Page 25 of Fragments
Dash flops onto his back, still rubbing his head, likely in search of some newly missing hair. “Aren’t you too young to like the Smashing Pumpkins?”
I chuckle, and his eyes spring to mine, smile becoming a little less strained. “My dad listens to them. Rock music is his favorite. Grunge, alternative, the classics… You name it. He used to play it while working on his old muscle car in the garage.” I pause at the memory. “And then the driveway, after I took over the garage.”
Dash’s face flings. “You work on cars??”
“No way.” I laugh, shaking my head. “No, I needed more space to build this badass computer I made.”
His eyes narrow. “I’ve never heard anyone describe a computer asbadass.”
Grinning, I murmur, “Well, you obviously never saw mine.”
“What did your dad have?”
“A sixty-seven Shelby GT…”
“Mustang,” Dash finishes. “Sweet.Eleanor…”
I chuckle. “FromGone in Sixty Seconds. Yea. My dad used to say that too.” My brow cocks. “So you’re into cars?”
“I’m not much for repairs, but I like to paint ’em,” he says, and I can see how he lights up talking about it.
It must be his passion.Like tech is for me.
“That’s cool. Did you go to school for it, or…?”
“Nah. Self-taught,” he explains. “It started as a hobby, and when I got a job doing it at a shop, it was supposed to be a cover. You know, for the robberies. But I got pretty good at it. When I’d get into my zone, all the noise would fall away, and I’d just concentrate on the project…” His voice trails, and I watch him staring off into space.
He’s an oddball, for sure. But I like it.
I’ve always found the misfits of the world much more interesting.
Dash shakes himself out of whatever nostalgia he was lost in, then peers up at me, his voice suddenly softer, more vulnerable. “How do you… do this?” I blink at him. “I mean, like… how do youlivehere? How have you done it for so long without going completely nuts?”
My gut grows heavy while I stare at him for a few moments in silence.
“I just… do,” I tell him quietly. “It’s survival, Dash. I guess living here is like living with a chronic illness. You just do whatever you can to overcome it. Find some way,anyway, to live with it. Tolive… in spite of it.”
Something strange passes over his features. It’s like part terror, part blinding realization. As if profound awareness just smacked him in the face, and he’s horrified… but also relieved.
Dash clears his throat, his lips parting like he might say something else. But before he does, the lights in the row switch off, leaving only the dull glow streaming in from the door at the other end.
Inmate noise begins to taper off, and I cast the shadow of my new cellmate one last comforting glance before reclining back onto my bed.
I hear Dash let out a breath. Then I feel him slither out of bed.
“Goodnight, Luthor,” he whispers. “I’ll try to keep it quiet.”
A small smile crosses my lips as my eyes close. I think he’s working out some more, and I drift off to the sounds of him breathing and counting. Something about it is comforting.
Maybe it’s just having a cellmate again. The solace of human interaction… Even an introvert like me needs it. Loneliness is a curse, after all. Especially in here.
Or maybe it’s more than that. Maybe I’m pacified by Dash’s presence because I think he could be a friend.
Would you look at that. Friends…in real life.And all it took was coming to prison.
My parents would be so proud.
I wake up in a decent mood.
