PCLogin()

Already happened story

MLogin()
Word: Large medium Small
dark protect
Already happened story > superstar. > 6. correctional day

6. correctional day

  3 months in the correal 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, dealings, all wished to see their mother or father bringing some delicious food, a new piece of clothing, or just the affe that could terbance life in the correal facility—a life that involved various unbearable treatments for the youngsters.

  you judge a man? 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 affe with her spoon-like smile. Mothers are that social element that teaches you to love your neighbor. No one asking for their mother be judged. If they do, let them, but they must know that judging a mother for the love she gives tradicts human nature. A child with a mother learns to love.

  -Get ready, you sckers. Everyone o be ready for family visits. You'll wait in the dining room until your retives 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 st 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 ed, everyone. Your parents will e. We don't want rumors that in Twin Towers, we're raising a bunch of dirty kids. I'm talking to you, Bke; wipe your ass, - said the guard.

  Laughter ensued, even Bke himself chuckled, shrugging. Billy hurried into the bathroom; it was better to wash quickly. The st ones always received reprimands, and those reprimands couldn't be more unfortable. 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 use the cafeteria and the backyard to chat, - annouhe guard to everyone, following a seemingly well-established protocol. It rotocol. 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 m breeze bined with the tasteless sun. It was nine in the m, and everyone was running bad forth. He saw etting up and going to the musi.

  He followed cautiously; snooping had bee 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 khat informants didn't fare as well as they should. The musi en, and he saw a shadow. If Maestro Spencer came on a Saturday, what could be the reason?

  There he was, dang to cssical music with a yle, a rather funny mustache he had started wearing a few weeks ago.

  -Maestro Spencer, - said Billy from the door.

  -Oh, Billy, e in, e in. Have you e to practice the piano? -- Billy nodded. -- I e on some Saturdays to escape from home. It's better to make good use of time, and here I have little to no distra, - 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 py simpler scales and some of the more plex ones, but there was still much work to do.

  -Now, try pying this song. We'll practiough, 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 do both at the same time, you'll be a master of music. I guara, - 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 su .

  -How little, hoe've fallen. I'll bring a onday and introduce you to one of the best voices, my dear d. 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 eacher, - Spencer said, adjusting his posture to a cssic jazz position.

  -You too, or. The drums will apany the voice of Billy and the piano, along with a good flute, we'll have what we call a trio—posed 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 tinued, instrug both or to fiune his ear and Billy to mark a defined and harmonious pace.or nodded as he tinued pying 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 Spenoticed. Spencer, who was still posing some cssical music, hardly running out of patience, switched geo try or perhaps a good blues to ease his sorrows.

  -I'll be right there. See you ter, Maestro, or, - said Billy, jumping off the piano, eagerly thinking about his mother.

  He desded 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 oh joy. Three unbearable months—her aed a week. Sihen, it has been downhill. Not seeing her child sleep at night, watg him eat breakfast and sit in the living room watg TV, ughing, 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, particurly 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 't prepare many packages, but I brought empanadas and some baked meat, - Agustina said, taking out a tainer 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 oill the same as ever. -- There are many; I made a batch, -- she said.

  -So delicious, - Billy said, particurly satisfied. This meal couldn't pare 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 correal facility? -- his mother asked. -- Are they treating you well, my son? -

  -They are, they are. Although I would prefer to go bay old life, - Billy said, downpying it, whinoyed his mother. It annoyed her because he seemed so indifferent to what he had dohree and a half months ago.

  -You'll be a fool. Behave for o's six months—what else happen? You've been there for three months. Just endure, son, - Agustina said.

  -Thanks, Mom, but they say no os 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 uand that things o 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 posure was shaken by this woman, his new mother, but his feelings accepted her as sud 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 pce 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 misuood 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, e on, put some enthusiasm into it. If you stay like this, you might fail, and iure, bme everyone else. It's better to move fetting stuck doesn't help at all. There are gorams here; they have study and sports sessions, - Agustina said.

  -Yes, mother, - said Billy, who, despite his disfort, tinued eating and refleg.

  -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 py in school? - Agustina asked.

  -Only some py here; it's sort of like being part of something to be allowed to py. The rest are rejected, which is probably why they py so little on the court. They don't py, but they don't let others use it either, - Billy said.

  -That's a shame, but you ask them to let you py. -

  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 uood that a child's problems are mere thoughts to an adult.

  -Mother, just leave it. I've dedicated myself to studying and practig 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 py the piano, - Billy said.

  -What a marvel that my child is being ied in musid now you py the New Year's cumbias, - Agustina said.

  - I wish, but pying the piano is difficult. However, I'm learning a song. Maybe I earn some money, - Billy said.

  -That sounds fantastic. Pying music, - Agustina said. But her mood had soured, a heaviness in her chest that she couldn't shake off. Even if she wao, breaking down wouldn't help.

  Again, they fell into an unfortable silence.

  They tialking 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 g?

  ...