Chapter Six: A Day in the Life - Clyde

Clyde walked away from the collection of brightly colored tents. The community, located right next to the main park, is a common gathering area for pre-teens who become bored and go looking for trouble. The so-called young rebels would skateboard in restricted areas, and smoke pot. The best form of transportation for anyone (especially those rebel teens) is bicycling. It was common to see a bike rack full at this time of day.

Climbing the hill, Clyde saw an opportunity. 

Most pre-teens owned fancy and expensive bikes. The common practice was placing the bike on the rack with loads of other bikes and hoping no one stole the unsecured bike. And it didn’t matter to these prepubescent children because mommy and daddy would buy them another one. So instead of teaching them a wise lesson, the parents would enable them. Alas, they would never learn and leave their bikes unlocked, might as well place a sign stating “free bike!”

Clyde knew this was the common practice. Unlike most pre-teens, he was smarter than the local 12-year olds. 

It was his lucky day. The first rack had three free-roaming bikes with no lock in sight. All he had to do was pick one, casually ride off with it, and meet Bud - the Bike Dealer - to make the exchange. 

Casually Clyde checks the area and being sly like a snake, he strolls up to the bike rack. Acting cool as a cucumber, he checks each bike and grabs the best option by the handlebars to free it. He places one leg over the bike…

“Hey, what are you doing?” A shout bellows from behind him.

Clyde has two options, either hop on the seat and paddle like hell. Or play it off that it was no big deal. Weighing his options to either interact with the cops or outsmart these kids, he chose the latter. Placing the foot back on the ground, he smiles and faces the stranger. “Hey, man. What’s up?”

The stranger was no pre-teen but rather a tall giant who most likely outgrew his fellow classmates. His pimple-faced comrades looked less intimidating but stood tall with their arms crossed. “That’s my bike, prick!” Shouted the giant stranger.

Time to play it stupid. “Oh damn, man! Is it really?” Pulling it away at arm’s length, Clyde inspects it further. “Geez, it looks just like my bike. What are the odds?” Clyde says through a cheeky grin. Still feeling slightly intoxicated, he remains confident. After spending time in jail, he could handle these pre-teens if they chose to jump him. Even if it was three against one, it wouldn’t be the first time. So he straightened his back and squared his shoulders while facing the opponents.

On the sidewalk in the middle of Gold Springs Park, a modern-day dual was about to happen. The giant stood taller, towering Clyde by a couple of inches. The boy on the left also stood strong and rooted. 

Clyde was familiar with this game. It was a male peacock, strutting its stuff to attract a mate. Or in this case, a male showcasing his physical ability to do harm. The two pre-teens (who looked to be closer to eighteen years old vs thirteen years old) proceeded and Clyde stood ready, till he saw a movement from the corner of his eye. The third boy pulled a cell phone from his pocket and quickly punched the screen three quipped times.

“Wait, are you calling the cops?” Clyde nervously asks.

No response from the boy holding the phone. His two buddies look at their friend and back to Clyde. Trying to make a decision but Clyde already made a choice. 

“Hey man, no need to call the cops. Nothing is going to happen here,” Clyde said. The boys eyed him suspiciously, not fully convinced. Clyde looks down at the bike trying to think of another alternative. He really needed the bike to pawn off but didn’t know if the price was worth the risk. Especially if his brother showed up for the call. “I think you’re right. This is actually not my bike.” Clyde walks it back to the rack. “It really looks a lot like mine,” he shrugs. This final gesture diffuses the situation because the boy puts the phone back in the pocket. 

And with another nod of defeat, Clyde turns around and walks away empty-handed. 

“So long prick!” The giant yells from behind. 

This stops Clyde dead in his tracks. The rage starts to simmer deep inside. If he’s not careful it’ll overflow like a boiling pot of water. 

Rage won the first time he was booked into jail. Instead of walking away, he chose to engage with the robbery. “It’s an easy job,” his old pal explained. It was an older couple who had no security, no dog, and multiple ways to enter the household. They were retired and supposedly the house had expensive jewelry and art pieces. Therefore, Clyde trusted this “friend” and robbed the house one night. After ransacking the place, the duo left with nothing. Somehow they managed to break into the house without the couple being home. It was pure luck but that would eventually run out for Clyde.

“I thought you said there was good stuff for us man!” Clyde yells after they exit. 

“Well shit man, I guess my intel was bad.” The old pal said. 

“You guess it was bad?! What are we supposed to do now?” Clyde exclaimed.

“Figure it out on your own,” was all the old pal said. 

By this time, Clyde was coming off his high and needed a fix, quick. In a split second, Clyde could only see red. When he finally came back to reality, he was covered in blood. It wasn’t Clyde’s blood but rather the old pal. He had nearly beaten the life out of this poor fellow. Other civilians saw the attack and called the cops. The ringing came from the sirens but settled into Clyde’s ears. Before he escaped, the cops pinned him to the ground. A few days later, he was a resident of the county jail. The irony was that his old pal told the cops about the robbery, framing Clyde as the conspirator. First time in prison with being charged as a burglary with a battery. Which is a serious felony offense. Of course, he couldn’t afford an attorney and the state-appointed one didn’t provide much help. Clyde was sentenced to ten years in prison. 

That was his first real interaction with the law and it wouldn’t be the last.

Trying to ignore the red tunneling around Clyde’s vision, he walked away. That would be a serious offense if he fought with children. “Not worth it over a damn bike,” he muttered.

Not really sure where to go next, he wandered the streets. Occasionally stumbling and tripping. The tall, dark figure with unruly black hair and beard, was becoming sober. He needed some food to fill his rumbling stomach. 

Clyde wasn’t always this way. Most people choose not to live on the street, drinking away the horrific memories and getting hooked on the drugs. But it happens. He’s not a bad guy, just searching for an escape from reality. An escape from the nightmares and separation from the secret. 

Before his dad died, he shared a strong bond with his older brother, Edmund. Clyde was top of his wrestling team and had decent grades. Then the accident in the mines happened. One afternoon, he lost a role model, a mother, and a loving brother. That’s when the rage arrived. Instead of going to therapy, he snuck into the kitchen and started drinking. Within a few years, he was a high school dropout who was living on the streets after being kicked out of The Home. 

Since that time, he has drifted in and out of jail and lived across the Denver metro area. This past summer he hitched a ride back to Gold Springs, not visiting his family once. 

But now, he is standing in front of the ominous shadow of The Home. Funny how one always ends up coming home. Admitting defeat, Clyde approaches the front door and rings the doorbell.