day.
*Â Â Â Â *Â Â Â Â *
As Willy drove toward El Monte my mood vacillated between exhilaration and depression. It was a joy to ride through the night and look up at stars thrown like powder across black velvet. Yet I was enmeshed with the same kinds of persons, the same sordidness, that accompanied all the wasted years. Willy and Red were friendsâbut their lives were so circumscribed, so hopeless. Entwined, such people trap each other. I wanted to break clear, find other kinds of persons and another life. Yet Iâd called Willy. It had been my free choice against the alternatives of the halfway house or wandering alone my first night of freedom. I felt no wrong in making the choice under the circumstancesâwhat was wrong was the circumstances. I hoped Iâd meet other kinds of persons I could like where I workedâwherever that was going to be.
âAre we going to your pad?â I asked.
âWe could, but Selmaâs gonna be in my ass for being gone so long. Iâve gotta go to work in about three or four hours. I missed two days last week she doesnât know about. Theyâre gonna fire me if I miss another one.â
âWhat kind of parole officer have you got?â
âA hope-to-die asshole. Man, heâs so squareâone of those educated fools. Got book learninâ up the ass, but doesnât know a fuckinâ thing about life or people. Heâs one of those guys that lived in a neat white house with a picket fence and pretty lawn and went to Sunday school every day until he was sixteen. He never stole anything in his lifeânever had to steal anything. Him and his wife both teach Sunday school. I know he doesnât give her any head ⦠probably didnât ball the broad until they were married. He acts like his job is some kind of missionary among the heathen parolees.â
The crude description was funny in a way, yet Willyâs difficulties were vivid. Thereâd be no communication between someone like Willy and the personality he described.
âHe should be happy youâre not hooked and stealing,â I said.
âHe wants everyone to be like him. People are different. I know that, and Iâm just an illiterate dope fiend. Iâll show you what an asshole he is. If he knew I was driving a car heâd throw me in jail and write a report to the parole board. Heâd feel bad, but to him it would be his responsibility. Canât he understand that being without a car in L.A. is like being in Death Valley without water? Itâd take me four hours to ride a bus to work.â
Willy went on to recount how heâd already lost two jobs because the parole officer had told the employers that Willy was a felonaddict on parole. The regulations required an employer knowing, but not many parole officers pushed it. A man running a business wasnât interested in ex-convict problems; he was more worried about something being stolen. So Willy was fired after a couple weeks, the employer giving some lame excuse and the parole officer never realizing the truth of what had happened.
âHowâre you getting along with Selma?â
âIt was pretty shaky when I got out. I didnât go with her right away. You saw the new baby, huh?â
âHersâbut not yours?â
âRight. I was down two years. I didnât expect her to watch television. Shit, I didnât even leave the television. I sold it and shot up the bread the month before I got busted. But a baby! Itâs so stupid. Nobody has unplanned babies anymore, not with pills and shit. Even an abortion. And she didnât even tell me until I was ready to get out. The baby was four months old. Right then I didnât want to see her anymore, and when I got out I stayed at Maryâs for a week until I got a paycheck. Joe was already busted. Anyway, Selma came over, one thing led to another, and we made up. Who am I to throw rocks at anybody?
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