The world without Izaiah

8

Arnoldo was a lonely older man. His family cut ties with him after he got sentenced to life in prison. Some of the guys in the prison liked him, but he had no close friends, just a few guys he hung out with who liked his faith. Some of the guys believed that he could talk to god. That's what made them stick around.

Some of the guys thought the prison had just gotten to his head. But nobody hated him. He was nice enough not to cause any problems. He knew when to keep his opinions to himself and when it was time to shut his mouth, except when it came to Christo.

There was just so much about Christo that he admired. He reminded him of a younger version of himself.

The older man got involved in alcohol and drugs when he was around Christo's age. Constantly searching for drugs led him to hang out with the wrong type of people.

"Arnoldo, tell me how you ended up shooting someone. You don't have to tell me, but if you want to share, you can."

Arnoldo patted his bed, "Sit." He sighed, and Christo could tell his question was weighing on him. He felt terrible for prying.

"You don't have to tell me; I'm sorry I asked." He gave Arnoldo a knowing look.

"No, it's okay. I was hooked on drugs and got myself into trouble with my dealer. I didn't pay him because I was broke. Owed him 800 dollars."

"Oh wow." Christo knew addiction; he felt terrible for the older man.

"Anyways, I couldn't pay him, so he expected me to get the money somehow. He threatened me. That's when I started robbing people for money. Usually, I just jumped people and took their cash and anything worth any money. But it got harder and harder for me to keep a job as my addictions got worse."

"Yeah, I was experiencing some of those issues with my band; people quit going to my concerts after word spread that I was always intoxicated on stage. They all told each other not to waste their money."

"That's a shame. I heard you guys were good at first. Addictions suck. Part of me is glad I'm in here; it makes it harder to access things that get me into trouble."

Christo cracked his back and patted the older man on the back. "So, what led you to rob a place?"

"That's just it, I lost my job. With no money, there were no drugs. I was forty-eight years old at this point and had two kids. I not only wanted drugs, but I had to find a way to support my boys.  I got a divorce shortly after my boys were born."

He brought his voice down to a whisper. "I was cheating on my wife with someone from a gang. His name was Patrick. I fell in love with him, even though he was only using me for drugs. How stupid I was."

Christo was shocked. "What did your wife say about it?"

"Well, understandably, she was pissed. She had no idea I was gay. She was so sad after that. She ended up committing suicide two weeks later. I blame myself every single day." Tears began cascading down his face. "I've caused so much pain."

"Your boyfriend, was he at the robbery with you?" Arnoldo's face went flat.

"He was, he had an elderly woman by the neck... I didn't know what to do."

"Oh god. That's terrible."

Arnoldo paused. "The man I shot... was my boyfriend. Oh god!" He threw his hand over his mouth.

"Oh my god... I'm so sorry."

The older man wept. Christo put his arm around him. "He probably would have killed the old lady, you know."

"I know that. But it doesn't make it right. I loved him, but he was a troubled man. I just panicked. I never meant for anyone to get hurt," he looked at the ceiling. "God forgive me. Please."

Christo wiped the tears from the older man's eyes. "Thank you for sharing this with me. I won't tell anyone."

The older man got on his knees and began praying. It was hard to watch. He looked so broken. Christo closed his eyes. He didn't believe in God, but that night, he prayed harder than he ever thought possible.

"God, if you exist, please show yourself. Why have you abandoned him like this? He needs you now. Just answer me," he cried out, and then he thought he heard something.

It was almost inaudible: a faint whisper. "Christo."

"Did you say something?"

The older man looked over at him and smiled. He was smiling after all this. "Speak, and he will respond."

"It was probably something from another cell."

"Accept him as your god, and he will work through you."

Christo got angry. "Will you quit it with this God stuff? It's just a delusion. You are sick. Your mind has warped into this belief. It's just an illusion."

"You will see, young man. He told me himself. You have to open your eyes."

Christo opened his eyes wide. "They're open, and yet I see nothing. You have to believe me. I can't keep watching you lose your mind like this. You're sick."

Christo remembered back to when his grandfather got dementia. He used to talk when nobody was there. He feared this was what was happening to Arnoldo. The only difference was that Arnoldo remembered every detail of his past. So what was it?

When Christos's grandfather passed, it was slow and painful. He had to watch him slowly fall apart, and it killed him. He was his grandfather's caregiver. He never knew who his grandfather thought he was speaking to. Once, he mentioned his wife's name. At least he seemed like he was at peace.

He hoped it wasn't dementia. What Arnoldo had revealed made him grow fonder of the older man. He knew that he took to Christo because he could relate to him on a deeper level.

He knew how it felt to have a lover's blood on his hands. He knew the pain and regret. It may have been an old wound, but it would never fully heal. It bled him out. It took, and it took until he was a shell of the man he once was.

This was Christo's future. It was dark and bleak.
He could only hope he wouldn't lose his mind. He didn't want this to be his future.