Bishop

I walk into Corrective Services and take a seat amongst all the others with a debt to pay back to society. If Jake could see me now, what would he think? Being here, getting myself in this situation, I’ve let both him and me down. I was a punk and a fool and now it’s time for me to own up to my actions and help make them right.

I’m called through and shown to a cubicle amongst a heap of identical micro offices, all staffed by harried, hardened public servants.

“Bishop Royal?”

“Um, yeah, that’s me,” I say as I sit down.

My supervisor looks down at the file in front of him, shakes his head, before looking back up at me.

“I know what you’re thinking,” I say, before he can open his mouth. “You’re thinking that I’m just another spoiled rich kid who’s never had to work a day in his life, right?”

“Would I be wrong in thinking that?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No. I know I’ve made a mistake; a terrible mistake and I need to make up for that. I’m here to tell you that I’m willing to accept any and all punishment you see fit.”

“Okay then, Mr Royal. Given your skill set, we thought we would take advantage of that.” Suddenly I have a very bad feeling. “Out in Hobsonville, near the old Air Force base, is a BMX facility. The guy who runs it, Bennington, runs community programs. You’re going to help him.”

Fuck. “Is it too late to request I pick up rubbish or remove graffiti?” I ask.

My supervisor looks up. “Yes, it is. But more than that, I thought you’d be glad to do something like this. We don’t do this for everyone who comes through those doors.”

“Are you sure?” I ask. “I mean, I don’t want people to think I’m getting any special treatment. I appreciate you trying to go easy on me, but the truth is I’m really not riding much these days.” In fact, I haven’t been on my bike since I got cut from DeanStars. I haven’t wanted to. Just the idea of being thrust back into the environment that was the cause of so many of my problems makes me sick. I don’t want to go back to the person I was when I was riding. I don’t want to expose myself to the chance that I’ll do something stupid once again.

“It looks like you’re going to have to get over that. You have one hundred hours to complete, and Bennington will have to sign off on every single one.” He hands me a folder. “Here are the details. He’s expecting you.”

I take the folder and get up to leave.

“Oh, Bishop, you will be subjected to random drug tests, so make sure you’re staying clean.”

The fact that he feels it’s necessary to say this kills me a little bit inside. I get it, I’ve got a long way to go to prove to people that I’ve changed, but I’m going to try.

The BMX facility I’ve been assigned to is in Hobsonville, west of Auckland. It used to be the site of an old Air Force Base but it’s not anymore. Now it’s slowly being turned into an up-and-coming suburb. The facility itself is nothing more than a large shed. Okay, a very large shed. Probably more like a hangar, but I don’t want them to think I’m impressed. A sign over the door proclaims it to be BMX Bros.

There’s a lump in my throat as I approach the door, and my stomach feels like the All Blacks Front Row has trampled it. I may have finally found the guts to clear the air with Jonah, but I don’t know if I’m ready to get back on my bike just yet. I don’t want to get sucked back into the life I was leading while I was with the DeanStars. The person I was when I was riding wasn’t a person I liked very much. I’m afraid being back in this environment, it won’t take me long to slide back into old habits. No, I won’t go back to that. I think of Jake and how much I want to get back to him, and I know if I do slide, I’ll never get him back. I just need to get these hours over and done with so I can get on with my life and back to Jake. I eye the door with trepidation. Not that there’s anything I can do about it now. I have to do my hours and I have to do them here. With a sigh, I push open the door. There’s a desk to the left and a seating area to the right, but what’s right in front of me takes my breath away. An Olympic-type BMX track takes up the majority of the floor space with a half pipe, a couple of quarter-pipes, and a foam pit tucked against the back wall.

“Wow,” I say under my breath.

“There’s a street and a park setup outside,” a voice from behind me says. I spin to face it and am met with a guy, it’s hard to tell his age but I’m going to go with mid-to-late forties, with a grizzly beard and grey hair down to his shoulders. “You got a bike?” he asks me.

“Are you Bennington?” I ask.

“That’s me.”

“Look, I told the guy at Corrective Services that I’m not riding much these days, so I won’t be needing a bike. I’ll just mop the floors, take out the rubbish, that sort of thing.”

Bennington looks me up and down. He’s about my height, around five foot nine, with skinny-arse arms and legs. Actually, he looks a lot like Tom Hanks in Castaway.

“Let’s get a few things straight,” he says. “I don’t care who your daddy is or how many strings you had to pull to get such a cushy punishment, but around here, none of that matters. All the shit that follows you around leaves the minute you step through the door, got it?”

The assumption that I managed to pull some strings to be here immediately gets my back up. “I never wanted any special treatment and I certainly didn’t ask for it. I was more than prepared to remove graffiti from the sides of buildings or pick up rubbish on the side of the highway.” I run a hand through my hair. “Look, I know my last name precedes me, but I can’t help that. I know I did the wrong thing and I’ve been given a punishment to help right that. That’s all I want to do.” I can already feel myself slipping back into my old “persona,” and I hate it. I understand I have a reputation but fuck, can’t a guy catch a break? I take a breath and try to calm myself down.

“You’ll be subjected to random drug tests,” he continues as if I never said anything. “If you bring trouble around here, you’ll be out of here faster than you can blink. I won’t take any attitude or tantrums. You do what I say, when I say, how I say. The problems you think you have are nothing compared to the kids who come here. I run a workshop three times a week for three hours. You will be here for every one of those nine hours. If you’re not, you don’t get them signed off.”

“Okay,” I say.

“There is a bit of wriggle room in the schedule if we need to accommodate some other engagements you might have. After all, we wouldn’t want to inconvenience the great Bishop Royal, now would we?”

“Fuck you, bro,” I spit, my previous attempts to calm myself out the window. “I’m here, I’m willing to do whatever I need to do, I just want to get this over and done with. Then maybe once this is all over, I can get a fresh start. If you don’t want me here, then go back to Corrective Services and tell them that.” I’m so fucking tired of people assuming they know me based on my last name or what they’ve read in a magazine or newspaper. Bennington looks at me again, and I think I see a hint of respect in his gaze.

“Workshops are Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, 4:00 p.m. to 7:00 p.m. Occasionally I have some on Sundays. If you wanted to get this over, you can help me run those too. Is any of that going to be a problem?” I shake my head. Bennington pulls out an ancient-looking cell phone. “Number?”

I shuffle nervously. “I’m not sure how long I’ll have a phone for,” I mumble. Somewhere between the hotel stay, and the endless nights spent partying I seem to have spent all my money. Even though Jonah and I are in a good-ish place right now, I don’t want to go to him for any either. I said I’m going to fix things, do it on my own, and that means dealing with the messes I created.

“And why’s that?” he asks, folding his arms across his chest.

“I’m, ah, running a bit short of cash.”

“I don’t suppose your apartment has a landline?”

“I don’t have an apartment,” I say to my shoes.

“Hotel?” I shake my head. “Hostel?”

“I have an apartment in the city but I can’t stay there. I also don’t have a car. I was going to look for something around here but ah, yeah….” I trail off. “Not what you were expecting, was it?” I say, finally looking up at him.

He sighs, and I swear a hint of pity flashes in his brown eyes. It’s gone before I’m fully certain though. “Follow me,” he says and walks around the seating area to a door I missed in my initial inspection. He opens it and walks in. There’s a couple of bunk beds inside, along with a couch and a TV. “I keep this for times when some of the kids are between homes. You can stay here. If you want, you can man the desk at the front here during the day—for pay, not for hours.” I look around the room. Everything is a little dated and the definition of basic, but it’s better than any other alternative.

“Why would you offer me this?” I ask.

Bennington shrugs. “No one else is using this, and I need someone at the desk. I’m giving you a roof over your head so I figure I can pay you peanuts and say it’s board.” I shake my head and hide my smile. “Bathroom is next door. Kitchen is behind the desk. Do you need a hand to get your clothes and stuff?”

I kick the measly bag of clothes at my feet. “This is all I’ve got.” After they called the cops on me, the hotel kindly packed up my belongings and dumped them at the police station. The rest of my stuff is in a storage locker.

“Well, you’re still going to need a bike.” He steps out of the room. “You coming?”