1 Joe Wrage

Standing next to me was Bill Hundy, my best friend. His once neatly combed black hair had fallen in tufts over his forehead and his white dress shirt was stained with sweat. Billy was representing me as my lawyer.

"Objection Your Honor!," yelled Billy.

At a table parallel to us, stood two women: Ms Partyka, a pretty young brunette, and Ms Ziemnicka, a butch blond. Ms Ziemnicka was representing Partyka as her lawyer. Partyka was hugging Ziemnicka because they had just won against me; they had successfully convinced the judge and jury that I was a sexual offender.

The judge, an old, grey haired, chubby man stared down at us from his podium.

"You cannot object after we've reached a verdict, Mr Hundy," stated the judge, "You should know this. If you want, you can challenge the court's decision at another proceeding."

Billy's lip curled stubbornly.

"I understand Sir," said Billy, "but, we've already had two proceedings prior to this."

The judge slammed his gavel down with a loud thud and yelled, "I repeat! I hereby conclude that Joe Wrage is guilty of sexual assault and criminal intimidation! I sentence him to a year and six months in prison and rule that he pay a ten thousand dollar fine for the emotional damage caused to the victim!"

"Damnit!," yelled Billy slamming his fist down on the table, "I've known Joe ever since we were kids! He is a good man! He wouldn't assault anyone! What the hell are you people thinking!?"

The judge's expression darkened as he spoke in a low malicious tone, "I'll only give you one warning, Mr Hundy. Do not test me … Follow court formalities or I'll find you in contempt of the court. COURT DISMISSED!"

The judge hit the anvil with his gavel. The thud the little hammer made echoed throughout the room. Moments later, the room began to clear out.

The judge looked at me and said, "While in prison, I suggest you reflect on your use of prostitutes and drugs. They are self destructive habits. They may even be responsible for your erratic and disrespectful behavior. You're lucky that I gave you such a lenient sentence."

"There is no evidence that he did any of those things," said Billy irritated, "that is just hearsay and rumors started by Ms Partyka. You are being biased."

"No, there wasn't any proof," said the judge raising his eyebrow, "however, that doesn't mean he didn't. Officers, take this man to his holding cell. Let's wrap things up, it's been a long day."

Two cops who had been sitting concealed behind the judge's podium, stood up and walked towards me. Billy put out his hand to stop them and said, "Give us a moment. Joe isn't a violent criminal and had no prior offenses. Let me talk to him a bit."

The cop on the left snarled, "Make it quick! I hope you realize that we're doing you a favor by waiting."

Billy nodded. The cops turned away from us and began whispering to each other.

Billy sank down in the seat next to me and said, "Sorry bud, I did everything I could. These people are full of shit."

I sighed, "One and a half years in prison, and a ten thousand dollar fine. That's basically all my savings."

"We already lost three appeals, Joe. Things aren't looking good," said Billy.

I glanced at Ms Partyka. She was whispering happily with her lawyer. Based on what I heard from her coworkers, everyone loved her. People saw her as honest, social, hard working, successful, and likeable. She had everything going for her. But to me, she was an illogical, hysterical, paranoid, and delusional woman. The trials she put me through left me feeling humiliated and helpless.

"No one showed up this time," I said holding back tears. "Everyone gave up on me. Everyone but you, Billy. My mom and dad even said they wanted nothing to do with me. They think I'm lying about what I did to her."

"Hell," said Billy, "I know you better than anyone else. I'm not gonna leave my best friend in a rut. The other guys are being idiots."

I wasn't a sexual assaulter, drug addict, or hooker user. Despite this, Partyka managed to convince everyone I was. The jury and local papers saw me as a monster.

"T-t-that woman, turned everyone against me," I grunted gritting my teeth angrily.

"The fucking judge and jury probably had a boner for her," sneered Billy, "she's cute. Girls like that can kill, and people will turn a blind eye to it. There is no justice when dealing with them."

"Hey hey hey," said one of the officers, "enough with the useless jibber jabber. Time's up. It's time to pay your dues yah pervert."

"Hey!," grunted Billy standing up.

"Leave it, Billy," I said cutting him off. "I'll see you around. Don't forget to visit."

I stood up. A cop grabbed my hands and handcuffed me.

"I just can't believe it, man," said Billy angrily, "You!? Sexual harassment!? You haven't even had a goddam girlfriend yet! You're a damn virgin! Girls don't even touch you 'cause they think you're so damn ugly!"

The cops began to lead me away. One of the cops laughed and said, "Hooker boy ain't no virgin buddy. But, I wonder why a hooker would even touch him."

"Just do your job," snarled Billy. "Joe is a better person than you could ever dream of being."

The cops let out a laugh.

"Thanks Billy," I muttered over my shoulder. "Thanks for being the one person that believed in me."

Prior to the court hearing, I had been a law abiding, clean-cut guy. Then Partyka came along and ruined my life.

-- Ø --

My life in prison began. Most of the guards were assholes. Most. Not all. Some didn't care enough about their jobs to be assholes. Murderers, rapists, pedophiles, and hardened crooks were my neighbors. Most weren't much better than the guards.

People in prison didn't treat me much differently from the average person outside of it. Even outside of prison, people had the tendency to judge and disrespect me without good reason. My face made me a magnet for assholes.

During my first day in prison, a few inmates jumped me in the lunch room. I overpowered and incapacitated them before the guards got there. I'm strong. My show of strength earned me respect. No one gave me trouble after that. In prison, you quickly learn that the rules don't protect you if you disrespect the wrong person.

The cell they put me in was small, damp, and stank of piss. It was empty except for two bunk beds, a steal sink, and a toilet. My cell wasn't a place I'd willingly spend a night.

My cellmates were Tony Rodriguez the Mexican, and Malcolm Bent the old African. They were smaller than me, but at least six feet tall. I didn't talk to them for two days after being put in the cell. Serving a sentence for a crime I didn't commit ruined my mood.

On the third day of my sentence, I broke my silence and decided to try and start a conversation with my cellmates. We were all lying on our beds getting ready to sleep. I had taken the bottom bunk, while the others were on top. The guards had just turned off the lights.

"So Tony," I asked, "why are you doing time?"

"I killed a man and his family," he answered calmly.

"Why?," I asked surprised. I hadn't expected Tony to be a murderer.

"I fought in Iraq," said Tony, "after the war, I came home and caught my wife in bed with another ma-"

"You idiot," said Malcolm cutting Tony off, "he asked for your crime, not your life story."

"No," I said, "I don't mind, I like stories, and we got plenty of time."

Malcolm went silent.

Tony cleared his throat and continued, "We filed for a divorce. The courts were biased in favor of my wife, and as a result, she got almost everything from the split. The house, the kids, and my fucking pride. But the courts let me see my kids for a day every other week. It was better than nothing, since I love them to death.

I started working at a factory earning minimum wage. It was the best job I could get. You'd think that serving your country would make you more employable. It didn't for me. To make things worse, the rooms I rented out continuously got broken into. Imagine being robbed when you earned nothing. It wasn't the greatest feeling.

One day, after work, I came home and saw my wife's boyfriend and his friends walking out of my apartment. They had broken into my place. I yelled at them and told them I was gonna call the cops. They ran off. I called the cops. The cops brought my wife's boyfriend into the police station for questioning. He accused me of trying to frame him because he got with my wife. I tried to explain to the cops that he was lying, but they didn't believe me. The cops said that since nothing was stolen, there wasn't much they could do.

The week after the break in, I went to pick my kids up from my wife's place. It was my day to spend time with them. When I got to her place, I saw the front door open. Inside, her boyfriend was hitting her. She was crying on the floor, bleeding, and bruised. On the wrist of the hand he beat her with, he wore a gold bracelet that I recognized; It was a family heirloom my grandma had given to me before she passed. It had gone missing the first time I'd been robbed. I realized the fucker had been robbing me all those times.

I heard laughter. Behind my wife's boyfriend stood his sister, mother, and fucking father, LAUGHING. I heard my kids crying in the background. The fucker saw me through the open door and yelled, 'Get the fuck off my property punta.'

I didn't care about talk. I didn't care about explanations. Everything went red as I rushed in through the open door and broke his neck over my knee. After that, everything is a blur. In the end, my wife's boyfriend and his mother, father, and sister were all dead. My wife was screaming for me to stop. The cops showed up soon after because of a noise complaint from a neighbor. No turning back at that point. You can't justify murder. Killing is killing. But I don't regret it. I can sleep well because I know my family isn't getting hurt by that rotten bastard."

"You should have called the cops," I muttered. "Then he'd be in jail instead of you."

"Cheeko," said Tony, "you either judge me or are fine with me. But I wasn't going to let that fucker off with a wrist slap from the cops. I turned the other cheek when I lost my house, my wife, and my kids. The judges didn't even care that I had been a solider when determining my sentences. Amazing fucking country we live in, right?"

I didn't agree with Tony's actions, but deep down, I felt that he wasn't being irrational. The world is an unfair place. My life was proof of that.

"How about you Malcolm?," I asked.

"I robbed a bank," said Malcolm, "my story isn't nearly as fucked up as his."

"Always an asshole, eh Malcolm?," muttered Tony.

"You got life for robbing a bank?," I asked surprised.

"Robbed a few, went to prison. Two, three, twenty … maybe more. Who keeps track of these things? But that didn't get me life. That just got me a couple of years," said Malcolm, "What got me, was this new program the prison was trying out. The program allowed some inmates to attend Michigan State University, while living in prison-"

"Hey," said Tony, "I thought he didn't want a story."

"Fuck off," responded Malcolm.

Tony retorted by giving Malcolm the middle finger.

Malcolm ignored him and continued, "the program was supposed to make integration into society easier once we finished our sentence. A degree would make us more employable. I got in by pulling a few strings. The prison guards dropped us off at the University in the morning and picked us up in the afternoon. Me and the others that were in the program didn't bother going to class. We would walk through the University and leave through the exit on the other side of the school. During the day, we'd rob banks or party. We made sure we got back in time for pickup by day's end. It was perfect. When they investigated the robberies, we weren't suspects since we were still technically in prison. We bought cars and rented apartments, all with cash. We had everything, money, good food, drugs, woman, cars … man it was great. One day, while driving back to the University for pick-up, our car broke down. As a result, we didn't make it back in time. We got busted and they connected the dots. I was given life and never got parole again."

"You should have got the degree," I said, "you'd be free now and have a decent paying job."

"When I was growing up," said Malcolm, "I'd see these preppy black folks walking around my neighborhood with their fancy University degrees. They were poor and jobless. Education wasn't delivering what it promised. Maybe if it had, I'd have done as you said. I saw gangsters and pimps living good. They had money, women, and respect. I wanted that, so I did what made sense, I got involved with them. I don't regret it."

"If you're a good honest person," I said, "someone will take notice and give you a job. Even if you have a record … It might take a while, but once you prove yo--"

"That's a lie kid," said Malcolm cutting me off. "Maybe you'll get a minimum wage job wiping their asses. Maybe you'll work at McDonalds. If you want to get anywhere in this world, you have to know the right people and make them happy. Being a good, ethical person has nothing to do with it. What are you in for anyways?"

Tony laughed and said, "I hear Joe got a year for slapping some girl's ass and threatening her when she started complaining about it."

"She lied," I said. "I did none of that. There was no threats or sexual touching. I just told her that she looked good that day as I held the door open for her. She tripped and I caught her. She made a scene in front of the others there and complained to HR. She claimed I tripped her in order to grope her sexually. I tried to explain that it was a misunderstanding and went to apologize in private. She freaked out and called the cops."

Malcolm laughed and said, "You're ugly. No offense. You can't go around giving girls compliments and helping them. You should've let her fall."

I let out a sigh and said, "I just want to do my time and get out of here. Everything that happened is due to a misunderstanding that spiraled out of control."

"Whatever," said Malcolm, "a bitch is a bitch. I ain't gonna judge. I know how hoes can be. Someone must have really disliked you in order for you to get thrown into this place for something so small."

"I've dealt with my share of woman's craziness too," said Tony, "so I understand you."

"She is delusional," I growled as my face contorted in anger. I was doing my best not to feel hatred towards her. I was trying my best to let things go and be the better man, but it was really hard.

"Easy there big guy," said Malcolm with a laugh.

-- Ø --

My time in prison passed by slowly. As I got to know the other inmates, I realized that not all murderers, crooks, rapists, and pedophiles, were unlikable people. Many were nice normal people with uncontrollable vices.

While in prison, I had to periodically see a prison psychiatrist. The psychiatrist thought that the root cause of all my problems was an uncontrollable sex drive. He became upset when I tried to explain to him that the premises for my sentence was a mistake. He felt that me acknowledging my sexual addiction was necessary for his 'therapeutic healing'. I refused to play along. In response, he threatened to recommend to the prison committee that my sentence be extended. Out of fear, I caved and told him what he wanted to hear. The psychologist calmed down and my sentence wasn't increased. Claiming I had a sexual addiction hurt when the closest to sex I had ever been was a pornographic video.

There wasn't much to do in prison other than chores, socialize, and go to therapy. To make time pass by faster I constantly did push-ups, sit-ups, and squats. Me and my cellmates made a game out of it by constantly trying to outdo each other. I always won.

Billy never stopped visiting me. He came once a week, every week, religiously. You know you got a real friend when they stand by you, even when your life is in the pits. I appreciated it.

Three days before my release from prison, I was taken by the guards to a conference room. Billy was sitting in it at a table wearing a red jump suit. I sat down in a chair next to him.

"Why are we meeting in a conference room?," I asked.

"Special treatment since you're getting released soon," said Billy.

"They could've tried harder," I said.

"Guess what I saw," said Billy.

"What?," I asked.

"I was outside of Judge Freisler's house the other day. I was planning to talk to him about the case. Lo and behold, I see the door open and Ms Partyka walks out with him to her car. He opens the door for her, she spins around, grabs his bum, and they smack lips. They do that for like a minute. She then gets in the car and drives off. I don't see a reason for them to be kissing unless something was up."

I sat straight in my chair. Billy was no liar or story teller. Perhaps, the judge's behavior could be used to help clear my name. For the entire trial, the judge had been subtly breaking apart Billy's arguments, and helping Ms Partyka make a more convincing case.

"They are in a relationship!? Can this be used in my favor!?," I gasped.

"Yeah, but-," said Billy frowning.

"But what?," I asked.

"Your sentence is almost over and you paid off your fines and-"

"I know Billy. But still, why not?," I said cutting him off.

After a momentary pause, Billy said, "There isn't any benefit in doing it."

"But, my name," I said. "We can get my money back!"

Billy pulled a newspaper out of his pocket and pointed to the front page headline. It read:

JUDGE FREISLER DEAD IN HOUSE FIRE

"He is dead," whispered Billy, "and I doubt we will get Ms Partyka to admit to anything. That sociopath will only give us more trouble. Do you really want to waste more time in court? Do you remember the hell she raised outside of it? She'll make things worse than before with her filthy mouth."

"You have a point," I muttered.

My stomach churned as I reminisced on how she started several rumors and turned so many people against me.

"Everything can only get better from here on out, right?," I whispered.

Billy nodded quietly.

-- Ø --

My last day in the prison arrived quickly. By the end of my stay, me and my cellmates had formed a friendship that would last a lifetime. I was going to miss them.

Before I left, Tony hugged me and whispered, "If you get sent back here, chicko, I'll kick your ass. Don't end up like me. You're a good guy."

Malcolm hugged me next and said, "I love you big guy, in a non-homo sorta way. You're like a kid brotha to me. Have enough fun for the three of us out there and don't forget to visit."

"I'll visit," I said, "I'll miss you guys, but I won't miss this place."

A guard knocked on my cell bars and said, "Are you ready to go, Mr Wrage?"

"I've been ready ever since I got here," I answered.

-- Ø --

For the first time after a year, I saw the world outside of prison. The sun was just beginning to rise and the colors and smells were so much more vivid than I remembered. The world's beauty drowned out the sadness of my departure. I felt like a bird that had been let out of its cage. Waiting for me, leaning against his car was Billy. He walked up to me, hugged me, and said, "You look better as a free man. I got a room ready for you at my place. Stay as long as you need."

His voice was like music to my ears.

"Billy," I said, "you're an angel."

That was the great thing about Billy, he was always helpful and consistent. When Partyka first pressed charges against me, I'd been fired from my job. After all, she had a higher social standing than me due to her looks and job title. Being jobless, I predicted my finances would eventually get strained. So I moved out of the apartment, I was renting and moved in with my parents. Initially, they welcomed me with open arms. After all, I was their only child. But eventually, when they became aware of the charges against me, they kicked me out. I had become a burden and embarrassment to the family name. But Billy was there to take me in. He never complained, and was always welcoming and patient. He was a proven friend when times got rough.

"They want me to continue seeing a psychologist," I said. "The people handling my files are going to send me his information."

"Waste of time," Billy muttered, "you didn't do anything. The blind bastards just won't listen."

"All things happen for a reason," I said. "God has a plan."

"Or he's a sadist," muttered Billy, "if he even exists."

I moved into Billy's house. He did everything he could to make me feel welcome. Every afternoon we'd chat and laugh about old times, recent events, and life in general. On the days when Billy didn't have much work to do, we'd go out to town and enjoy the night.

I began applying for jobs. This is when I discovered how difficult the world was for people who had a criminal record. Even with all the social programs to help ex-cons, decent prospects were very limited.

People I used to associate with shunned me. Many of my old references were useless because they were friends of Ms Partyka. When I saw old friends on the street, they'd walk past me without making eye contact. They didn't want to be associated with me.

Billy noticed my silent distress. To cheer me up, he took me to a bar called Cleopatras. The bar was in 'Party Town'. Word on the street was that the girls that went to Cleopatras were so easy, you could convince the majority of them to sleep with a dead horse.

Party Town was a three hour drive from Billy's place in Base Town. I felt as if the length of the drive was an indication of how determined Billy was to get me laid and cheer me up. He often tried, but, in all the times we went out, I never hooked up once. Billy hooked up all the time. Girls liked him, but didn't like me. But it didn't bother me, I'd been turned down all my life. I was used to it.

The moment we got to Cleopatras, Billy started talking up two girls. One was a slim fit blond and the other a short, pudgy, black haired girl. They were entranced with Billy.

"My friend is an Electrochemical Engineer, makes 90 grand a year. Smart as a whip," said Billy.

Billy wasn't telling a total lie. Before I had gone to prison, I did work as an Electrochemical Engineer. But now, it wasn't true. Now, I was an unemployed bum.

The pretty blond girl leaned close to Billy and said, "Let's have a little fun in my car, while we let these two get acquainted."

Billy grinned, winked at me, and led the blond out of the bar. As the blond girl left, she looked back, and smiled at her friend, the short, pudgy girl.

The pudgy girl turned to me and said, "Just 'cause your smart and rich, doesn't mean that you're gonna get any of this fine ass. You're still ugly as fuck. I am just sitting with you for my friend. I'm gonna go and find a better man to spend my night with. You really should consider plastic surgery. You are gross."

I stared at her and felt my heart drop. I hadn't said more than three words to the girl. Billy had done all the talking. Talk about a girl killing your self esteem. Even amongst the undesirable, I was considered subpar. Her crude comment angered me.

"Good riddance," I yelled gesturing theatrically. "You can keep your fat ass to yourself! I don't think anyone wants any of that!"

She turned around, shocked. Her eyes teared up. The bar went quiet. I guess I hurt her feelings. I heard a girl whisper, "What a jerk."

A group of guys got up from their table and looked from her to me. These were the types of guys that would do anything to impress girls. They don't care if they are in the right or wrong. Groupies is a nickname Billy made up for them.

"Fuck off man, why are you picking on her!?," said a groupie.

I overheard a girl whisper, "it's nice to see people standing up to disrespectful thugs. He looks so scary."

The groupies walked up to me. Another guy said, "Watch your ugly face. That ain't no way to talk to a lady."

I looked at them, put up my hands, and said, "I don't want trouble. I apologize."

"Leave it guys," yelled the bartender.

"He threatened to rape me and called me fat!," cried the short pudgy girl.

"Wha!-," I said surprised looking at her.

I heard people in the bar gasp. She was clearly instigating a conflict.

"Hey man," said one of the guys. "Let's take this outside. We think you need to learn a lesson."

"No," I said, "I don't want any trouble."

He responded, "Don't worry. We'll make it so that you can't start trouble for a very long time."

He took a half filled beer bottle, splashed its contents on my face, and smashed it on the table.

The bartender yelled, "I'll call the cops if all of you don't leave now!"

I wasn't going to argue. I knew the situation and I didn't want to deal with the police. They'd use anything they could to send me back to jail. I got up, put money on the table to pay my tab, and left the bar. The groupies followed me. I frowned, things were not looking good. My situation was going to escalate. A few girls from the bar also followed us out. The pudgy girl was one of them.

Once we were outside the bar, they surrounded me. I was cornered. A blond haired jock from the group said, "Buddy, now I am going to teach you a lesson."

He pulled out a knife.

I heard an intoxicated girl whisper, "Look at that huge, ugly creep. It's like that story about David and Goliath. He's using a sling shot against a giant."

The groupie stabbed at me and I caught his fist with the knife in it. I wasn't going to fall like Goliath.

"Mother fuck-!", he yelled.

I punched him in the face and he dropped like a sack of potatoes. Another guy rushed at me. I punched him in the stomach before he could land a hit. He fell to his knees and vomited. The groupies decided to attack me together and began to kick, hit, and punch me. I groaned as I got kicked in the balls. It hurt, but I fought back holding my ground. I knew if I fell, it would be over. They'd probably beat me to death.

Out of nowhere, Billy came running waving a knife around and screaming like an Indian from one of those old Western movies, "Ai Ai Ai Aaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiii!"

He jumped and slashed an observing girl's face with the knife, then he cut another girl's throat in a single slash and stabbed one of the guys hitting me in the back.

I threw three guys against the bar's wall and said, "Jesus Billy! Those girls weren't doing anything! They were just watching!"

The people I had thrown were slowly getting to their feet, stunned, and unsure of what had just happened.

Billy yelled, "Let's get out of here before the cops come!"

I heard police sirens in the distance. I saw one of the girls holding her neck as blood poured out of it. I didn't want to go back to prison because of a silly squabble. We jumped in Billy's car and moments later we were driving away.

"MAN!," yelled Billy hitting the steering wheel, "THAT WAS WILD!"

"Damnit, Billy! You might have killed someone! You stabbed people that weren't even part of the fight!"

I massaged my aching body. Getting hit never felt good.

"Well, they shouldn't have picked a fight! Common man, why do you always have sympathy for people that are against you? Where is the aggression you big guys are supposed to have!? Did you see how I whooped ass!?"

I shrugged.

"Those punks got what was coming to them. I just don't want innocent people getting hurt," I said, "Anyways, what happened to the girl you were with?"

I didn't like talking about violent things.

"We had our fun," said Billy, "but friends come first. I heard the commotion and came running."

"That was quick," I said.

"You know," said Billy smirking, "some girls know how to get the job done right. Practice makes perfect."

I couldn't help but feel that Billy enjoyed that night a little bit too much.