I stepped into the shade, and the heat dropped a bit. I hesitated to sit on the chairs, so I just stood there, staring out at the field. It was all plowed and stuff, probably for wheat. Not exactly a postcard view. Just a bunch of wooden shacks in the distance, looked more like barns. I could even see the prison towers, small and far away. Too small to fit me in anymore.
Then I remembered my phone. I'd completely forgotten I had it on me when they arrested me. I pulled it out of my bag like it was the first phone I'd ever seen. But the last time it had a charge was probably three years ago...
No idea how many times people might have called. My family probably called a million times...
No.
No one out there's waiting for me. Most people probably think I'm dead from the protests.
But...
But let's not get too down. If even one person from my family called, maybe I'll go home.
I made that deal with myself and stepped out of the shade. Back to the heat, back into that weird, uncomfortable reality. I went back to the kid and asked, "You got a charger?"
He was frying potatoes, humming to himself. He looked up when he heard me. "Yeah, there's two chargers in that drawer. What kind of phone do you have? If it's a new one, it might not fit."
I got his permission and went into the 'kitchen' area. It was more like a tiny space for simple cooking, and anyone could see right in from the window. I didn't care how he fried his potatoes or if it was sanitary. I just opened the first drawer I saw.
There was a ton of cash and coins in there. It threw me off a bit. How could a little diner on the side of a highway have that much money? Maybe he wasn't lying. Maybe he really was out of food.
I snapped out of it. "What are you doing, Ryan?" I thought. "Looking at this cash is a bad idea. He might think I'm gonna steal it!" I closed that drawer and opened the one next to it. It was full of random stuff. Everything from loose change to lighters, screwdrivers, and charging cables. Of course, there were two chargers.
I grabbed them both and plugged them in, one after the other. The first one didn't work, but the second one did. I stared at the screen, hoping for even one percent of a charge. While I waited, the kid asked, "Did it work?"
I nodded a little and mumbled something. I don't think he heard me. As I waited, I started thinking about my decision. Was there really a place for me back home? I had a huge fight with my mom about joining the protests. I told her, "You don't understand because you're old-fashioned! This government is ruining the whole country." I said a lot of political stuff. But moms don't understand that kind of stuff. She started yelling at me, called me all sorts of names, compared me to my deadbeat dad. I told her, "You're so scared, and your fear is holding everyone back. I'm glad I did everything myself since I was a kid, and I wasn't around you much. Otherwise, I'd go crazy..."
I was so angry back then, I said a lot of things I didn't mean.
She snapped back. With a slap and a final look.
Damn it. The more I think about it, the more my mind changes. What am I going to say to her after three years? "Sorry, Mom, I didn't listen to you, I joined the protests, got arrested, and now I have a political record?"
I'm terrible at making quick decisions. Finally, after all that thinking, my phone got one percent of charge. I saw the logo for the first time in three years. I'd missed it. But that feeling turned to sadness in a second. The first thing I saw was a number pad. My password. What was it again?