It’s damp, and reeks of piss. I can’t help but hold my head and apply pressure to my temples to ease my pounding headache. Something has to be broken because something feels out of place in my body. I don’t remember much of what happened. The last thing I remember is getting punched in my stomach so hard that I was grasping for air, then everything went dark.
It was red, and then immediately went black.
I look around and notice just where I’m at, and it starts coming back to me. I’m in a fucking prison cell. I immediately get up from the hard bench and walk around the closed cage. What the fuck am I going to do to get myself out of this situation? What if I don’t get let out? What if I had to go to court to get a permanent sentence for nearly beating a man close to death? Is he going to be sentenced for nearly beating Rosie close to death? What if—
“Where is he?!” I hear a woman’s voice echo down the hall. “Where do you guys have him held up?!”
“Ma’am,” I hear one of the correctional officers say back to calm the situation. “He’s been in holding for—”
“Tell me where the fuck he is!” The woman shouts louder and I immediately know who it is. Fuck… mom.
“Pep,” I hear my dad say to my mom, trying to calm her down. Fuck, it really is mom.
“Tell me where my son is,” my mom’s voice demanded before I hear my father shout out her name. Before I could process everything going on, I finally see my mother run up to the holding cell. I immediately backed up, scared as shit seeing her in complete rage. Two officers begin to grab my mother’s arms to contain her. Fuck, what if she gets thrown in here for me for fucking up a correctional officer?
“Pep, please,” my father finally catches up to the cell. He glances at me before looking back before looking at mom. “Let her go; she’s okay!” My mom’s face sank as soon as she made eye contact with me.
“Micah,” she said as the officers let her go. She came close to the bars of the cell and stared at me.
“Can you confirm your son’s name and date of birth for us?” one of the officers asked my dad.
“Salem Micah Kamalani, July 8th, 2018,” my father answered. I couldn’t get my eyes off of my mom. She wasn’t crying, but she looked as if she could at any minute. She was silent the entire time, making the feeling of guilt even worse.
“We just need you to sign him out at the front desk–” the officer began to say before my mom finally spoke.
“I’ll do it,” she finally said, still looking at me. She finally turned away and followed the officers toward the front of the precinct. Once she was gone, I felt like I was able to finally breathe. My dad watched as she left before walking toward the cell.
“You have so much explaining to do when you get out of here,” he said in a stern voice. I didn’t say anything back; I didn’t want to get in even more trouble for talking back.
…
My father unlocked the front door to our apartment. A part of me was scared to enter the apartment and have the door close behind me. The night was still young, and my mother knew just how to make an argument feel like a lifetime when she’s mad. My mother walked into the apartment, putting her things down on the kitchen table. My older brother was sitting in the living room while his wife was in the kitchen area. Both of them looked at my mom before looking at me.
“Are the girls home?” my father said as he cleared his throat.
“They both should be coming home from Nathan’s show,” Milo answered.
“Emmie’s sleeping in your room if you don’t mind,” Sophie said to my mom. She nodded her head to acknowledge her statement, but doesn’t say anything else.
“And Summer?” my father asked.
“Sleeping in the girls’ room,” Sophie answered.
“Did you guys get to eat?” he asked Milo and Sophie. “You didn’t have to wait–“
“You didn’t have to wait for us to, you know, pick up your delinquent brother from prison,” my mom finally said before looking at me.
“Prison?” Sophie repeated in shock before looking at me.
“Right?” my mom scoffed as she answered. “Sorry we couldn’t have dinner as we planned because Micah decided he wanted to go to prison tonight!”
“Yeah, because I totally wanted to spend my night there,” I spat back, getting annoyed.
“You shut up!” my mother pointed at me and said. “You have no right speaking in the position you are currently in!”
“Maybe if you spoke to be like a decent human being, you would understand how I ended up in bookings in the first place!” I shouted back at my mom.
“A misdemeanor is something that a decent human being wouldn’t be charged with!” she yelled back, now even angrier. “Seriously Micah, you’re trying to talk yourself out of something that was so severe, we had to pick you up from a precinct that you were being held in–“
“You’re acting like I killed someone!” I shouted angrily at my mom.
“You got into a physical altercation with a billionaire’s son! What makes you think they are not going to bring you to court to charge you for a criminal defense?! Did you not think that through?” I looked at my mother, angry that she’d put this on me. She didn’t know the entire story. Would it even matter if she did at this point?
My mother was always extremely hard on me when it came to doing the right thing. She had expectations for me that I feel like she didn’t have with my brother or sisters. Every time I got in trouble for something, it was the end of the world for my mother. I was tired of the unfair treatment, and I honestly didn’t understand what made me different.
“Maybe that billionaire’s son has something to hide,” I spat back. “Did anybody even bother to grab my equipment from the party?” My mother began to laugh.
“You’re more worried about your stupid equipment than your arrest; classic,” my mom commented, obviously being sarcastic. “No matter what I say, it’s just going to go in one ear and out the other, so why do I bother?”
“That ‘stupid’ equipment is my livelihood, mom,” I defended myself, annoyed that she would downplay my gig. “That equipment is what’s getting me into–“
“Your livelihood is making sure you pass your classes and graduate with your degree, Micah!” my mom shouted out. “Was this whole project you had going on just some cover up to throw a party and score points with the popular crowd?”
“This was my project!” I yelled back, getting angry at my mom now. “For fuck’s sake mom, why is it when Milo or the girls got in trouble you were never this hard on them, but God forbid I go ahead and do something, and you act like it’s the end of the fucking world–“
“Because you’re the only one out of them that does reckless shit like this!” my mom admitted. “I have to be hard on you because if not, you would run out in the streets doing whatever the fuck you want!” I looked at my mother, not surprised in her words but shocked that she finally admitted it. She saw me as the problem child in her perfect family. She was hard on me because I didn’t act like the rest of the family. I didn’t conform into what my parents wanted me to do. I did my own thing, and in the end it left me being more of an outsider than anything else. My mom took in a deep breath before she spoke; she clearly was fighting back tears in her eyes. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself again.” Again. She’s talking about my suicide attempt a couple of years ago.
My mouth was tight shut. I was till so furious that my mom would treat me like a problem child because she saw me as one. Despite all this fluff of looking out for me and loving me… it didn’t feel like she did. It made me feel like I was their mistake this whole time, and the older I got, the more she took it out on me.
“Micah, mom is just trying to look out for you,” Milo started to explain. “She’s not out to get you or make you feel like you can’t do anything right–“
“I don’t remember you being a part of this conversation, bro,” I said to Milo, annoyed that he was budding into this conversation. “You don’t know how it feels to be in my position, so kindly you should shut the fuck up.”
“Micah,” my father finally chimed in.
“Dude, I grew up without my biological mom,” Milo began to say. I rolled my eyes, having known this exact story word-for-word by now. “Do you know how hard it was to see my siblings have both of their parents?”
“Sorry, I didn’t know we were now playing a game of ‘who got the most traumatic memories being a part of this fucking family’,” I said, turning around to walk toward my room.
“Yo, fuck you man,” Milo shouted, clearly feeling a type of way with what I was saying. “This is exactly why no one ever wants to get close to you. You think the world is out to get you when really there’s so many people trying to save you from doing stupid shit–“
“Worry about your own fucking family, dude,” I turned around and walked to my brother’s face. My dad finally got in between the both of us, trying to break things up between Milo and I. “Stop pretending to give a shit when clearly you never fucking did–“
“That’s enough!” my father shouted, silencing everyone in the living room. “Micah, just go.” I didn’t say anything else; I walked toward my bedroom door and slammed it shut, leaving my family out in the living room by themselves.
…
Someone was knocking on my bedroom door about an hour later; I didn’t want anything to do with anyone living in this house. Someone knocked on the door again; this time, a voice was talking to me.
“Micah,” I heard my dad’s voice. “It’s dad.” I rolled my eyes and got up from my seat, not having the energy to be rebellious in this moment. I opened the door and walked back to my desk, not paying my dad any mind as he entered my room. He closed the door behind him and sighed before he said anything to me.
“Can we talk?” he simply asked. I didn’t answer him back and he started walking towards me and sat at the edge of the bed, facing me at my desk. “I’m not here to fight with you.”
“Good, then leave,” I dismissed without even looking at him.
“Micah,” my father said gently. I didn’t answer him, but he adjusted in his seat and sighed once more. “Daniella has your equipment at her apartment. She and her boyfriend made sure they took your belongings before the party was shut down.”
“That’s reassuring,” I said, still not wanting to have a conversation with my dad.
“Micah, you got into some questionable things before in the past, but nothing that ever led to you being arrested,” my dad finally began to say. “Nothing that required us to play bail in order your you to get released.” Fuck. I felt bad that they had to spend money to get me out of a situation that I shouldn’t have ever been in in the first place. “Nothing that required stitches on your body. I need to know what happened so that–“
“So that what? You can feel better that your delinquent son has a reason in why he did what he did?” I spat back.
“Micah, the officers told your mom that you’re lucky the billionaire’s son isn’t pressing charges,” my dad explained. “And I want to know why he isn’t.”
“Dad,” I whined, turning my chair to now face him. “Does it matter? I was thrown in bookings, and he was able to get out free because he’s filthy rich.”
“I’m trying to save face for you, Micah,” my dad sternly stated. “Your mom was already on one, talking about possibly kicking you out.” I turned around to finally look at my dad in the face. Kick me out? Is that really her last resort in “handling” me?
“Then I guess I should make her wish come true.” I got up from my seat and walked to my closet, pulling out a suitcase buried underneath a pile of shoved clothes.
“Micah, please—”
“No!” I shouted, even angrier than before. “Maybe I’m tired of being the black fucking sheep in this family! Maybe I’m tired of being known as the problematic middle child that doesn’t conform to their family’s image. Maybe I am tired of seeing mom be so upset with the decisions I make and label me like some fucking psycho. Maybe I’m tired!” I stood there, pleading to my father who’s now staring at me dead in the face. I was never really that close to my dad; it seems like he was too busy trying to keep Milo in the right track growing up. After he left for college, his attention went to being the “overprotective girl dad”.
It was my mom that constantly had to keep track on me, so it hurts to hear my dad tell me she would be willing to kick me out of the house, despite everything we went through.
I don’t know when I started to cry, but it happened so fast that I didn’t even realize my dad pulled me in to a tight hug. We were never close when I was growing up, but this was the first time I could remember my dad comforting me.
Maybe he knew I needed it.
Letters From Liz. 