by Knox, Abby
“Ain’t anybody coming to give you a lift, Chet? If not, you may call for a ride,” says the prison guard, laying on the magnanimity real thick. He was a real douchebag back in high school — even bigger than I was — so I know he’s enjoyed to no end seeing me locked up. He calls me by my old name, and I don’t bother correcting him. He ain’t part of my new life. His head gestures toward the handset on the wall after he removes my cuffs. “No more three hots and a cot for you on the public’s dime, ol’ Chet. The last thing the tax payers of the state of Iowa have for you here is a free phone call, take it or leave it.”
Oh yeah, he’s a real smarmy son of a bitch.
The old me would lay him flat in a heartbeat.
I’d love nothing more than to sucker punch him in his little piggy nose right now. Years on the inside, looking up from my mess tray seeing that shit-eating grin leering at me from the corner.
But I never once gave him the satisfaction of starting anything with him.
I told myself I didn’t need to. I had beat his ass plenty of times in high school.
That piece of shit is child’s play. As big and jacked as prison has made me, that pencil neck ain’t worth the effort.
I grit out, “I’m walking.”
The guard wheezes out a dismissive laugh. “Good luck with that, buddy.”
You ain’t my buddy, fuckstick, is what I want say.
But I don’t want to give him any excuse to escalate his fuckstick behavior.
I hear the bars clank closed, a familiar jarring sound that at first I hated, and now I’ve become inured to.
Now, I’ll never have to hear them again.
As long as I’m careful.
The walking will help me keep myself under control until I get to where I’m going.
Four years of frustration is a lot to let loose on a person.
Even if she is the judge who put me away. Even if she’s asking for it — for every second of what I’m about to do to her.
Watch for it … summer 2019!