No Time To Mourn

by Shawn Pinkston

  After a series of buzzing doors the nurse appeared in the daylight; free from the gaudy white brick that covered the entirety of the prison's insides. The sun was warm on her face. If she hadn't just been attacked she might say the world outside seemed peaceful, almost still with tranquil breeze. Rachael stood under the awning of one of the County Detention Center. Following the walkway to the parking lot she tried to keep her eye from the fencing. So many fences surrounded the front entrance and three, razor topped fences encircled the cement "Yard". On a nice day just after being assaulted the fences really were an eyesore. A few birds flew from a tree when she walked past. She stood and watched for a moment. They flew off in the distance toward the mountainous state park. She had forgotten how close the prison was to the beautiful hiking views of the park. She continued until she reached the parking lot. She pressed her keychain and off in the distance she could hear her tiny Ford beep and echo amongst the other cars. She continued in that direction until she climbed into her blue vehicle with a sigh of relief.

  The nurse backed out of the parking lot and drove to the entrance. A guard building stood next the series of gates that allowed entry. She waved at the guard as he pressed the button allowing the chain link gate to slid open. She was going home. After today she needed a hot bath and a good book to read. She decided she would tell her higher ups back at the hospital that she was done. She knew now why all the other girls quit this prison program as well. She would go back to the death of the operating table. That is what came along with being a trauma nurse. She wanted to save people's lives. This is what she had studied so hard for. She just wasn't prepared to watch them die when she was one of the few responsible for keeping a patient alive. She didn't want to go back to the hospital. To many people the building was a beacon of life saving hope, to Rachel it was just a well lit tower of despair.

  The drive home was fairly uneventful. The school busses were lined and parked with their engines humming. Students flooded into the long building with teachers herding them like shepherds. Further on after passing a few residential areas she noticed that many people were leaving for work. With coffee in hand people dressed in the various types of work attire were hopping in their cars and driving to work. She wondered if she would be in trouble for leaving her post unattended so early. It doesn't matter anymore. Maybe she should just throw the towel in and go back to school and try something new. Minutes later she was weaving through the glass store fronts of the downtown area. The small hub of this community bustled with the vibrant life of everyday blue collar people. A few moments and stoplights later she was approaching Grandpa Pete's house. Still paying off school loans she decided to stay with her-

  Rachel's thought had vanished and replacing it was the sensation of the earth quaking. The ground seemed to shake beneath her. Maybe her mind was playing tricks, she pulled over. She opened the door and the trembling had subsided. What just happened? An earthquake? That is the only thing it could possibly be. She put her vehicle into gear and drove on. Her mind had completely fixated upon that earthquake. It happened so quick and there has been no after shock. A few blocks later she pulled to the shoulder of middle class suburb. Spruce trees lined the sidewalks and rose bushes among other assorted flower beds gave the air an almost sweet smell. It was the smell she couldn't forget. It was the smell of home. After college not only had Rachel moved back in with her grandparents but it was the only home she had ever known. She closed the door to her small aqua colored vehicle. She glanced around for a moment; watching as people mowed their lawn in the late morning just before the sun and become hot. One woman clipped a hedge and an older gentleman a few houses down shouted over the while spraying his lawn with a garden hose. No one had paid much attention to the rumbling just a few minutes earlier.

  Grandma kept the curtains drawn so when Rachel opened the front door a large ray of light illuminated the hallway. She set her keys down her on the table situated in the corner as she always had. The news was playing in the living room so she decided to go see who's watching. She rounded the corner and arrived in the living room. Granny and her younger brother Scott sat side by side on the couch with their eyes wide. Scott never said much and was more of a recluse so to see him out of his room and watching TV sent a signal flare through her brain. Maybe that earthquake did some damage. The blonde silently sat next to them taking notice that neither of them acknowledged her or even asked why she was home so early. Rachel wanted to know what had kept their attention so demandingly and when she turned her head and seen what was on the television and then reading the captions astonished her beyond belief. What she had thought was an earthquake was now explained in full. Her mouth hung open and her mind raced with worry. What about Grandpa Pete? He needed to come home. What was he supposed to do? The news was spitting out information quicker than she can write it down. Cable TV channels were slowly disappearing and replaced by Emergency Alert Systems. The room stayed consumed in a grave silence. Was the country falling apart?

  Chapter Six

  No Time To Mourn

  "Lunch!"

  The metal door swung open with a series of loud clicks and a bang. He had heard this sound for over a year now. He could count the clicks and snap his fingers with pinpoint precision to the anticipated bang. There were very few times a day that the door opened; three meals a day and the annoying noise of the cage door opens for thirty minutes of outdoor recreation. Few were as secluded as he was. His eyes take everything in constantly, almost in a habitual manner. Everything, not just the door, was absorbed and categorized like a catalog in his brain. The walls... The walls were the most devastating part of existence. The salt and pepper haired man slowly rose from his padded slab and sat on the side of his bunk. Few picture were allowed to be on the wall. He only kept a calendar to mark the days. White brick outlined the toilet, sink, and metal foot locker where he stored his few belongings. His eyes have scanned every inch of this tiny cell. Day in and day out he had stared endlessly into the white brick. Every indentation or paint chip that reveals the gray cinder underneath had been accounted for. This life had grown to be very boring. So he had only these short breaks to make something out of nothing. He made sure he took his time, making the guard wait. After seeing the inmate moving the guard loomed over the single cell occupant for only a brief second before moving on to the next cell ready to yell "Lunch!" It has become quite annoying, being prodded and herded like cattle. Having guards half his age telling him to move there or stand here and bend over then cough twice. He had commanded men with more balls then these wimpy guards ever thought of having. The man rubbed his five o'clock shadow and adjusted his red one piece as he approached the doorway and silently awaited permission to move.

  Classified as a high priority inmate, mealtimes were a luxury and profitable. A luxury because an inmate of his status could intermingle with other inmates from general population. He traveled sandwiched between two others as they shuffled along to the cafeteria. It was an important half hour of relaxation and in some instances conversation. A fleet of red contrasted harshly against the white brick as they silently walked. A total of twenty men were kept in the same small single cell cage and most accompanied the silent man. Some of these "dangerous" individuals had to eat in their cells. The graying man walked past one such cell. A literal psycho. Just catching a glimpse into his cell showed blood smeared writing on the wall from self inflicted injuries. Early on in the man's incarceration he had witnessed this same fellow take a spoon and gouge another inmate's eye out. It took seconds for the insane man, with wild hair and intense eyes, to sink his utensil into the poor fellow's eye socket and with some pressure and a wet popping noise sent the organ flying onto a nearby table. Even with few weirdos the red suited man was still very lucky to have been transferred here. There were many more like the one he just passed at his old prison but that was only one of the few downsides..

  Unlike other inmates the ones shuffling along in his red line were forced to remain silent when walk
ing toward the cafeteria. Many faces were recognizable as their group of prisoners converged side by side another group of white and orange suits. A less restricted group who jovially talked and clasped each other on the back. Many guards were corralling us closer toward the cafeteria's entrance. The hall was alive with the laughter of expected meal time. The dimly lit hallway darkened the white bricks as everyone bumped shoulder to shoulder. A large blue painted word spelled out on the wall told exactly where you were at, Cafeteria. This meant hunger only sated by edibles tasting very similar to cardboard or the social gathering of hardened criminals was more appetising at times. Two huge sets of blue steel double doors separated into two lines. Each prisoner shuffled into the closest line. Some fought to get in front of others in the hopes of gaining a hotter meal sooner than the rest. Not to mention the seating arrangements. The red suited prisoner silently walked into the left line. A few people gave him the nod which simply meant "I have what I owe you."

  And so the line moved and others who have assembled their food tray rushed to get a good seat. There was a vicious system of clicks. A hierarchy not unlike one might see at a high school but on a more demanding level. Many don't receive their plate quick enough to get a seat next to a friend. Many are forced to sit at a table with nothing but enemies. These enemies would bully said individuals out of his lunch or just generally pick on him knowing he can't do anything back without a guard's involvement. As long as someone wasn't causing a fight the guards didn't care what happened.

  "Hey there Major," A skinny dark haired man named Rob adjusted his glasses as he stood in line in front of the man. "I'll give you my muffin today for the cigarette you loaned me yesterday."

  Handicaps on the red suits eased once they were in the eating line. Out of the hallway he was eager to speak, interact, and collect. "That will be fine." The man known simply as Major answered flatly. A insignificant offering but the muffins weren't that bad and he was quite hungry. Small moments out of the cell had its moment and accepting pitiful bounties are one such perk. The line was moving fast so Major and Rob picked up a tray.

  "So how did you manage to get a transfer from that maximum way out in Arizona? I heard once you go there, you don't come back." Rob was eager to make friends with the mysterious Major. The way Rob figured it, the guy used to be military. So they ship him off base and into a shit hole of a prison in Arizona and then he miraculously winds up here. It's not a good prison but it's not the worst by far. This is a guy he needed to get in close with. After all he was good at blending in.

  Major slopped a red mess upon his plate that was supposed to be sloppy joe and tried to ignore this weaselly Rob guy. He wasn't looking to make friends. He only wanted to build up his candy and cigarette supply. Which he had forgotten back at his cell. Oh well, guess there won’t be lending or trading today.

  Rob grabbed a couple buns further down the line and picked up a cup of proportioned salad. "So how'd you do it?"

  This guy just wasn't going to give up. "They didn't allow smoking there so I pulled some strings." Rob had to know Major wasn't going to tell him anything important. Nobody in here was that important or trustworthy for that matter.

  The man known as Major and Rob approached the end of the line. A tray filled with a mess of runny meat, a tiny patch of dry salad, and two buns that had already become soggy from the meat sauce. The last thing to pick up was the drinks. Lunch consisted of water or tea. Favoring packets were optional. A young inmate with blonde hair pours the drinks into Styrofoam cups. Muffins were sitting on a tray at there very end. The Major grabbed one and so did Rob. They stepped away from the line and Rob placed his dry, tasteless desert on to his fellow inmates tray. Both prisoners separated, Major was glad to be rid of the annoying little man. The Major walked across the large cafeteria and toward his usual seat. Trash Cans lined the walls on either side and the floor was littered with long square table. Inmates were starting to fill in the small plastic chairs. Major's seat usually remained vacant as a sign of respect. It was the best seat in the house as far as hustling commissary goes. A seat at the edge of the table in the far back away from any guards was easy to hand off any sort of contraband. His chair was optimal for talking to others because almost every inmate washes their hands after each meal and the Major was only five feet from the sinks. He was sure to usually finish his meal last.

  The man takes his seat. A few inmates take notice of his arrival and quickly get up to make it seem as if they are going to wash their hands in the triple sink behind him. Major slops some wet meat onto his soggy bun. He notices them coming and realizes that neither of them owe him anything so they must be wanting some cigarettes, candy, or in rare occasions prescription narcotics. He gives them a shake of the head and immediately the two young men are discouraged. One actually turns back around and the other keeps traveling to the sink to raise suspicion. The kid gets nearer and Major recognizes him. His name is Tommy, he arrived about six months ago. He was transferred after brutally assaulting a female guard. He seemed nice but the boy had a temper. He was originally arrested for beating his girlfriend to death with video game controller all because she wanted him to stop and pay attention to her and their child. The boy could snap at any moment and that is what Major liked about him. Tommy was just walking from washing his already clean hands. "Check back in the evening, during supper."

  After hearing that Tommy picked up a little pep in his step the blonde in his hair seemed to bounce with every step. He quickly walked back to where his friend were sitting and quickly told them the good news. Major went back to consuming his hardly edible food. He watched as all the men filed through the lunch line. Some of them he knew and some he didn't know. Most people here weren't people. They were only numbers. Most guards didn't even call inmates by their names. Most were just nameless grunts being herded toward food and then back into the cage and this is especially true if you're here long term. Unless of course you land a "job" which consists of digging ditches, picking up garbage, or mowing the grass that dots certain parts of the nearby town that doesn't necessarily belong to any one person. Then some guard would forge relationships with inmates which often led to more contraband which major always welcomed. All of this menial work for slave wages of course. The business model of the prison industrial complex was so efficient that even Major had grown to admin it. The cafeteria was filling up with its first round of lunch participants. Major had to wave off people left and right. Each person was looking for their narcotics, candy, and cigarettes. Each person was subtly and silently turned down and the shadow of sadness was cast across each person's face.

  Soon the usual entourage has arrived at the table. Most of these people were the exact opposite of nameless grunts. At this table two jailed drug lords often shared secrets about the trade. Both Hispanic, one with slick black hair and the other with short graying spikes. Diaz and Jesus sat down with their messy trays giving a quick nod to Major who was the only high ranking military personnel in the prison and was the only person they trusted to help distribute their drugs throughout the complex. They commenced to talking about their boring cartel connections and so on as they usually did. Next, the hitman. The only hair on his head was a light gray hue that he kept shaven down. His eyes were colder and more calculating than Major's. The table only knew him by his last name of Suco. When some rat sold him out to the FBI they thought he was hired to kill only three people, a grandmother, her daughter, and then the grandchild. Three of his targets were eliminated but before he could be compensated they knocked on his door. He had told them that his real number ranged in the hundreds but what good was that money or skill now that he was facing life in a shit hole like this one. But at at least he had other assassination connection.

  Third was Jesse and his new counterpart. Normally, a commonplace inmate like him would never be allowed a seat at this table but when he had introduced his new friend, who behaved more like a master over his pet, Major allowed them to sit. There was something about those two. H
e couldn’t quite put his finger on it. The others at the table were dumbfounded by his allowing the nobodies to rise in prison prominence. Which also upset a lot of the other prison population as well. More eyes fell upon them. This table was reserved for the elite of the prisoners. Many gang members that Diaz and Jesus controlled had been pushing for a seat and now they were cut off. But, if what the Asian guy said is true then he would want to have him as a friend. This man Jesse introduced was very forthright and straightforward in their conversation this morning at breakfast, even going as far as making Jesse leave the conversation just to talk. Which seemed to belittle Jesse as though he was deemed a child and unable to join in the grown up conversation. Jesse set silently with a battered eye and a stitched chin. The Major speculated that it could have been the guards or someone in his cell that he pissed off but no one else questioned why or even cared for that matter. Last to show up was a lone bearded biker. His one percenter biker club controlled huge swathes of this area and allowed for Diaz and Jesus to get drugs into the local area. The whole table was a melted cohesive family except for the new arrivals. The bearded biker known simply as Harley, for that was the only hog a true biker would ever ride, never spoke a word too the new guys. He hardly spoke at all anyway unless it was strictly for business. The gray beard hung down over his rotund belly as he silently watched everyone and always keeping an eye on the few other biker friends he had here and keeping the other eye on the rival bikers as well. The eldest man remained ever so silent. The men at the table would rather have that whore from the woman's side of the prison. The woman was arrested for being the brainchild of the largest chain of underground prostitutions rings. If men and women weren't segregated she would have a seat however that is not the case and Major was stuck with the animosity that came from allowing these two to sit. The Asian fellow had better be right about their prior conversation.