From Bird to Blessed

Ray was the oldest Sobota cousin, a few years older than Lizzie. The two cousins had always gotten along well and had a really special friendship. Although he is older than Lizzie in years, Lizzie was definitely older than him in maturity, sensible thinking and intelligence, “probably because I’m a girl” she’d often think. 

Ray’s entire sophomore year in high school consisted of Lizzie finishing his algebra homework for him. Even though Lizzie was an 8^th grader at the time and had homework of her own. She would stay up with Ray, until the early morning hours, teaching him how to solve for X.  Why? She found herself constantly asking herself. But, she knew the reason. She wanted him to catch a break. Why? She had no idea. Lizzie was infuriated by the way Ray was always getting into trouble. The way he would blame his bad behavior on someone else. He made his (bad) choices time and again, and those choices usually landed him in juvenile hall, or a Cook County courtroom. Because of his run-ins with the law, Ray would miss school, then get behind in school, then hate school and then not go. Lizzie did want that to happen. He was her cousin and her friend. If Lizzie was honest, she knew that she helped Ray because Ray kept her feeling sane maybe even safe in some twisted way. Her childhood was just as terrible as his, and at least he had a dad! Lizzie didn’t, and she looked up to Ray like an older brother. So, she was always doing or saying whatever she could to support him.

Lizzie and Ray always talked about whatever current mess he had gotten himself into. He would start telling Lizzie his “story” the way he told everyone else, but she would call him out on his crap every time, and get the real story. Lizzie was his conscience, his Jiminy Cricket.

Whenever Lizzie spent the night at her cousin’s house, she and Ray had a midnight ritual. Ray would wake Lizzie up so they could crawl onto the floor and sit in their usual positions around the floor heater, toes curled on the grate with warm air hissing, keeping them warm while also dulling the sound of their midnight whispers.

"I don't know why I do it," he whispered low, chewing on a plastic straw.

Their midnight chats have become more of a midnight confessional of sorts. Mostly, it was Ray confessing or trying to whatever terrible thing he had just done, while Lizzie was his sounding board, nodding in silence.

"I don't even need the shit I steal, Lizzie." 

"Well, duh, no one needs one gold earring or a floral print baseball hat, Ray" Lizzie points out the last stash of stolen goods. They both laugh to fill the silence. 

"Yea, I guess

you're right, I don't even like half of it either though...I guess it's the rush of it, ya know?" 

“Yeah, sure.” Lizzie agrees with a shrug. But, Lizzie didn't know, she had no idea about the “rush” because she’d had never stolen anything, in her whole life, ever. She went to a Catholic

grade school and got perfect grades, that was her idea of a “rush.”

"I don't know man, it's messed up…I'm messed up, ‘cuz." He went on, beating himself up. 

 "Well, I don't think your -" the heater clicked off and Lizzie didn't finish her thought. If she had finished her thought, she would have said, “I don’t think you’re messed up, I think you’re sad.”  But she

didn’t say that, she didn’t say anything, she just untucked her knees from under her nightgown and scrambled back up into bed.

“Night, Ray."

Ray, and his family were soon evicted from that home and the heater chats with Ray came to an end. Ray’s illegal activities continued and escalated. Vandalism led to shoplifting led to breaking and entering led to Grand Theft Auto led to arson. Quite the career for a not-even 18-year-old young man.

With each crime, Ray became more entangled in an overcrowded and underfunded legal system, which didn’t fare well for a juvenile with a rap sheet a mile long and parents who were drunks, completely dysfunctional and basically destitute. He spent plenty of nights in County, plenty of days in front of a judge, and ran the gambit of public defenders to defend his latest crime. He was somewhat lucky, in terms of getting out of trouble, except for the last one. It was a doozy.

Lizzie saw Ray the morning of the fire. This was really weird for a few reasons, which Lizzie would try to rationalize later. One, Ray lived two towns over now. Two, it was really early Saturday, and Ray relished his weekends, sleeping until 12 was standard. Plus, Lizzie was only awake and walking at that hour to get to the junior high down the street for a basketball game. Plus, it also felt really strange to Lizzie that Ray barely acknowledged her as they passed each other on the sidewalk, Ray barely looked up when she said “Hi,” and he just kept on walking when she followed up with “what’s going on?” Lizzie brushed it off, telling herself that

“Ray has friends who live around here”

“Ray never talks to me in public”

“Ray was probably up to something shady and didn’t want to get me involved.”

The town’s elementary school burned down. It didn’t burn down because it was old, or had faulty wiring, all the news reports alleged that it was arson. Ray would swear up and down he had no idea what happened to the school, he was nowhere near Dogwood Elementary. Ray didn’t seem to know what happened and neither did any of his friends…but Lizzie DEFINITELY knew what happened. No heater talk needed. And, after just a couple of days of police visits and interviews, the police knew what happened too, and they came to the house and arrested Ray and three of his friends for Arson. 

Ray didn’t catch a break this time. His past had caught up to him and after waiting in jail for his day in court the judge sentenced Ray to prison, not juvenile detention, prison, He had been tried as an adult at the ripe age of 17. What Lizzie would have given to have had one last midnight heater chat with Ray. She never had the chance, though. After that dreary November morning when Ray passed Lizzie, she didn’t see her cousin again for some 20 years.

Ray served some hard time. Granted, he had been in and out of jail for years and in every color jumpsuit made for inmates, but incarceration had not been kind to Ray. He was angry and jaded when he finally was released from prison, eight and a half years later. Ray spiraled from there. He stopped talking to Lizzie. Stopped taking her calls. Violated his parole. Got hooked on herion. A petty theft or burglary charge would land him back in jail. This became the ebb and flow of Ray’s life. Parole violation. Jail. Released. Drugs. Jail. Repeat.

Until one day, Lizzie got a text message.

“Hey cuz,”

“Oh my gosh! Ray! Where are you? How are you?” Lizzie stammered.

“I’m out, Lizzie. But, like really out.”

Lizzie knew what that meant. She could tell from his tone, even in a text message that Ray was changed. Something changed. She lived over 2,000 miles away from him now and her heart ached to see her cousin, her friend. But, that wasn’t possible. Ray was still on probation and after talking with him, Lizzie realized that while he was out and wanted a new life, his old one was still there. He had enemies looking for him for retribution, people not so happy that he was out and clean and walking the line. Ray chatted on and on with Lizzie, the two talked like no time had passed, like 20 years hadn’t blinked by. He told her he got his GED in prison, took some cooking classes, was working as a chef in Chicago, got his first legitimate paycheck. Lizzie asked the blaring question,

“What made you want to change things, Ray?”

“Dang, Lizzie, where’s that heater when we need it?” Ray said laughing.

“Seriously though Lizzie? I don’t want to scare you, but, my girl Kim was killed. And that was it. I knew the police would be coming after me to find out what happened. And they did. I knew I had to pull my act together, distance myself from bad company, and cooperate or they’d arrest me, and definitely not protect me from whoever killed my girl."

“Lizzie. I do not know who did it. And it was not me, I promise you.”

“Yea, sure. Ok.” Lizzie said. I believe you. So, what’s next? What are you going to do?”

“Well, when my parole ends next month, I’m getting the hell out of here. Maybe come see my cousin Lizzie, and teach her how to cook a hard-boiled egg. How’s that sound?”

“That sounds perfect.”