Reprieve
Chronicle of Jackson Stone
The sky was stabbing Jackson’s eyes. It promised freedom with same lying ease as a hot blonde wearing a short dress in a sailor bar. He was never going to be free again.
He would never be able to choose to spend a day hanging out in boxers and playing channel surfer with the television remote. He will never opt to spend a day hanging with his buddies sinking booze by the creek. He would never again decide what to wear, what to eat, the only choice he had was to live in a dismal grey present or escape to his golden past.
For Pete’s sake, it wasn’t that golden, mostly Jackson had worked like a dog so he could take a couple of bucks home to his pallid wife and chubby kids. There were some good days, like when he would take off on his motor bike, chewing asphalt and watching the world rush by. Its pressures and stresses were unable to touch him. Life and its general copious amounts of muck slipped over him like oil on water.
Another golden memory suddenly flashed across his awareness. He remembered when he felt true and real love. It was the day he talked to the angel, a gorgeous girl with honey for words and a sacred harp for a voice. She was too young and he was too married, but for a whole L.A to London flight, she was all his.
She chatted mindlessly about the insanely banal and while he sat gobsmacked. She glowed with a healthy luminescence and he stared with admiration. She laughed and he held his breath silently praying she would never stop making that gorgeous sound.
On that flight he fell in love. Their affair ended when they reached Heathrow, the affair was all in Jackson’s mind. She would never know that they even had one. The angel would never know that, however long Jackson lived, she would be the only warm flicker in his stone heart. When he was alone he would remember her and smile.
It was tempting to just slip into the past and live there. Jackson had seen his mates here on the inside fall into that trap. Once they lived in the ‘Remember when’s’ they were stuck there till someone took them out the backdoor to be boxed and decorated with flowers. Jackson was not ready to be packed and stacked. Living in the past was a ticket for a one way trip to the morgue.
Not that everyone wanted out, Dodger next door, loved this hell hole. Dodge loved routine, tasteless food, lack of privacy and the know- it- all, uniformed, twits who ran this place. Jackson liked Dodger but he could not respect the fool for lying down and taking it, all with a please Sir and thank-you Sir. Still, Jackson needed Dodger.
Today Jackson was going to make a break for it. Only Dodger knew the movements of staff here off by heart. He knew every cranny and crack of this cold grey hell. If Jackson was going to slip out unnoticed he needed The Dodge. For the old bloke adored living here but he also loved to knick stuff and somehow he never got caught. The Dodge would lightly touch all and flog everything in sight- this was why The Dodger knew this place off by his larceny loving heart. If Jackson was getting out- only the Dodge could show him the way.
Jackson hit Dodge up at breakfast “I am making a break Dodge, I have got to go. I want to drink a cold beer and talk to a hot woman. I am sick and bloody tired of eating this sludge” Jackson picked up his greasy spoon and let the grey porridge ooze from it to form an unappetising pool on the table. It looked like a lump of wet bat droppings. The Dodge, fast as lightening scooped it up and shoved it in his tooth free mouth. Jackson’s lament continued, “I am sick of being pushed around, locked up and told what to do. I am a man for god sake not a freaking zombie” Dodge nodded furtively,
“I understand old buddy. Me, I likes it here well enough, it is not so bad. But some people like you have hot blood.” As Jackson sat back on his hard plastic seat he knew Dodge was on board.
Straight after breakfast they started to make their escape. Jackson set it up with Tom and Bill to created a diversion by starting a loud argument, it was obvious though that the argument was only partly a ruse. Tom and Bill were identical twins who loathed each other and loved each other in equal portions. It was hilarious when in the end one of them would call the other ugly and the twins would end up flailing on each other with impotent fists of sibling fury.
In the midst of the ruckus Jackson and Dodge slipped out unnoticed. They made their way down the hall. Dodge whispered “Wait here, it is Smith,” the chief security officer, “he does his rounds past here. In seven minutes the way will be clear.” Sure enough Smith’s hard soles clacked down the hallway. The fat man was a noisy mover and Jackson and Dodge held their breath waiting for the slow tub of lard make his way past them.
After he was gone Jackson and Dodge made their way down countless identical looking featureless hallways. The Dodge told Jackson when to stop, hide and move quickly deftly avoiding the authorities. They eventually came to a large locked door. “How are we are going to get out? I ain’t got a key- do you Dodge?” Dodge smiled his toothless grin and said
“Wait and see” Just then Frank the young fellow came out. Frank just got a job there last week but Dodge had already befriended him and conned six smokes and even a can of ice cold Coke out of him. Obviously Frank had not been warned about Dodge- a massive oversight on behalf of his fellow staff members.
Frank was sneaking outside for a smoke, Dodge waited for the young lad to finish and re- enter through the security door. Dodge went up to Frank with a sad old dog expression on his face. In two seconds fat tears were falling down his ancient mug. “Hello Frank. Sniff.” Frank looked alarmed at the weeping old bugger in front of him. “What’s up Rodger?” Frank, being a newbie, was the only person in the whole place who called Dodger by his actual name. “I was thinkin about me mates that I lost during the war; it just gets me emotional some times.” The next thing Frank knew Dodger was all over him, the old man was a sobbing mess.
Frank uncomfortably patted Dodger on the back whilst detangling himself “Let’s get you back shall we Rodger, I will run you up to the infirmary and get the Doc out to look at you.” As Dodger departed with the young man he dropped Frank’s keys, that he had pickpocketed, off into a nearby bin.
Jackson grinned. Good on Dodger, he thought to himself. Jackson grabbed the keys. He rushed towards the door before anyone else could come along. Jackson was panicking. He kept trying key after key in the lock. He fumbled several times. They were dropped noisily to the floor no fewer than five times. Eventually he managed to unlock the door. Jackson filled his lungs with free air.
The grass sprang to attention, sprinklers beat out a steady drum punctuated with sharp trills of birds. Jackson was free and the world opened its arms to welcome him. Jackson spun around and around with his arms spread apart. He danced beneath the morning sun.
Suddenly his rapture was snapped with the hand of fear. He did not want to get caught, he needed wheels and he needed them now. It was if the gods of fortune themselves had touched him. Over next to the grey brick walls was a ride, key in and ready to go. Jackson started the ignition took one last look at the hell that had been his home and silently tipped his hat to Dodger.
He took off down the road at top speed. Once again the world and its pain and its misery slid off him- he was a bolt of lightning ripping down the road lighting it up with a mechanical roar.
Constable Lane was driving his beat, when he caught sight of Jackson. Lane smiled as there was something comical in the old man going as fast his daffodil yellow motorised scooter would take him. Lane loved to watch the decrepit fellow puttering down the lonely highway, alone and happy.
The old geezer was driving with his face in the air, his wispy white hair flying back in the breeze and wearing an expression that embodied ecstasy. Constable Lane knew who the old man was- Jackson Stone. Every week Stone broke free of Petunia Lake House Retirement Home.
Lane always let Jackson go twenty or thirty kilometres down the highway before picking him up and taking him back to the home. Lane just hoped when it was his turn to be old and put in a home, they would let him drive for a minute or two as well. Lane eventually went and got Jackson so he could take the dejected geriatric back to the retirement home. Lane knew he would pick Jackson up again in the same place at the same time next week and honestly, he looked forward to it.
HOME
He would never be able to choose to spend a day hanging out in boxers and playing channel surfer with the television remote. He will never opt to spend a day hanging with his buddies sinking booze by the creek. He would never again decide what to wear, what to eat, the only choice he had was to live in a dismal grey present or escape to his golden past.
For Pete’s sake, it wasn’t that golden, mostly Jackson had worked like a dog so he could take a couple of bucks home to his pallid wife and chubby kids. There were some good days, like when he would take off on his motor bike, chewing asphalt and watching the world rush by. Its pressures and stresses were unable to touch him. Life and its general copious amounts of muck slipped over him like oil on water.
Another golden memory suddenly flashed across his awareness. He remembered when he felt true and real love. It was the day he talked to the angel, a gorgeous girl with honey for words and a sacred harp for a voice. She was too young and he was too married, but for a whole L.A to London flight, she was all his.
She chatted mindlessly about the insanely banal and while he sat gobsmacked. She glowed with a healthy luminescence and he stared with admiration. She laughed and he held his breath silently praying she would never stop making that gorgeous sound.
On that flight he fell in love. Their affair ended when they reached Heathrow, the affair was all in Jackson’s mind. She would never know that they even had one. The angel would never know that, however long Jackson lived, she would be the only warm flicker in his stone heart. When he was alone he would remember her and smile.
It was tempting to just slip into the past and live there. Jackson had seen his mates here on the inside fall into that trap. Once they lived in the ‘Remember when’s’ they were stuck there till someone took them out the backdoor to be boxed and decorated with flowers. Jackson was not ready to be packed and stacked. Living in the past was a ticket for a one way trip to the morgue.
Not that everyone wanted out, Dodger next door, loved this hell hole. Dodge loved routine, tasteless food, lack of privacy and the know- it- all, uniformed, twits who ran this place. Jackson liked Dodger but he could not respect the fool for lying down and taking it, all with a please Sir and thank-you Sir. Still, Jackson needed Dodger.
Today Jackson was going to make a break for it. Only Dodger knew the movements of staff here off by heart. He knew every cranny and crack of this cold grey hell. If Jackson was going to slip out unnoticed he needed The Dodge. For the old bloke adored living here but he also loved to knick stuff and somehow he never got caught. The Dodge would lightly touch all and flog everything in sight- this was why The Dodger knew this place off by his larceny loving heart. If Jackson was getting out- only the Dodge could show him the way.
Jackson hit Dodge up at breakfast “I am making a break Dodge, I have got to go. I want to drink a cold beer and talk to a hot woman. I am sick and bloody tired of eating this sludge” Jackson picked up his greasy spoon and let the grey porridge ooze from it to form an unappetising pool on the table. It looked like a lump of wet bat droppings. The Dodge, fast as lightening scooped it up and shoved it in his tooth free mouth. Jackson’s lament continued, “I am sick of being pushed around, locked up and told what to do. I am a man for god sake not a freaking zombie” Dodge nodded furtively,
“I understand old buddy. Me, I likes it here well enough, it is not so bad. But some people like you have hot blood.” As Jackson sat back on his hard plastic seat he knew Dodge was on board.
Straight after breakfast they started to make their escape. Jackson set it up with Tom and Bill to created a diversion by starting a loud argument, it was obvious though that the argument was only partly a ruse. Tom and Bill were identical twins who loathed each other and loved each other in equal portions. It was hilarious when in the end one of them would call the other ugly and the twins would end up flailing on each other with impotent fists of sibling fury.
In the midst of the ruckus Jackson and Dodge slipped out unnoticed. They made their way down the hall. Dodge whispered “Wait here, it is Smith,” the chief security officer, “he does his rounds past here. In seven minutes the way will be clear.” Sure enough Smith’s hard soles clacked down the hallway. The fat man was a noisy mover and Jackson and Dodge held their breath waiting for the slow tub of lard make his way past them.
After he was gone Jackson and Dodge made their way down countless identical looking featureless hallways. The Dodge told Jackson when to stop, hide and move quickly deftly avoiding the authorities. They eventually came to a large locked door. “How are we are going to get out? I ain’t got a key- do you Dodge?” Dodge smiled his toothless grin and said
“Wait and see” Just then Frank the young fellow came out. Frank just got a job there last week but Dodge had already befriended him and conned six smokes and even a can of ice cold Coke out of him. Obviously Frank had not been warned about Dodge- a massive oversight on behalf of his fellow staff members.
Frank was sneaking outside for a smoke, Dodge waited for the young lad to finish and re- enter through the security door. Dodge went up to Frank with a sad old dog expression on his face. In two seconds fat tears were falling down his ancient mug. “Hello Frank. Sniff.” Frank looked alarmed at the weeping old bugger in front of him. “What’s up Rodger?” Frank, being a newbie, was the only person in the whole place who called Dodger by his actual name. “I was thinkin about me mates that I lost during the war; it just gets me emotional some times.” The next thing Frank knew Dodger was all over him, the old man was a sobbing mess.
Frank uncomfortably patted Dodger on the back whilst detangling himself “Let’s get you back shall we Rodger, I will run you up to the infirmary and get the Doc out to look at you.” As Dodger departed with the young man he dropped Frank’s keys, that he had pickpocketed, off into a nearby bin.
Jackson grinned. Good on Dodger, he thought to himself. Jackson grabbed the keys. He rushed towards the door before anyone else could come along. Jackson was panicking. He kept trying key after key in the lock. He fumbled several times. They were dropped noisily to the floor no fewer than five times. Eventually he managed to unlock the door. Jackson filled his lungs with free air.
The grass sprang to attention, sprinklers beat out a steady drum punctuated with sharp trills of birds. Jackson was free and the world opened its arms to welcome him. Jackson spun around and around with his arms spread apart. He danced beneath the morning sun.
Suddenly his rapture was snapped with the hand of fear. He did not want to get caught, he needed wheels and he needed them now. It was if the gods of fortune themselves had touched him. Over next to the grey brick walls was a ride, key in and ready to go. Jackson started the ignition took one last look at the hell that had been his home and silently tipped his hat to Dodger.
He took off down the road at top speed. Once again the world and its pain and its misery slid off him- he was a bolt of lightning ripping down the road lighting it up with a mechanical roar.
Constable Lane was driving his beat, when he caught sight of Jackson. Lane smiled as there was something comical in the old man going as fast his daffodil yellow motorised scooter would take him. Lane loved to watch the decrepit fellow puttering down the lonely highway, alone and happy.
The old geezer was driving with his face in the air, his wispy white hair flying back in the breeze and wearing an expression that embodied ecstasy. Constable Lane knew who the old man was- Jackson Stone. Every week Stone broke free of Petunia Lake House Retirement Home.
Lane always let Jackson go twenty or thirty kilometres down the highway before picking him up and taking him back to the home. Lane just hoped when it was his turn to be old and put in a home, they would let him drive for a minute or two as well. Lane eventually went and got Jackson so he could take the dejected geriatric back to the retirement home. Lane knew he would pick Jackson up again in the same place at the same time next week and honestly, he looked forward to it.
HOME