MISSED OPPORTUNITIES

Belch Belch Belch … Why Belch? Why? You’re like a young Dennis Hopper sucking wind from an oxygen mask. We’d had our little misunderstanding when you defended your Road Dog who spat on the wrong brother and tried to apologize and I had warned everyone—including you—to “put your rocks back in your pockets and settle the score out on the prison yard.” There were eight in your posse against twelve, the steady whir of turbine engines growing louder, the windmills cranked, the impending storm on the horizon. It was you—yeah, you Belch!—who tried to even the playing field with my classroom chair. How else did it get in the hallway? You had denied it, but I know it was you. “Get away from me old man,” you said, “or I’ll clean your clock”—nice choice of words considering our generational gap—and your Road Dog pulling you away, saying, “C’mon Belch, he ain’t worth it.” So Belch, I still hear about you, how you took your food slot hostage in segregation, how you slung your own mud all over yourself and yelled “come and get me,” how the officers suited-up and rushed you with a chemical agent. Now I’m told you’re in soft-restraints, mittens, a bam-bam suit, and that you’re being fed a steady diet of nutri-loaf. When will you ever learn, Belch? Speaking of learning, your special education teacher came in last Friday and asked about you. She’s concerned. I knew you wouldn’t mind so I relayed the latest information to her. We still need to do your IEP (Individualized Education Plan). Maybe we’ll visit you in segregation, if not; I'll see you when you get out. Perhaps once healthcare adjusts your medication(s)—that is, if the nurses quit quitting; five in one week is a bit much—you’ll be able to sit still in that very same chair you took from my classroom and I’ll be able to teach you something. Until then, Peace.