Banjo’s face tensed for a moment, then relaxed. “Fair enough, Kev.”
While the inmates were talking, a couple of screws walked over, stood behind Banjo. One of them tapped Banjo on the shoulder, bent down to speak in his ear. “Warden says you’ll do the class, or Kev’ll be spending a few nights on his own.”
Banjo stared at his tray, silent.
Kev moved back in his chair, eyes darting between everyone at the table. He sputtered and coughed.
The guard stood up. “Tomorrow. Eleven a.m.”
Banjo was early to the class, taking the front cushion for his own again. If he couldn’t avoid doing the class, he would make it his own. He wouldn’t let it beat him.
The inmates filed in, sitting a respectful distance from Banjo. A minute before 11:00 a.m., Sam walked through the door.
He wore maroon and yellow, the fabrics draped around him like a robe. His head was shaved clean. He walked straight over to Banjo and sat next to him, facing the front of the room.
“Hey there, Banjo,” Sam said.
Banjo grunted a reply.
“Look, mate, I don’t want you to do this class if you’re not into it, but the warden makes the rules. I’m happy for you to sit in a corner and do whatever you please, as long as you don’t disturb the class.” He paused for breath, adjusted his robes. “Some of the boys are really getting somewhere with this, and if that can make their time in here easier, then I’ve done my job.”
Banjo looked at him, and up this close he could see that Sam meant every word. Had to respect him for being straight up. And the warden knew that the boys would follow Banjo. Maybe Sam was right, maybe Banjo had to give the guy a break.
“What’s with the robes?”
Sam laughed, that twinkle back again. “This getup?” He looked it over as if it was the first time he’d seen it, shrugged. “Politics. We’ve got a visitor coming from overseas. I’m heading there straight after this.”
Banjo nodded. “Fair enough.”
The room had filled out while they spoke, so Sam got up and took position at the front.
He clapped his hands together. “Okay, boys, we’ll start off with a quick five minutes on the Stairway to Heaven. You all know the drill.”
The class went quiet, except for their breathing, which slowed down to long and deep. Banjo kept his eyes open, staring at the poster on the wall. A white staircase wound its way up to a faceless robed figure lit by a halo. In the distance, the land joined billowing clouds in the sky. Banjo tried closing his eyes and he could get the poster in his mind, but it didn’t give him any sense of peace or happiness. It was just a poster.
“Having trouble, Banjo?”
Banjo opened his eyes to see Sam staring at him, looking relaxed. It was hard to get angry at the guy.
“How’d you guess?”
“You’re the only one not taking deep breaths.” Sam flung his hand in a dismissive gesture. “But that doesn’t really matter. The point is to find something that works for you. Meditation is always personal.” He looked at Banjo for a second. “Stick with the staircase, but forget about the idea of heaven. I want you to try imagining someone standing at the top of the staircase, holding their hand out as if they’re going to help you up. Pick someone you trust.”
Banjo narrowed his eyes, pulled in his lower lip, chewed on it some. He thought about all the people he’d ever known, images of them flashing in his mind. Kev, his brother, a couple of buddies from the outside, even his father. None of them were exactly trustworthy.
Sam said, “They don’t have to be perfect.”
The sentence unlocked something in Banjo’s mind. He closed his eyes and saw the staircase again, but it wasn’t in black and white. It was wooden and crumbling, leading up to a loft. A place he lived in at about the age of six, a time when his dad had the cushiest job of his life, mowing lawns in a decent neighbourhood. Dad appeared at the top of the staircase, holding his hand out, just like Sam said, but it wasn’t just an image. He was moving, and Banjo was moving too, up the staircase, taking his dad’s hand and stepping past a hole in the stairs. The staircase creaked and buckled, but never broke. When they reached the top, the room faded away, Banjo’s dad faded away, and so did Banjo.
White light flooded everything, but it wasn’t bright, and it felt warm. For what seemed like only a second, Banjo felt like he wasn’t there, he wasn’t anywhere, he simply wasn’t.
When he came out of it and opened his eyes, he saw Sam’s twinkle staring back, and when Banjo looked around the class, everyone was staring and smiling.
Banjo turned back to Sam. “What happened, what’s everyone-?”
“We finished the five minutes, Banjo, but I told the class to keep quiet. You were out for another five.”
“What? It was a second. There was that white light, but it was only a second.”
Sam nodded, a warm smile spreading across his face.
And that’s when it hit Banjo: his dad didn’t have to be perfect, no one had to.
And if that was true, it didn’t make sense for Banjo to stay angry.
The exercise yard was filled with small groups in green huddled in corners, lone walkers pacing their way around the confines of the fence. A few of the inmates played cricket with a garbage bin as a makeshift set of wickets.
Banjo walked around the yard, nodding and smiling at everyone. Most of them didn’t know how to take it, few smiled back, but Banjo didn’t mind. He understood. His head was clear for what felt like the first time in his life. He felt alert, all his nerves on fire, but relaxed at the same time; almost as if he were falling asleep.
Kev and Troy were lazing around at the corner of the fence, leaning back against it, throwing pebbles at a rock on the ground in front of them. Laughing, seeing who could get the closest. When Banjo was near, they stopped laughing, looked up at him. Not scared, but unsure.
“Hey, boys, good class today.”
Kev looked at Troy, didn’t say anything. Troy wasn’t as self-conscious.
“Sure, boss. Good shit. I almost flew outta there.” Troy’s eyes lit up, not a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
Banjo liked Troy. The kid had heart, seemed like he didn’t care much what people thought of him. Kev had heart too, but it was all messed up. Banjo wanted to say something to Kev, make Kev see things as clearly as Banjo could. But nothing came to him. So he just stood and laughed with them as they played.
He hadn’t noticed it, but while the boys were playing, Kong had made his way across the yard with a handful of his gang in tow. They were all Maoris, built like brick shithouses, and rough as guts. There’s something about tribal tattoos on a Maori that can put the fear in, but it didn’t bother Banjo one bit.
Kong walked up to Banjo. Their faces were only centimeters apart. He said, “Now you’re bum chums with the sky pilot, eh?”
Banjo’s head was still clear. He could see how Kong was trying to move up in ranks, become the biggest gorilla in the jungle. So Banjo was the one he had to fight first.
“There’s two ways of handling this: one good, one bad. Which one today, King Kong?”
Using that name might have come across as loaded, but there was something in Banjo’s voice that surprised everyone. It should have started a fight, but it didn’t. Kong creased his forehead, not sure what to do.
Troy came forward, big smile on his face. “Hey boys, what’s the deal here? What’s the score, what have we got?” Troy really put it on, swaggering and gesturing like a Mafia henchman in a cheap movie. One of the Maoris in the gang let out a chuckle. Kong silenced him with a glare.
The group went quiet. Banjo and Kong hadn’t moved. They stared at each other.
Two ways of dealing with this, Banjo thought. One bad, one good.