He Was Homeschooleed By Leander Sparks

The cockroach did not learn to read and write in a private or public school. He was homeschooled by Leander Sparks in his cell at the George County Regional Correctional Facility in Lucedale, Mississippi. Time and patience were the keys to his schooling, and Leander, serving a thirty year sentence for a bank robbery he committed to get away from his verbally abusive wife, had plenty of both. He had tried to leave his wife many times, but she always found him, so rather than shoot her as he contemplated, he robbed the bank and convinced the judge he deserved the longest sentence possible. Taking into consideration, all the money was recovered, his gun was not loaded, he waited patiently for Sheriff Hopkins to arrive to arrest him, and he

He sat up on his cot for a closer look, but sure enough there was no roach leaning against the sink faucet or hiding behind his toothbrush. An empty hollow feeling ran through him as if an old friend was lost. He was so bummed by the absence of the roach that he thought seriously about reporting to the infirmary and not going to work that day, but at that moment, a movement at the foot of his cot caught his attention. There it was. The cockroach slowly inched toward him across the blanket, the black eyes fixed on him, the antennae touching and analyzing left and right, right and left as it came. Closer, closer, closer until the insect vaulted off a crease in the blanket to his bare hand, and then scampered up his arm to his shoulder where it flipped on its back, feet wiggling in the air. Instinctively, Leander reached up to flick the bug off his shoulder, but stopped. He had the strangest feeling the roach wanted him to rub its belly, so he did. He could have sworn the bug was purring as its twitching legs slowed, slowed, relaxed, slowed and fell heavily to either side of its body. It did not move. Poor Leander grew concerned; he had the sickest feeling that maybe he had rubbed too hard and killed the poor thing. It just lay there, the tiniest purr or maybe dying breath seeped through its tiny lips, but that was all that seeped – no green icky sticky stuff, nothing that would indicate it had been squashed.

They did crunches and pushups together before breakfast, which turned the roach into a superbly strong cockroach, and they drank coffee together and told old war stories in the evenings. At first, the roach could only mimic whatever Leander said, which was fairly remarkable in of itself, but after four years of nightly practice his vocabulary grew to match his friend’s, and the once one-sided morning and evening conversations gave way to the most splendid and wonderful discourses. At night, they also slept together – well almost together – Leander insisted his friend sleep at the foot of the cot and not on his pillow. During the winter, on cold nights, he always made sure to cover his little friend with a dirty handkerchief to give him a sense of security and to keep him warm. The cockroach became family. Leander even named him Conroy after his great Uncle Conroy who reminded people of a cockroach with his darting black eyes and ever twitching nose with long unkempt nose