No Rest for the Wicked

“Okay, here’s the plan. Drew, you walk in first. The owner doesn’t know you so his eyes will be on you for at least 30 seconds, and that’s just enough for me and Ben to sneak in undetected. Do not, under any circumstances, make eye contact with Mr. Roberts; he’ll know instantly what we’re up to.”
“How the hell could he know by looking at my eyes?” replied Drew.
“He’s the f*ing devil, man, I don’t know just don’t make eye contact okay?”
“Okay…”
Drew was nervous. He had been involved in a few heists, sure, but none of them were even close to the size of this one. Drew and his friends were only twelve years old, but they had been prepping for this moment for the past two months, contemplating every possible outcome. Nothing could go wrong.
“Earth to Drew, can you get back here so we can get this over with?”
“Yeah… yeah sure thing, sorry” said Drew, slightly embarrassed.
He never liked getting caught daydreaming, but he found himself zoning out so often it was nearly impossible to avoid situations like that. But now, there was no time to daydream. He had work to do.

Everything began exactly as Scott, the brains behind the mission, had planned it out. Drew walked in slowly, but not slow enough to make the owner, Mr. Roberts, think he had some disability that made him move in slow motion or something like that. Once it was clear that Mr. Roberts was looking at Drew, Ben and Scott began to make their move. The door was still slightly ajar, so both of them were able to enter the shop without jingling the bells hung above the door. They moved quietly to the near corner of the shop, and surveyed the area. Nobody else other than the three boys and Mr. Roberts was in the shop. It was four o’clock in the afternoon on a Tuesday, the slowest day of the week. Scott had to plan the timing perfectly; the last time he attempted this heist, it was just him and Ben, and some old guy caught them on their way out. No mistakes could be made this time, if they got caught, it could mean a trip to juvie.

On the other side of the little shop, Drew struggled to remember the plan. Was he supposed to knock over the gummy worms, or was it the gumball container? He really did not want to screw this up; it was his big chance to join Ben and Scott’s little crew of bandits. And although he wasn’t fond of the idea of being called a bandit, the crew had special benefits like being able to see movies for free since Tommy’s dad owned the theater or getting discount prices for treats from the ice cream truck that Scott’s cousin drove around. Damn it, Drew thought. He was doing it again, zoning out, daydreaming, whatever that guy Aunt Judy had him talk to called it, whatever it was he needed to stop doing so much. This was becoming a problem not only with his friends but in school and really anything that involved other people. His classmates would tell him occasionally that they’d be talking to him but it would feel like they were talking to a wall and that it felt like he wasn’t really there. Drew heard Scott clear his throat loudly from the other side of the room, and when he made eye contact with him he saw a look that said don’t f*ing wimp out on me now, you said you wanted to do this so get to it. Without waiting another second, Drew started to turn around, but he let his arm swing out just enough to catch the edge of the box of gumballs on the shelf.
The next thirty seconds felt like an eternity. Drew watched as the box tipped over on its side with what seemed like a deafening crash to him, and a bunch of newly stocked gumballs rolled out and fell to the floor. When the gumballs began hitting the floor, it almost sounded like rain. Drew thought back to the trip he took with his Aunt to the Bronx Zoo when he was in third grade. It was a rainy day, and when they walked through the rainforest habitat, the experience was surreal. At the time, he thought he could hear each individual drop of rain say, “pitter” and “patter” as they hit the massive green leaves that acted as a canopy and rolled off the edges onto the concrete walkway below. As the raindrops hit the concrete, it sounded like whispers, which then morphed into more audible voices. Drew tried listening to what the voices were saying.
“Yo, this is getting kinda weird, I mean, how often does he do this kind of thing?” It was Ben’s voice, but what was he doing in the rainforest habitat of the Bronx Zoo? Drew snapped out of it.
“Drew, you coming or what?”
That was Scott’s voice. While Drew had gone to some other dimension in his mind, Mr. Roberts had grudgingly walked over and begun picking up all the gumballs of the floor, giving Ben and Scott enough time to steal a total of six bags of skittles, three packs of starburst, and Drew’s personal favorite, an entire box of Milky Way chocolate bars. Realizing that the job was done and nobody was in any trouble, Drew walked out of the convenience store with Ben and Scott, the three of them talking about how they would divvy up their stolen goods. The boys were so excited about their mission’s success that they forgot the last part of the plan: the escape route. This fatal error allowed Mr. Roberts, who had just finished up removing the gumballs from his floor, to catch a glimpse of Scott holding a pillow case full of sweets, stolen from his store just moments ago.
“HEY YOU LITTLE RATS GET BACK HERE AND PAY FOR THAT!” screamed Mr. Roberts, enraged that he allowed three kids in middle school to make a fool out of him.

When Drew heard the store owner shouting at him and his compatriots, a chill went down his spine that he would never forget. He made eye contact with Ben, and then Scott, as the three of them came to the same realization. They had to get out of there, and they had to do it fast. Mr. Roberts coached the local high school’s football team, and the only thing that Drew had heard about him from the players was that nobody on the team could beat Coach Roberts in a sprint. There was only one valid option for the boys, and it wasn’t turning themselves in. They’d have to run down the street to the Davis’ house, where they could then hop the fence at the end of the driveway to make it onto the street where they lived. This plan would work in any other situation, as both Ben and Scott had been hopping over that fence since they turned eight years old. But Drew had never hopped a fence in his life, as his Aunt had always told him he would get stuck on top of a fence and never be able to come down. When he, Ben, and Scott inevitable made it to the fence, both Ben and Scott made it over with ease, but Drew was unable to clear it. He could hear Mr. Robert’s feet pounding on the pavement behind him as he ran to catch to thieves. They reminded him of the beat to his favorite song, and as he heard the footsteps coming closer, he closed his eyes and hummed along to the last lines of the song, “no there ain’t no rest for the wicked, until we close our eyes for good.”

Drew opened his eyes. He had never been so immersed in a daydream like that before, so it took him a while to take in his surroundings and remember where he was. He quickly surveyed the area around him. There were two beds, one on top of the other, a sink, and…the barred gate brought Drew back to faster than he could handle. He took a few quick steps over to the toilet and vomited. The realization always hurt. It was the realization that he wasn’t still hanging out with Ben and Scott’s crew of bandits, the realization that one night, a man died, and the realization that a few days later it was determined that Drew was to blame, and he was placed in prison on a life sentence. He was only twenty six years old, and he’d already been in prison for nearly two years. Next Tuesday would mark the second anniversary of his incarceration. In a place such as the prison Drew was living in, his frequent daydreams were the only things keeping him sane, and these moments he savored because they allowed him to escape, even if looking back on them they were only a few minutes long.