Misunderstood
10-23-2007, 10:19 PM
A boy’s glimmering green/brown eyes glared blankly out of the clear glass window. The sun warmed his dark blond hair as he lay in his bed under the soft blue covers. The morning sun gleamed in through his window, lighting up what could be seen through the blinds by the sun. A single tear trailed down the soft cheek of the boy as he thought of the possibilities that the day could bring. Fear trembled down each and every part of his spinal columns. He could hear the faint sound of his radio over the beeping sound of his alarm clock. It was a Saturday morning, but this was possibly the darkest Saturday that any child could ever endure. It hadn’t even happened yet and he couldn’t even bear the thought. He closed his eyes tightly in despair as the memories of all the things he has hard shipped. He looked at his clock with 7:00 A.M. flashing rapidly. He finally had gotten so aggravated of the noise ringing in his ears, he tugged the cord out of it’s socket to get the torturous sound to stop.
It took all of his will power to get out of bed. He knew that if he didn’t get up soon his father, not respecting his privacy, as usual, would just slam open his bedroom door and yell at him anyways for not getting up. To save himself the suffering of more pain, the boy decided to yell, “I’m up!” He dragged himself over to his closet. He couldn’t decide what to wear. He wanted to wear his skull t-shirt and jeans, the same as what he felt inside, dead. He decided against the action, not only considering the fact that he wanted to look presentable, but also to save himself staggering deep voice of his father screaming in his ears, as usual. He decided on a pair of jeans and a blue t-shirt. There wasn’t any other time that he wished more that he was someone else. He would rather be a lonely wolf on a dark mountain than have to be put through the depression of having to go to juvenile hall. As he got his clothes to go take a hot shower on that sorrow-filled morning, all that he could think of was the faithful day when the judge deemed him guilty of the crime that put him on the pedestal of despair. He stood in the shower for 10 minutes before starting to clean himself. He could barely live with himself knowing that he might never see the smiling happy faces of his friends ever again.
As he climbed out of the shower and onto the glistening tiles of the bathroom floor, his thoughts drifted from the day when the judge made their decision to the child who had caused all of the dramatizations in his life. Ryan and Mike were great friends. They had played baseball together for about two years. Mike had spent the night over at Ryan’s house many times. Ryan also had a younger brother, Jacob, who was six-and-a-half-years-old. Ryan had a disease called bipolar disorder. This disorder had forced Ryan’s part of his brain that controlled the emotions to spiral out of control and cause Ryan to have many massive mood swings. There was one dark day when Ryan and Mike had gotten into an argument about being partners in a class assignment, because Mike wanted to be with someone else, and not Ryan. Ryan was very clingy to him, since Ryan did not have many friends of his own. Ryan yelled at him for which seemed like countless hours. Mike was sort of popular at his school, so he didn’t really care if Ryan was mad at him since he had many other friends. He just stopped talking to Ryan all at once. Ryan tried to make up with Mike, but Mike thought enough was enough. It seemed to Mike that every time they had an argument, Ryan would blame his disorder for the issue. Every time Ryan would try to sit with Mike at lunch, he would just move to another table until he finally got to a table with one chair left to sit. Mike sat down and saw Ryan start to get upset. Seconds later, Ryan came over and whispered into his ear, “I’m going to get a shotgun from my grandpa’s house and shoot you.” Immediately Mike shoved Ryan to the floor. Mike was much more muscular than Ryan. Everyone sitting with Mike knew what had happened between the two earlier that week. Mike sat back down and continued to eat his lunch peacefully. He told everyone about what Ryan had said to him. Mike tried to blow off the thought he might get shot, but he just couldn’t. Later that day Mike got home from football practice with his mother and father were waiting for him in the living room. He was going to tell them about Ryan.
“Hey, Mike.” they said in unison.
“Hey, mom, hey, dad.” Mike replied nervously.
“Ryan’s dad called.” said his mom, disappointingly.
“I know what you guys are thinking, but he was asking for it.” said Mike.
“Really?” said Mike’s dad. “I would think most six-year-olds don’t ask to be molested.”
“What?!” Mike cried aloud. “I didn’t molest a kid, are you freaking kidding me?!” Mike had completely forgotten what Ryan had said earlier in the cafeteria.
“We had a message on our answering machine from Ryan’s dad saying they want to press charges.”
his parents said. Mike couldn’t speak a word. He was in awe at the thought that his own parents actually thought he molested a child.
“You have to go to court in one week, Mike…” said his parents.
During the one-week period, Mike had to succumb to the police and tell them that he didn’t do anything wrong and that Ryan was lying. Ryan had told his father that Mike molested Jacob every time he was over. It was Ryan’s word against Mike’s word. Ryan had even been savage enough to bribe his younger brother to say that Mike had molested him. The police, being the protectors and upholders of justice sought out to find the culprit, and, of course, since it was two against one, Mike had been deemed guilty. Mike had done some investigating in why Ryan had set him up for only to find that Ryan had molested Jacob. So, in the process of getting into trouble, he had gotten Ryan dragged down with him. If Mike couldn’t get out of trouble, the only thing he could think to do was bring the real culprit down with him.
Mike, on his way to be taken away to juvenile hall, had many tears rolling down his cheeks now, soaking his blue t-shirt. His parents in the front seat were silent the whole way there, not even caring what happened to their son. When Mike climbed out of their red car, the police took Mike into custody. Mike looked around as all of the citizens in the city watched Mike be thrown around like a criminal. His 13-year-old mind could only handle so much within a lifetime. He had never felt more ashamed of himself as of that moment. He would never forget that day. Mike was put into handcuffs, thrown into the back of a patty wagon, and taken to juvenile hall.
Mike had to stay at the juvenile hall for only one staggering night. That was possible the worst night of his life. Mike couldn’t even shut his eyes to more than blink, let alone sleep. He couldn’t get the thought out of his mind that he would be left in the jail cell to rot like an apple in a dumpster. He was forced to sleep on a cold concrete block connected to the corner of the brick walls. The only thing he slept on was a green mat that seemed harder than the concrete itself. To Mike it seemed like an endless night of despair and suffering. Tears rolled down his cheek all night like a river flowing into the ocean for endless time.
It took all of his will power to get out of bed. He knew that if he didn’t get up soon his father, not respecting his privacy, as usual, would just slam open his bedroom door and yell at him anyways for not getting up. To save himself the suffering of more pain, the boy decided to yell, “I’m up!” He dragged himself over to his closet. He couldn’t decide what to wear. He wanted to wear his skull t-shirt and jeans, the same as what he felt inside, dead. He decided against the action, not only considering the fact that he wanted to look presentable, but also to save himself staggering deep voice of his father screaming in his ears, as usual. He decided on a pair of jeans and a blue t-shirt. There wasn’t any other time that he wished more that he was someone else. He would rather be a lonely wolf on a dark mountain than have to be put through the depression of having to go to juvenile hall. As he got his clothes to go take a hot shower on that sorrow-filled morning, all that he could think of was the faithful day when the judge deemed him guilty of the crime that put him on the pedestal of despair. He stood in the shower for 10 minutes before starting to clean himself. He could barely live with himself knowing that he might never see the smiling happy faces of his friends ever again.
As he climbed out of the shower and onto the glistening tiles of the bathroom floor, his thoughts drifted from the day when the judge made their decision to the child who had caused all of the dramatizations in his life. Ryan and Mike were great friends. They had played baseball together for about two years. Mike had spent the night over at Ryan’s house many times. Ryan also had a younger brother, Jacob, who was six-and-a-half-years-old. Ryan had a disease called bipolar disorder. This disorder had forced Ryan’s part of his brain that controlled the emotions to spiral out of control and cause Ryan to have many massive mood swings. There was one dark day when Ryan and Mike had gotten into an argument about being partners in a class assignment, because Mike wanted to be with someone else, and not Ryan. Ryan was very clingy to him, since Ryan did not have many friends of his own. Ryan yelled at him for which seemed like countless hours. Mike was sort of popular at his school, so he didn’t really care if Ryan was mad at him since he had many other friends. He just stopped talking to Ryan all at once. Ryan tried to make up with Mike, but Mike thought enough was enough. It seemed to Mike that every time they had an argument, Ryan would blame his disorder for the issue. Every time Ryan would try to sit with Mike at lunch, he would just move to another table until he finally got to a table with one chair left to sit. Mike sat down and saw Ryan start to get upset. Seconds later, Ryan came over and whispered into his ear, “I’m going to get a shotgun from my grandpa’s house and shoot you.” Immediately Mike shoved Ryan to the floor. Mike was much more muscular than Ryan. Everyone sitting with Mike knew what had happened between the two earlier that week. Mike sat back down and continued to eat his lunch peacefully. He told everyone about what Ryan had said to him. Mike tried to blow off the thought he might get shot, but he just couldn’t. Later that day Mike got home from football practice with his mother and father were waiting for him in the living room. He was going to tell them about Ryan.
“Hey, Mike.” they said in unison.
“Hey, mom, hey, dad.” Mike replied nervously.
“Ryan’s dad called.” said his mom, disappointingly.
“I know what you guys are thinking, but he was asking for it.” said Mike.
“Really?” said Mike’s dad. “I would think most six-year-olds don’t ask to be molested.”
“What?!” Mike cried aloud. “I didn’t molest a kid, are you freaking kidding me?!” Mike had completely forgotten what Ryan had said earlier in the cafeteria.
“We had a message on our answering machine from Ryan’s dad saying they want to press charges.”
his parents said. Mike couldn’t speak a word. He was in awe at the thought that his own parents actually thought he molested a child.
“You have to go to court in one week, Mike…” said his parents.
During the one-week period, Mike had to succumb to the police and tell them that he didn’t do anything wrong and that Ryan was lying. Ryan had told his father that Mike molested Jacob every time he was over. It was Ryan’s word against Mike’s word. Ryan had even been savage enough to bribe his younger brother to say that Mike had molested him. The police, being the protectors and upholders of justice sought out to find the culprit, and, of course, since it was two against one, Mike had been deemed guilty. Mike had done some investigating in why Ryan had set him up for only to find that Ryan had molested Jacob. So, in the process of getting into trouble, he had gotten Ryan dragged down with him. If Mike couldn’t get out of trouble, the only thing he could think to do was bring the real culprit down with him.
Mike, on his way to be taken away to juvenile hall, had many tears rolling down his cheeks now, soaking his blue t-shirt. His parents in the front seat were silent the whole way there, not even caring what happened to their son. When Mike climbed out of their red car, the police took Mike into custody. Mike looked around as all of the citizens in the city watched Mike be thrown around like a criminal. His 13-year-old mind could only handle so much within a lifetime. He had never felt more ashamed of himself as of that moment. He would never forget that day. Mike was put into handcuffs, thrown into the back of a patty wagon, and taken to juvenile hall.
Mike had to stay at the juvenile hall for only one staggering night. That was possible the worst night of his life. Mike couldn’t even shut his eyes to more than blink, let alone sleep. He couldn’t get the thought out of his mind that he would be left in the jail cell to rot like an apple in a dumpster. He was forced to sleep on a cold concrete block connected to the corner of the brick walls. The only thing he slept on was a green mat that seemed harder than the concrete itself. To Mike it seemed like an endless night of despair and suffering. Tears rolled down his cheek all night like a river flowing into the ocean for endless time.