Serving Time

Sandals fanart by CrimsonRabbit

Written by Toaster Williams

Seven years. Seven years to work on himself, to stay vigilant. Seven years of opportunities to slip, to make a mistake, to throw away everything he’d worked towards. But he was no fool, he played the long game. He would not build this house out of cards but instead construct a prison: No way out, no chance to break free until he had served his time.

Sandals Bueller had built himself a life.

Book deals. Podcast interviews. Lawyers. So many lawyers. But then, schooling. Late night boot camps. Hours of Code and Khan Academy. The Librarians of Alexandria would have wept at the sight of Youtube. Information was everything. Information was the whole game.

He met the doctor that did his Lasik at the tennis court. When the tennis court changed to a pickleball court, he met vacationing CEOs and their clients. They recognized him from the TV. He recognized them from his Forbes subscription. People were a network. People were how you got to the information.

Whether a result of his fame or his dogged determination, Tower Consulting quickly grew. It took 3 years to hit the Forbes 30 Under 30. The company quickly expanded horizontally; companies and brands extending down the tower to cover Media, Consumer Packaged Goods, traditional and influencer marketing. “Culture is Consciousness” was the motto; to influence culture is to direct attention, keeping eyes off of the things they shouldn’t see. Hey Hey.

Late nights took a toll on him. Determination was just fear with additional purpose, and fear was a good tool for staying awake. It took a month to become acclimated to sleeping in siestas, but he had more uptime this way. He did more. He mingled more. People got to know him, or at least they thought they did. He got to know them, at least. He would protect them.

Every once in a while he slipped. Hyper-vigilance would turn to resentment, which would lead to lashing out. If they were a threat to the plan, they were a threat to the world. A little harm was harmless in the grand scheme. Still, he took it personally, a moral failure on his part. Inside that lighthouse he lost a part of himself, a piece of something that kept him grounded. He was warm now, all the time. The cold used to keep him focused. Reminiscing made him feel distracted.

Maven had called. There was also an earlier call from an unknown number – probably Javi, probably jail. Again. Javi was more and more of a liability lately. It frustrated Sandals, this dichotomy of reliable liability. Javi was devout, a crusader. He wanted to get to the bottom of this too. He wanted to help people. He got a better look at what lived inside that lighthouse than anyone else. He said it was the cosmos, stars burning and blazing. It changed him. Anyone could see that plain as day. He was sick now, in the way that veterans and firefighters get sick after the facade of heroics has washed away and trauma has set in. He’d disappear for days at a time and then he or Maven would have to pull him back from whatever brink he’d tumbled over.

“You’re enabling him, you know,” she’d say in her specific, disappointed affect. “We both are.” Sandals insisted Javi was fine. That of course he was a mess, that they all were. That anyone who went through what they’d gone through would be a mess, that it was psychologically traumatic on a scale that literally no one else on the planet save the shadowy organization that orchestrated it all could understand. This was the new normal, and that it was their job as friends to adapt and keep him from hitting rock bottom.

“Being clinical about this doesn’t absolve you of responsibility, Sandals.”

She still called him that, “Sandals”. Never Sandy. No nicknames or titles, never anything short of Sandals. They’d been friends for seven years. They ate dinner together weekly. He went to her mother’s funeral. Sandals. Never Sandy.

They had formed a family, Javi, Maven, and Sandals. There was something there. Maybe not love, but commitment and obligation. How long would it be this way? Feeling so close yet so far away.

They were in the car, then. Driving. Maven in the passenger seat. Sandals blinked. Road Hypnosis.

“...lawyer says there’s basically nothing he can do. I should have realized something like this was going to happen, I should have been there or checked up on him or some-”

He tuned it out. It was the same every time. Money paid to solve a lot of problems. She wasn’t paying, and neither was Javi. This was just a prolonged minor inconvenience. He repeated that to himself. Prolonged minor inconvenience. Prolonged minor inconvenience. Minor inconvenience. Minor…

“... Are you listening to me, Sandals?”

“Yes,” he said, automatically. “You’re right.”

She stared at him, and he could feel her eyes burning his cheek. He focused on the road. The trees around them were tall like spires, green needle canopy far overhead casting speckled shadows on the ground ahead. He turned up the radio. She turned it back down immediately.

“Sandals, I’m being serious.”

“I know.”

“Then why aren’t you taking me seriously.”

“I am.”

“You’re not.”

“I am,” he insisted. “I care about Javi as much as you do, Maven. And I care about you, too, and seeing you upset makes me upset, so I’m trying to focus on driving so we don’t die in the mountains trying to bail our only friend out of jail.”

“I have plenty of other friends.” She said after a moment.

“You know what I mean.” Sandals said, wanting the conversation to be over.

“I was getting dinner with Natalie when the lawyer called.”

“Okay,” he said. “I get it. You have other friends. I’m sure Javi will apologize.”

“I don’t want Javi to apologize!” she grunted, “I want you to put in some more effort!”

Sandals pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What?” he asked, frustrated, before realizing what she meant. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’ve been very busy lately. My mind has been on other things. I sometimes sacrifice my personal life for the sake of work, and I should have been paying more attention. I’m sorry. I will try to do better.”

There was silence again, and he could hear her crossing her arms and looking out the window.

“Sometimes…. Yeah right, dude. Keep telling yourself that.”

He let that sit and suffocate him as they made their way towards the prison. He deserved that much punishment, at least, and he would bear it.

—

The county lockup smelled like bleach. The walls were cold and spackled with thick beige paint. Sandals wondered how often it was reapplied to cover up blood and shit and whatever other fluids spilled in a place like this. The smell of bleach itself was never particularly offensive, but it was only ever applied to sanitize something. In a way, the smell of bleach was the smell of piss. You never truly had one without another. Maven stood with her arms crossed as the guard behind the glass examined her ID against the glow of an old CRT monitor. They were used to this now. How many times would they have to do this dance before last call?

Prisons were unreal places, dissociative and depersonalized. Minutes could last hours, but the lack of anything interesting happening in the waiting room made hours feel like seconds in memory. Maven watched the muted TV up in the corner of the room, Who Wants To Be A Millionaire reruns made eerily dreamlike by the black-boxed subtitles covering the bottom half of the screen. Across the room an exhausted woman breastfed an abnormally small kitten. The bouncing of her leg and her repeated scanning of the room drew Sandy’s focus. He looked directly at her but she didn’t notice him. Everyone here was a ghost.

He felt his sleeve tug and reflexively leaned into the contact, the brush of her cold fingers against the fur on his bicep. He was warm all the time now, and he savored the coolness of her touch. She pointed to the screen with her other hand.

“I’m pretty sure the answer is twenty four years.”

Sandals squinted. The subtitles were blocking enough of the screen to hide both the answers and the summarized question.

“What was the question?” He asked, eyes on the TV. The audience suggested the answer was option D, though the subtitles hadn’t yet given any clue to what that might have been.

“How long did it take for Edmond Dantes to take his revenge in The Count of Monte Cristo?”

Sandals nodded. The contestant decided on Choice B, “14 years”. The answer was seemingly incorrect. “I’m sorry”, responded the host. “The answer is 24 years. Edmond Dantes was imprisoned for 14 years, but his revenge took place 10 years later.”

“I knew it!” she said excitedly. That she could smile in a place like this…

“Imagine holding a grudge for that long. So petty,” she added. Sandals pulled away, resting his chin on his left hand and bracing it on the far armrest.

Down on the coffee table was a pile of backdated magazines. He could see the corner of his own gaze looking back at him. He nudged the corner of the pile with his knee, burying the issue.

She continued like this for some time, watching the show and playing along. With enough effort she could have won a million dollars, he thought. He couldn’t remember if the show was still being produced. He’d have to look into that.

“Bueller and Klein.”

A door opened on the adjacent wall and a beige-suited guard held it open with a clipboard in his free hand. Maven and Sandals stood and made their way to the door. Pressing through past the man, Sandals looked back at the breastfeeding woman. Tears streamed down her unmoving face as she stared directly at him, a visible bruise forming on her breast from the kitten’s incessant nipping. She stayed that way even as the door closed, obscuring her from view.

—

By the time they reached the visitation room, Javier was already waiting for them. His hands were atop the table, clasped. A guard stood at attention across the room. Maven made her way over to the table for a hug, but stopped when she noticed the guard watching her closely.

“Javier…” she spoke, her voice spilling from her lips like runoff from a melting glacier.

“Hey Mave,” Javi began. His voice was warmer and more calm than expected given the circumstances. He looked up to Sandals and nodded. “Thanks for coming.”

They sat side by side on the bench, looking at Javi. He looked oddly better up close than far away. His shoulders were still a little hunched, his demeanor meek, but the bags under his eyes were less severe than the last time they had seen him. He looked sober. The drunk tank will do that for you, Sandals thought to himself as he shifted in the quiet. They’d been here before, too, waiting for someone to break the tension. Fine then, like usual.

“What happened? They wouldn’t tell us anything over the phone.” Sandals asked. Javi nodded, chewing on it for a moment.

“Yeah… about that.” Javi said evenly, but was interrupted by Maven.

“Talk to us, Javier. We want to help.” She reached across the table to hold his hand. She gripped it tightly, but pulled away as the man across the room reiterated the rule.

“No Touching.”

Sandals twitched.

“Just tell us what happened.” Sandals said, swallowing his rage. Javi sighed and smiled.

“Do the specifics matter?” Javi said derisively. “I’m done with excuses. Thanks for coming, though. I really mean that.”

“Yes, it matters.” Sandals said, and Maven nodded.

“We can’t do anything if you don’t tell us what’s going on. We’re here for you, Javi.”

Her sentimentality was like a blanket, the three of them children huddled under the fort they made so they could read comics in the dark past bedtime. For a moment, it was just the three of them in the room. Javi looked at her, a comforted resignation in his eyes.

“I asked you two to come here today to say goodbye.”

“What?” Sandals spat, immediately, and Maven pulled back.

“What?” She echoed. Javi shook his head.

“It’ll only be for a little while but… I’m out of chances, and… well… I don’t know. Something needs to change. I need to change. This is an opportunity for me.”

Sandals had to make himself exhale, had to intentionally unclench his jaw.

“Excuse me? Javi, if this is about the money, we’ve been over this. I don’t ca-”

“Sandals, I appreciate it, but no thanks.” He interjected forcefully. He looked happy, and it took Sandals off guard. Sandals relented. After a moment, Javi looked back between them.

“Javi, really–” Maven started, but then stopped. She thought about something, forming the words in her mouth, tasting them before committing. “I’m listening. We’re listening.”

“They offered me a program.” Javier said plainly, letting it into the open to rest in the air between them. “I think it’s a good idea.”

Maven and Sandals looked at each other now. She had uncertainty in her eyes, but there was relief there too. She’d wanted this for a long time. They had broken up a few months after the incident in Cape Karma, but she still cared for him. Sandals cared too. The one time Sandals had managed to convince him to meet with a psychiatrist Javi had crawled out of a bathroom window and they couldn’t find him for eighteen hours after. He was unwell. He needed help. Something nagged at Sandals, deep inside his head. Can we really trust the prison system to help here? Javi doesn’t even trust well water to be free of government nanomachines.

“What kind of program?” Sandals prompted, holding back the spite in his voice.

“It’s… rehab, obviously. A special program. There’s a lot of details. Uhm, I had them send a copy of the agreement to Baskin, but…” he trailed off, then looked at Sandals with renewed vigor. Baskin was the lawyer Sandals had kept on retainer for years now. He was expensive, but he was good at his job. A contract review, even for one Javi had already signed, would probably cost upwards of 250 thousand dollars just in billable hours. Sandals sighed, thinking it over.

“I’m doing this Sandals. I know you both want what is best for me and this is what is best for me.” He shook his head, a smirk forming. “You’ve wanted this! You’ve asked me to try rehab at least a dozen times!” he added, holding back a self-deprecating chuckle. A weight had been lifted off of him. He straightened himself up, a weak smile finding purchase across his lips. He looked different now, more alive than he had for a long time.

Sandals remembered the first time they bailed him out of jail. They took him back to his apartment. It was a mess. His mattress was torn to pieces, stuffing and springs strewn across the floor. He’d disassembled a lamp. A bad trip, manic paranoia. He didn’t even look embarrassed. He looked preoccupied. Sandals couldn’t look at Maven, so he looked at Javi. Dirt and dried blood under his fingernails, little details that suddenly came into focus. Javi was sick. Javi had an addiction. Javi was chasing the dragon. He fell over the ledge. She proposed rehab but Javi laughed. Sandals offered counseling, and he said he wouldn’t go see a shrink and that he wasn’t crazy. Maven looked at Sandals but he pretended not to see her turning in his periphery. Javi wasn’t crazy. They knew that. It wasn’t that simple.

Looking over Javi now, all Sandals could see was risk.

“Javi, It’s not that simple, we nee-” Sandals started, looking at him again but once again was silenced by Javi’s reply.

“It is that simple, Sandals. It’s my decision. Just shut up and listen to me for once.”

“He’s right, Sandals.” Maven said. “It’s his decision.”

Sandals shifted uncomfortably, looking for anything in the room to lock onto that wasn’t them. He didn’t want to see the melancholy growing in Maven’s face as her lips wavered under the stress of holding onto a smile for Javi’s sake.

Seconds felt like minutes. He relented.

“Fine. I still need to see the documents.”

“Call Baskin.” Javi said plainly.

“Where is the facility? Is there a contact number, what’s the visitation situation? I can’t believe you would agree to anything without the lawyer present…” Sandals said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Seven years of coaching and constant visits to jail and Javi couldn’t follow protocol just this once?

"Sandals, please.” Maven said harshly. It broke his heart. Javi shook his head no to her, and then looked at Sandals. “We can argue about it later. Just spare Javier. He’s been through enough.” Maven continued.

“It’s okay Maven. I know this is unexpected… I should have talked to you two before, but… I needed to make this decision for myself.”

He took a deep breath, then continued.

“It will be six months at the least before I can talk to anyone from the outside. It’s a full-immersion program. I’ll get my own room, I’ll be able to go to classes and learn skills. Stuff I should have been doing all along. It’s small. We’re going to be taken care of. After graduating from the first semester of coaching, I’ll be given more privileges, and I’ll be able to write letters and use the phone. They want us to have as little distractions as possible at first. It’s all in the paperwork,” he said, then looked at Sandals with determination. “It’s going to help, Sandals. Trust me. Please.”

Javi had called them to come to jail plenty of times. Javi had disregarded their pleas countless times. He had gotten himself into trouble, had hurt himself and had hurt others. Sandals didn’t even know what he did to get incarcerated this time. He wondered if it even mattered, if knowing would have made a difference. Despite it all, Sandals did trust Javi. He’d trusted him with the most important secret in the world. He’d trusted him with the most important work in the world. Sandals looked at Maven, and saw the trust she had in Javi plain on her face. She nodded, then wiped a tear from her cheek. She was strong. So much stronger than Sandals was. Javi was strong too. They had nothing if not trust, undying, in each other. They strained against it and pushed against its bounds, but it was there, binding them together.

“Fine.” Sandals said, standing up from the bench and turning his back on the pair. “I’ll be waiting outside.”

Trust was their prison.

Javier fanart by MobiusLeaf