Kamikaze Boys

by Jay Bell

  Once the initial bathroom rush was over, Connor returned to his cell and took the essential items from his storage container. He made his way upstairs to the stalls on the second level that were less frequented since most people were in the common room downstairs.

  The shower stall had the absolute basics, plus a hook on the back of the door that he hung his towel and jumpsuit on once he had stripped down. The door didn’t lock, but Connor wasn’t too worried. The stall door only came up to his chest. Everything above was exposed, as was everything below his knees. Turning on the mercifully hot water, a cloud of steam enveloped Connor. With his back to the rest of the room, he pretended he was at home and let his muscles relax.

  * * * * *

  By the second day in jail Connor felt more confident. Life on the inside had a simple system to follow and a unique vocabulary he was slowly picking up. The cells were called dorms, the main area outside the dayroom. Both sounded much too quaint for jail, but Connor overhead them enough that he began to think of them as such. Aside from three times a day—eight in the morning, one in the afternoon, and again at four—they had free access to the dayroom. During the three exceptions they were locked down for an hour, which meant they had to stay in their dorms. Of course they had little room to stand or do much of anything, so most inmates sat on their beds while the deputies changed shifts or rolled the food carts in and out.

  The meals weren’t inspiring. Lunch yesterday had been a hardboiled egg and a bologna sandwich. Dinner was beef stew with more toast. The stew wasn’t too bad, as long as Connor didn’t try to identify the chunky ingredients. The best part of this system was that Connor could easily avoid his cellmates. Not that any of them gave him trouble, but Desert Rat continued to leer at him and whisper jokes to his bunkmate.

  Today Connor was feeling particularly hopeful. The payphones were in constant use. There didn’t seem to be restrictions to using them, meaning he could make daily calls if he wanted. Knowing that David liked to sleep in, he decided to wait until a little past ten in the morning. Then he had to wait another hour or so before a phone was free. He picked up the receiver, feeling as nervous as a schoolgirl about to call the handsomest guy in class. A yellowed note on the wall read “Collect calls only!” Connor didn’t know if he could make a collect call to a cell phone, but it was worth a shot.

  He dialed zero, waiting impatiently for the automated operator to stop repeating everything in English and Spanish. After punching a few more keys, he was able to dial David’s number and record his name. When his name was parroted back to him, Connor thought it sounded shaky.

  Riiing. Riiing. Riiing. Click!

  A snippet of David’s voicemail played before it went mute. Half a minute later and the automated operator told him that no one could take his call.

  Well, maybe David was sleeping in extra late today.

  After deciding to try again later, Connor wandered through the dayroom. He didn’t have much to do besides socialize. With his combined total of four days in both jails, Connor was starting to feel desperate for conversation. He was walking the edge of the dayroom a few times for the exercise, when he spotted one of his cell mates—the black man who always had his nose in a book. He was seated at one of the tables, absorbed in a paperback with its cover torn off.

  Connor sat across from him, nodding when the man looked up and made brief eye contact, then started drumming his fingers on the table while he tried to think of something to say to him.

  “Good book?” Connor knew it was the most annoying question a reader could hear, but he couldn’t think of anything else.

  “Honestly?” The man answered without looking up. “It’s terrible.”

  “Oh. Who wrote it?”

  “Some hack.” Now the book was moved aside as cautious brown eyes considered him. “Charles Dickens, actually.”

  Connor laughed, encouraging the man to continue.

  “To be fair to Dickens, I’ve always despised Great Expectations. I remember reading it in high school and hating it, but tastes change. I used to hate onions, for instance. As it turns out, my teenage self was right. It’s a miserable book.”

  “I don’t think I even tried,” Connor said. “I used to always buy those little cheat guides. What are they called?”

  “CliffsNotes.” The man smiled and pushed his glasses up his nose before extending his hand. “I’m Wade.”

  “Connor. So, what are you in for?”

  Wade shook his head. “That’s one subject I don’t talk about. I won’t ask you, either.”

  “Fair enough.” Connor could understand the need for privacy. “Although I’d sleep easier knowing what our cellmates did to end up here.”

  “Oh, they’re not so bad,” Wade said. “Mostly they keep to themselves, except for Leonard, who tried to scare me into giving him my Twix bars.”

  “You mean Desert Rat?”

  Wade paused. “Now that you mention it, he does look like a rat.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I called the guard over to the door and asked him if I should give up my personal supply just because someone was threatening me.” Wade smirked. “That put a stop to it. Leonard has done a lot of prison time. I think he’s in on a parole violation, but he likes to pretend that prison rules apply here. For example, they don’t tolerate snitches there, so he thought I would quietly take his abuse. As dull as this place is, it’s nothing like prison. Thank god.”

  Connor wondered if Wade was speaking from experience but didn’t pry. “Where’d you get the Twix bars?” Connor’s stomach had been tight with hunger between dinner and lights out yesterday.

  “From the commissary. It’s a sort of store for prisoners. They come around every Wednesday with a list you can order from. No one has talked to you about any of this yet?”

  Connor shook his head.

  “Well, every inmate has an account here that you or your family can move money into. When you place your order with the commissary, they check the total against your available balance before processing the fee.”

  “Tax fraud,” Connor said. “You must be in for that. You talk like an accountant.”

  Wade smiled. “My lips are sealed.”

  Whatever Wade was in for, Connor discovered he was a decent guy. That he knew the ropes was useful. Wade went over the basics and even helped him pick out a book from the limited selection, which gave Connor something to do during the next lockdown.

  Later that evening, Connor called his family. Even though his mother’s voice shook with emotion, he felt like he had been given an injection of pure sanity. He could still reach the outside world, if only with his voice. But one part of the world still seemed to be closed to Connor. When he tried calling David that night, half an hour before lockdown, he still wasn’t answering his phone.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The name of the place was Gulfwood Hospital. David was sure a joke was in there somewhere. As he and his father walked across the parking lot, he played with the words. Gulp wood. Or maybe, I want to engulf your wood. Or Wolfwood, since they were meeting Dr. Wolf. When they entered the hospital, they found the doctor leaning over the admissions counter and talking with a young woman.

  David wondered if Dr. Wolf was psychoanalyzing her. Maybe he did that to everyone he met, even the cashiers at the grocery store. When the doctor noticed them, he smiled and cast his arms wide as if he were meeting old friends whom he wanted to hug. One of his arms came around to shake first David’s hand, then his father’s.

  “It’s good to see you both. Come, this way.”

  They followed him to a double door with two vertical windows above the handles. As they approached, a man in pale blue scrubs came out the doors and held one open for them. Dr. Wolf thanked him, chattering about the hospital’s good reputation as they followed. David wondered why they were getting a sales pitch when he heard the door shut behind him, the hard thunk of a lock slugging into the wall.

  And he knew.

 
David nodded at what was being said, desperate to appear calm outside while inside he was going crazy. No, not crazy—that wasn’t the best word to use right now. Maybe it wasn’t too late. If David behaved himself, showed how well-balanced and polite he could be, maybe he wouldn’t be forced to stay here.

  Dr. Wolf led them to a door labeled Admissions.

  David stopped. “Dad.” He hated how the word came out, how his voice sounded pleading, but his father didn’t look at him. He wore a determined expression that had “This is for your own good!” scribbled all over it in permanent marker.

  “David, your father is very worried about you. We both think it would benefit you to spend some time away from the environment you’ve been struggling in.” Dr. Wolf put a hand on his shoulder. “Think of this as a vacation, not just from Chuck and Connor, but from all the pressure you’ve been under lately.”

  David seriously considered punching Dr. Wolf. Instead he asked, “How long?”

  “There’s no set time here, no rush to get better.”

  “Better?” But David didn’t hear the response. He was envisioning time slipping away, days and weeks that he wouldn’t be writing Connor letters, going to visit him, or even answering his calls. He knew prisoners were allowed to make calls and had researched everything, even making sure his cell phone could accept collect charges. Would it be more than just weeks? Months? He pictured Connor getting out of jail, his hope of David meeting him there withering away as he stood on an empty street. If David was locked up for too long, maybe Connor would give up completely and head to Florida without him.

  “Why are you crying?”

  The woman inside the admissions office asked the question, but David had no idea how he had arrived there. Somehow they were inside the office and David was sitting. Maybe she could be reasoned with. Maybe they couldn’t do this against his will.

  “I don’t want to be here,” David said.

  The woman, who looked like a plumper version of his mother, cocked her head and gave a sympathetic smile. “Oh, the same thing happened when I took my son to camp for the first time. He cried and clung to my leg when I had to leave, but you know what? When I went to pick him up two weeks later, I had to drag him away.”

  David stared at her. This wasn’t a stupid camp he was being checked into! This was a mental hospital. He glanced over to see his father breezing through paperwork, equally desperate to leave, and went numb. They took the contents of his pockets, which were given to his father, and took a photo of him. Then his father and Dr. Wolf left the room to fetch his luggage. Apparently his dad had packed a bag without David knowing.

  The woman attempted banal conversation with him, droning on about her kids. David felt infinitely sorry for them for having such a horrible mother. Dr. Wolf returned, but David’s father did not, so David decided to feel sorry for himself as well. Dr. Wolf escorted him down more hallways with locked doors, each further reducing the possibility of escape. After walking through one final set of doors, they reached an area that looked like a giant living room. It was furnished with half a dozen couches and a handful of chairs. At one end was a television set. About twenty people his age were lounging around, like an airport populated solely by teenagers.

  He wasn’t allowed to stay there. Instead David was led down one of two side halls and into a room with two beds. The room wasn’t quite as dire as most hospital rooms were—more like the cheap hotel room he and Conner had shared in Georgia. When David turned around, two nurses were standing behind Dr. Wolf, both in the same pale blue scrubs.

  “This is David Henry, and he’ll be staying for a while.”

  “Hi, David,” the female nurse said. The male nurse only smiled.

  When David didn’t respond, Dr. Wolf turned to them. “He’ll need to be on EP for the next couple of days. He’s not a suicide risk, but could you go through his luggage to make sure there aren’t any razors or anything?” Dr. Wolf turned back to David. “They’ll get you settled in here. Just try to relax tonight. I’ll be back tomorrow, and we’ll attend your first group session together. How’s that sound?”

  “Like shit.” The words surprised David, but if they were going to treat him as if he were insane, he might as well embrace it. He turned his back and walked to the window, ignoring anything said to him until the last adult had left the room. Then he looked up at the moon. Okay, so maybe it was just a streetlight, but it would have to do. David looked at the would-be-moon and swore he would be out of this place before Connor got out of jail.

  * * * * *

  “You must be my new roommate.”

  David sat up in bed and eyed the newcomer. He wasn’t surprised that he was sharing the room, having noticed the bathroom supplies and clothes in one of the drawers. They were probably the same age. His hair was short and dark and a scattering of freckles covered his nose. His brawny build and the twang in his voice made David think of him as a country boy. Or one of the Beverly Hillbillies.

  “Is this your bed?” David asked. “I wasn’t sure which one was yours.”

  “You got the right one.” He covered the distance between them in a few broad steps and shoved a large paw into his face. “I’m Elijah.”

  “David.”

  After shaking his hand, Elijah flopped onto the bed. “So, what are you in for?”

  David hesitated.

  “How about I go first,” Elijah said. “Drugs. Dealing and taking. Mostly taking. I don’t suppose you have anything on you? Any E or a hit of acid?”

  David shook his head. “Sorry.”

  “Not a problem. I shouldn’t do them anyway. You ever done acid?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t. I still get flashbacks, and believe me, they aren’t fun.”

  “Uh, okay.” David hesitated. “Didn’t you just ask me for acid?”

  Elijah grinned. “Well, yeah. If you already get the flashbacks, you might as well keep doing the drug. Tripping is still fun, you know?”

  David didn’t, and now he decided to never find out. “Have you been here long?”

  “Yup. My time’s almost up. End of the week and you’ll have the room all to yourself. First time in a place like this?”

  “Yeah. You?”

  “Third.” Elijah’s expression became strained. “Parents can’t seem to get me fixed right. What about you?”

  David could either keep it all in or let it all out. Elijah reminded him a little of Chuck. Maybe it was just the hair, but he wasn’t about to start hiding now. “Well, some guy beat me up, so my boyfriend beat him up. Then my boyfriend got arrested while the other guy didn’t, so I freaked out and took a baseball bat to his car.”

  “Nice,” Elijah said, but there was some hesitance. “So you’re gay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You might want to keep that to yourself.”

  David glared at him.

  “It’s not me,” Elijah said quickly. “I don’t have a problem with anyone being gay. Listen, you should talk to Corey about it. Unless you think your parents already told the doctors.”

  David’s dad rarely mentioned it to anyone. Even during the session with Dr. Wolf, he simply referred to Connor by name.

  “I see you’re on EP,” Elijah said, nodding at David’s hands.

  David looked down at a plastic band on his wrist, neon green with the letters “EP” repeating over and over. He didn’t remember anyone putting it on him during his admission, but he had been in a daze. “What’s it mean?”

  “Escape prevention. They think you’re going to try to make a run for it. That means you’re stuck in your room except for group, and they bring your meals to you instead of you going to the cafeteria. I was on EP when I got here. SP too.”

  “What’s SP?”

  “Suicide prevention.” Elijah grinned. “Hey, check this out.” He hopped off the bed and went into the bathroom. When he returned he had an electric shaver in his hand. Popping off its face, he turned it upside down to reveal the razors. “When you’
re on SP, they don’t even let you have shoelaces—just in case you hang yourself with them.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. No straight razors either, but they let me have this. I could have taken these razors out and cut myself.” Elijah exposed his wrists. David saw pink scars, thin and faint but still visible. “Don’t worry, though. Everyone is on EP the first day. You’ll probably be mixing with the rest of us by this time tomorrow.”

  The door to their room opened, and an older man with white hair and a short beard poked his head into the room. His eyebrows were raised as he looked them over. Then, without a word, his head pulled back and the door closed.

  “That’s the third time that’s happened,” David said.

  “Yeah. They do that to make sure no one is screwing, killing themselves, or running away. You’ll get used to it.”

  Maybe so, but David didn’t get used to it that night. He slept fitfully, startling awake every time the door opened. Sometimes, half asleep, he would mistake Elijah’s breathing for Connor’s until he remembered where he was. When he awoke the next morning, Elijah had already left the room. David took a shower and, coming out of the bathroom, found a tray of breakfast waiting on his bed. He ate the croissant and drank the orange juice but ignored the rest. Finally, a heavy-set woman came for him.

  “Time for group,” she said in a thick German accent. Gulfwood had probably hired her for that alone. Who didn’t love a shrink with a German accent?

  David followed her, catching a glimpse of the huge sitting room before he was led to another hallway with evenly spaced doors—more rooms for more troubled teens, no doubt. When David entered the group room, he had to admit that they mostly did look troubled.

  Just as he pictured, folding chairs had been arranged in a circle, each occupied by people whose body language marked them as either miserable or bored.

  “This is David,” the German woman said, making the v in his name sound like an f. “Please make him welcome now.”