• Through the bars, Roger saw the eagle. That eagle, flying so high with dignity and freedom that it made his heart ache. Roger absolutely hated the run-down place; with its dirty well-trotted on floor, its moss covered walls, its lumpy beds and scuttling sewer rats. Roger would just love to deny the fact that he had slipped his sly little hands into that man’s pocket and stole his wallet, but for some reason, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Roger was now seventeen years old and his occupation was what had gotten him stuck in this vile rat-infested jail. When he was little, Roger had never thought he’d have an occupation he has today–being a thief.
    No, it wasn’t Roger’s fault that he was a thief. Ever since he had been a tiny, little, crying toddler, he had been good at finding random stuff. There was the first incident at the teacher’s lounge in first grade. Roger had been passing by like any other student when he spotted a large jelly donut. He hadn’t eaten any lunch yet, so Roger really wanted that jelly donut. The next thing he knew, the donut was in his hand with his mouth working intently on masticating it, and his tongue was exulting at the amazing sugary taste of the donut’s fillings. But then a swarm of teachers had come and, seeing the jelly donut, bombarded him with questions. Roger truthfully answered each question and was immediately escorted by the teacher from whom he took the jelly donut to the principal’s office. Angry and disappointed with Roger, not to mention very embarrassed after the lecture with the principal, his parents were contacted and they took Roger home. And that was where he spent the next eight years, being homeschooled by several teachers, for (quoting his father) “We have enough money and I absolutely cannot stand being disgraced by Roger anymore.” Roger was never a bad student; quite the contrary, he was a very well behaved student. But even though he seemed like a little gentleman, something around the house belonging to someone other than Roger always disappeared, and where did they find that item? All of the “lost” items were found under Roger’s bed. The objects were anything random, from an empty lipstick jar to the twenty-four karat plated gold pen from his teacher. Every time, Roger was reprimanded, but every time it seemed that Roger’s ears were glued shut. Every single time Roger would explain to his parents and teachers that he was sorry and that it wasn’t his fault for stealing, and that whatever he thought of, the object would appear either in his hand or under his bed. But who would believe something like that? Soon Roger stopped even trying, while every else left him alone, for they were afraid of him, for his unearthly talent of robbing anyone.
    Clank, CLANK! Ring-ng-ng-ng. DING! Click. Roger woke up to the sound of his jail door being impatiently unlocked.
    “Ya littl’ thief! Tis’ yer lucky day,” snarled the cranky old jail guard, here spitting on the ground, “Hurry up! I ain’t got all day so crank’ it up a notch!” Roger hurried and wondered if the tall man he had robbed would finally forgive him. After all, Roger did return the wallet without any hesitation right after he stole it from him. Roger may be a thief, but a thief with a conscience. His boots clanked on the cold metallic floor as the mean old jailor opened up yet another door and lead Roger into the room outside. Blinking in the harsh light, Roger saw the man he robbed standing with dignity before him. As the man stared down at him with distrust and disgust, Roger tried a small smile, weak and innocent, as if that would lessen his punishment. The man glared at him, now with hate in his eyes. Roger immediately wiped the smile off his face and shoved his dirty hands into the pockets of his well-worn pants.
    With a deep voice, the man finally spoke, “I do not know you, and all I know is that you tried to steal my wallet. But since you are still only a little child,” here the man spat out the words “little child” like it was rat poison, “I will let you go this once. But if there is any more trouble from you, my good man the sheriff shall take care of you.” Then Roger was given a few well-worn dollar bills and a pair of shabby, cheap-looking clothes and marched out the front of the cramped police station. And without a backwards glance, he strode out into the fresh morning light and into the next town.
    Roger wasn’t happy with himself. He hated his so called “talents” that got him locked up in one jail or another all the time. Roger felt a pang of regret and sorrow as he remembered the last time he had seen his parents. They were walking happily together through a large department store. Roger himself was being bored at that time, but he was glad his parents weren’t yelling at him to stop stealing for once. All had gone well, until they were leaving. As the family walked past the scanners, alarms in the store went off. Several policemen had come and had searched Roger and his parents, finding several pieces of stolen candy and a razor inside Roger’s coat. His parents couldn’t take it any more and had, sadly, taken him to a Problem Children Shelter. Roger knew what was happening, but he understood his parents’ decision, for his “gift” was destroying everyone he knew. Later that day, Roger escaped with his few possessions put in a grocery bag. He wandered from town to town, hoping, hoping that someone would accept him and take him in.
    Pit, pit. Drip DRIP! Roger hung his head low as the first waves of cold rain hit him hard. He went into a sandwich shop and bought the best one that could be bought at seven dollars, went outside under a protruding portion of the roof and wolfed it down hungrily. Then, with a white napkin from the little sandwich shop, he wiped himself off and continued onwards. After ten minutes, he walked next to a man, suddenly finding his pocket heavier. With butterflies in his stomach, he reached inside and found a well-used leather wallet. Roger slowly opened the wallet and got a shock. It was his father’s wallet! Glancing around frantically, he found the tall man in the long overcoat again and quickly ran up to him. Roger slowed as he neared the man. When he thought the man could hear him he whispered, “Dad?” The man spun around a looked down on Roger, his face softening and eyes brimming with tears and joy as he shouted, “Roger!” (Here which several by standers looked at the father and son, perplexed). Then the father covered up the shivering Roger with his long coat and said, “Sorry.”
    “For what?” asked Roger as he slowly stopped shivering.
    “For abandoning you,” the father replied. “For that day when your mother and I dropped you at the shelter.”
    “So where’s Mom?” asked Roger, stepping lightly over a large puddle.
    Giving a great big sigh, the father answered him, “She died. She died after abandoning you at the shelter and you disappearing overnight.”
    Roger felt his heart slow, his throat convulsing, his brain absorbing the knowledge, his eyes filling with tears. The father and son took a taxi home, to the place Roger hadn’t been for over three years. There the father broke the news to Roger; he too, also had the stealing “talent”. Roger’s father explained to him that, he had told Mom that he had the “gift” and promised to get Roger from the shelter and cure him, but he found that Roger had ran away.
    His father gave details to Roger on how he learned to control it. How Roger needed to focus on concentrating on something that was not possible to steal. But Roger had to have a different cure than his father’s, and Roger’s father’s was the control of time. Roger used all his determination and concentration, exhausting himself each day on the balcony while his father stood next to him, with encouragement. Day after day, they stood there, looking at the heavens above. Finally Roger found his object, his cure. The next day it just wasn’t two thieves who stood there, it was just father and son.