?
Billy ate calmly but was lost in his thoughts. He had been in a tale, despite being older; he was in the worst place he could be.
Agustina sighed. - How's everything going? What do you usually do? You must have something to do with so much free time. -
-Not much, just going with the flow, - Billy said, thinking to himself. His mother misunderstood him, and she sighed again. The mood soured. She was so harsh! These were the emotions of the child he kept in his heart.
-Son, come on, put some enthusiasm into it. If you stay like this, you might fail, and in the future, blame everyone else. It's better to move forward; getting stuck doesn't help at all. There are good programs here; they have study and sports sessions, - Agustina said.
-Yes, mother, - said Billy, who, despite his discomfort, continued eating and reflecting.
-You won't say anything. -
-I have nothing to say; there isn't much to do here, and I usually spend my time not doing much, - Billy said.
-What a pity. I heard there's a library and basketball courts here. Didn't you play in school? - Agustina asked.
-Only some play here; it's sort of like being part of something to be allowed to play. The rest are rejected, which is probably why they play so little on the court. They don't play, but they don't let others use it either, - Billy said.
-That's a shame, but you can ask them to let you play. -
Anger surged from Billy's chest again. It wasn't his; it was a glimpse, a memory not his own, that hated that his mother thought everything was resolved. But this new Billy understood that a child's problems are mere thoughts to an adult.
-Mother, just leave it. I've dedicated myself to studying and practicing music, - Billy said.
-Music! What's that about? You don't usually sing or dance; you just listen to that hip-hop at full volume, - Agustina said.
-Apparently, I'm good, and I'm learning to play the piano, - Billy said.
-What a marvel that my child is becoming interested in music. And now you can play the New Year's cumbias, - Agustina said.
- I wish, but playing the piano is difficult. However, I'm learning a song. Maybe I can earn some money, - Billy said.
-That sounds fantastic. Playing music, - Agustina said. But her mood had soured, a heaviness in her chest that she couldn't shake off. Even if she wanted to, breaking down wouldn't help.
Again, they fell into an uncomfortable silence.
They continued talking for a while longer, almost until noon. Agustina excused herself from work, but she felt defeated. She sensed such a gap between her son and herself that she could only cry behind the wheel, cry like a child. Everything was going from bad to worse. Where did she go wrong?
...