🎵 "Whatever may come, whatever the weather..."
Clouds darken. Rain pours. Thunder rumbles. Lightning strikes. A storm rolls through the area, curtailing the day's outdoor activities. A bad, nasty day, thinks BB with a sigh. The thing is - he isn't referring to the atmospheric disturbance outside.
🎵 "Whatever may come, whatever the weather..."
The echo of two guards discussing the day's weather reach BB's cell. Weather. Weather. Whatever the...weather. In a flash BB sees it. His mother, in teaching him the positive rhyme, was referring to more than rain and storms in nature. She was trying to show him the importance of remaining unruffled and unfazed through any "stormy" situation.
It's almost as if this day has been designed to teach me that lesson, reflects BB.
Nothing extraordinarily bad happened to him on this particular day. At least on the outside. But on the inside, BB is beginning to break down. The chilled hopelessness of this barely-glorified box has done a number on the jailbird. The harsh reality of his new, unchanging normal hits him with the force of a million stones.
The raging storm outside is just a cruelly-ironic symbol of the inner storm of despair raging within one lovebird.
"Lights out!"
Darkness falls in the prison, replacing the already-scant illumination of dimmed hope. No hour of the day in this place is a happy one for BB. Or even an okay one. But the late hours, the night hours, the dark hours - these are the worst. Far worse than any trouble foisted on him during the day by the human inmates. For here in the darkness, exhausted from the harsh monotony of prison life, BB is left to wrestle with the ultimate enemy: his own negative thoughts and emotions.
He closes his teary eyes, trying to bring on the sweet relief of unconsciousness. But sleep eludes him. The torrential downpour of his inner thoughts is too much - too noisy, too consuming. He lifts a weary wing and covers his face.
Suddenly, in the darkness and through the tears, BB hears a familiar voice. It's an internal voice, to be sure. But a beautiful one. A soothing one. A calming one. It's the melodic voice of his mother, flying across time into his remembrance.
🎵 "Whatever may come, whatever the weather, I will let nothing ruffle my feathers."
It's truly amazing what one positive memory can do. In an instant the tears dry up. The raging fires of hopelessness and helplessness die down. A mantle of calm descends upon BB. He begins to quietly sing along to the familiar words. His ringed eyes grow exceedingly heavy. Ultimately, silence replaces the recital of hope.
BB has fallen asleep. Finally, this day has reached its merciful conclusion.
© Matt Decker
» This post is an excerpted chapter from my book JAILBIRD
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