by Michelle Amy
Their eyes darted from me to the three bloodied men who were trying to get to their knees on the concrete. Link was glaring at me from beneath his eyebrows as his two buddies hoisted him up by his arms and the three of them stood on wobbly legs together. He pointed a finger at me. “That little punk attacked me,” he said before spitting blood at his feet.
I rolled my eyes.
This infuriated him further. “You see him? He’s trying to-”
One of the guards unhooked his baton from the belt on his hip and held it up in front of Link to demand silence. “Do you think we believe you, Redding? He’s the new kid on the block, and from the look of it, just your type. Come on, let’s go. You know the rules.”
Link’s eyes widened and two guards approached him. His two friends released him and fell back into the crowd as the guards grabbed his arms and began walking him out of the tight circle of inmates. The guard who had spoken to Link and referred to him as Redding stopped in front of me. “Don’t let me catch you doing this shit again, you hear me?”
I nodded. “I hear you.”
“Good. As you were, gentlemen,” the guard nodded to everyone as he passed through the throng of men. He had a wide set step that reminded me of a football player. His buzz cut and thick neck completed the image.
I swallowed blood and saliva and rubbed my aching stomach from where Link had kicked me. My back was throbbing and my jaw matched the pain. Bruce barged his way through some of the inmates with Geizer in tow. The two of them drew up in front of me.
Bruce shook his head. “Remember when I told you yesterday to keep your head down?”
I rubbed my jaw. “Yeah, vaguely.”
“You’re doing a shit job of it, kid,” Bruce chuckled. “But at least you kicked his ass. Link is a bad apple in this place.”
“Where are they taking him?”
“Solitary,” Bruce said, rubbing his hands together. “The last place you want to be, especially if you’ve got a few loose screws like Link. Makes you nutty, the box. No place for a man. Link isn’t gonna like that you put him in there.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Uh, I didn’t put him in there. He did it to himself. What was I supposed to do, let him kick my ass? I don’t think so. I’m in this place for ten years, I’m not starting it out with being some asshole’s arm candy.”
Bruce threw his head back and roared with laughter. Geizer joined him. I stood nursing my aches and pains and scowled at them both.
Geizer pointed a finger at my screwed up angry expression. “Look at his face, Bruce! God damn, you’re gonna be trouble here, kid. I can’t wait. You’ve got a fire in you. It’s gonna get you in a lot of trouble. But I’m going to enjoy the show, that’s for damn sure.”
Bruce seemed to share the older man’s sentiments. He slapped his thigh as he continued to laugh. I stretched my back out by arching my spine. “Lucky you, you’ll both have front row seats,” I muttered.
Bruce slapped my shoulder playfully and pulled me into his side like he was my big brother. “Ah, don’t be so morose.”
“Morose?” I asked, feeling a smile tug the corner of my mouth.
“Yeah, come on kid, you know? Ill tempered, sullen, moody…”
“I know what it means,” I said, unable to hide the amusement from my voice. I pushed away from him and lifted my chin mockingly. “I’m just surprised that you know what it means.”
Bruce and Geizer laughed some more before plowing through the inmates who were still gathered around. They pulled me with them, calling for everyone to clear the path for the new kid. They cleared a path and gave me curious looks. Some gave me a thumbs up. Others looked me up and down, and I knew that those were the ones I had to be wary of.
After the incident with Link I became a temporary celebrity in the prison. I suppose it was because I was new and young, yet had defiantly stood up to one of the prison’s sleaziest inmates. Men wanted to talk to me during meals in the cafeteria. They wanted to hear the story from my mouth. I wasn’t keen on sharing. I wanted to be left alone.
But being left alone was no longer an option. I had single-handedly made my name the most recognized one in the prison. The guards seemed to like me, and I chatted with them occasionally. My quiet and reserved tendencies kept me out of trouble for the first little while- even after Link was released from solitary. He avoided me for the most part and was humiliated by some of the others who found the nerve to take a couple shots at him.
Clint and I ended up spending a lot of time together. We had an unspoken agreement that everything that had happened to us that led us to be in prison were not up for discussion. We had made our beds and we were going to have to lay in them until we were released. Reliving the horrible things we had done served no purpose.
Chapter Seven
By the time I had been there for my first two years Clint and I were good friends. I still shared a cell with Bruce, but Geizer had been released. We shared the cell just the three of us for two weeks before a new inmate was brought to us.
I had taken Geizer’s bottom bunk below Clint and was lying on my back flipping through a motorcycle magazine when the guards brought the new inmate to our cell. They opened the doors, pushed him in, and locked it behind them.
He stood with his hands at his side and looked around. I waited for Bruce to begin with the same introduction that he had given me and Clint years ago.
The new guy was a big man. He had thick black hair that was graying at the roots. His eyes were a dark brown and were made darker beneath his hooded brow. He was tall, at least half a foot taller than me, and looked like he had spent a great deal of time perfecting his physique. He had a dimpled chin that conflicted with his sour attitude and bulging muscles, reminding me of a cartoon villain.
Bruce stood and hooked a thumb over his shoulder to point at the top bunk. “Hey man, this bed is yours. Don’t hide your shit in the mattress, the guards-”
The man looked Bruce over lazily and shook his head. “I don’t do top bunks.”
Bruce blinked. “It’s not really up for negotiation. The others are full.”
“I’ll take yours.” He brushed by Bruce and went to the lower bunk. He tossed all of Bruce’s stuff up on to the top bunk, threw his own pillow down on what used to be Bruce’s bed for the last however many years, and sat down. He stretched out his legs and eyed Bruce evenly. “This gonna be a problem for you?”
Bruce was floundering. I had never seen the big man at a loss for words before. Finally he found his voice. “I’m a bit big to fit on a top bunk, if you hadn’t noticed.”
“That sounds like a you problem, not a me problem,” the new guy said, shrugging.
I closed my magazine and rolled to my feet. I nodded at my bed. “You can take mine, Bruce. I don’t mind being up top. Besides, it’s probably a safety hazard to have you up top,” I watched the stranger for any trace of appreciation or humor. There was nothing.
Bruce and I switched bunks. Clint watched me as I leaned against the wall. We all waited in an awkward silence before I finally succumbed to curiosity and tried to get the new guy to talk. “So you’ve done this whole thing before?”
He leaned back on his bed and looked me over. It was that same raking glance that looked more like an assessment. I had grown since I was first brought in. I spent my afternoons working out on the grounds. I was lean from eating shitty prison food, but I was strong. He was taking note. “A few times,” he said evenly.
“I’m McCoy,” I offered, “the skinny one up top is Clint. This is Bruce.”
“Look, boy, I know you’re trying to make nice. It’s cute, really, but I don’t give a shit who you are. I’m here to do my time and get out, not make friends.”
I crossed my arms and resisted the smirk that was trying to touch my lips. “That’s fine, man. This place is easier to endure when you have people to-”
“Like I said, I don’t give a shit.” The look he was giving me was menacing. He gave me the impression that he was looki
ng for a fight.
I shrugged. “Have it your way.”
“I will.”
I let him have the last word and turned away to hide my smile. He was either playing tough, or he really had no interest in making friends in this place. I could understand that. When I first arrived the thought of having real companions was a very unrealistic one. Now I considered both Bruce and Clint friends, and I trusted them with my life. I wouldn’t have been able to suffer through my time if I hadn’t met them.
Clint and Bruce watched me hop up on to the top bunk. I knit my hands behind my bed and closed my eyes. I was content to relax until they let us out for dinner. We all sat quietly together.
I was woken by the doors clanging open. Clint tapped my elbow and I slid off the top bunk. The new guy was still laying in his with his eyes closed. A guard arrived at our cell and nodded for us to step out.
The new inmate didn’t move. I nudged his boot with my foot. “Time to go, they don’t like it when you make them wait.”
He opened one eye and stared at me. “Why don’t you worry about yourself, pretty boy?”
“Why are you so intent on being an ass?” I asked.
He opened his other eye and sat up. “What did you say to me?”
I resisted the urge to tell him off. It was a habit of mine that did not serve me well in prison. “Look, I’m not trying to start a fight with you. If you want one so badly find somebody else. We have to share a cell together for who knows how long.”
He extracted himself from his bunk and stepped in close to me. He prodded me in the chest with one finger. The guard hollered at us to step apart. “You best watch yourself, boy, I could snap you like a toothpick.”
Then he brushed by me, shoulder checking me back a step. He blew out on to the balcony and followed the single file line of inmates down the stairs and out the doors to the cafeteria.
Bruce gave me a worried glance before following suit. I went with them and fought down the anger that was now boiling up in me. I hadn’t had to deal with a confrontation in a while, and I desperately didn’t want to have to. I didn’t want to become that man who was so overcome with rage that he blacked out and lost all control. That’s what had happened with my father, and what would have happened with Link on my second day in the prison had the guards not intervened. I wanted to get out on good behavior. This new cellmate was going to make things difficult if he continued to push for a fight.
When we arrived at the cafeteria we grabbed our trays, were served our meals of canned corn and green beans, and a burger patty, and brought it to our normal seats. Bruce poked at his plate. “I miss the food on the outside. This stuff is horrible.”
“And yet you still manage to eat every last bite,” I said, swallowing a mouthful of corn.
“Yeah well, this shitty diet only seems to benefit you. You were a sprout when you got here. Now… fuck you and your youth, McCoy.”
I laughed only to fall silent when our new cellmate slammed his tray down in the open seat across from me and beside Clint. Clint flinched and inched away. The stranger began to eat, shovelling spoonfuls of food into his mouth. He ate like he hadn’t been fed in days. His eyes slid up to meet mine when he took a sip of water. “What’s your problem, boy?” He spat.
I was growing tired of his attitude. I looked away and continued to eat. I was aware of several eyes on me in the cafeteria. His entrance with slamming the tray had drawn attention.
“I asked you a question,” he barked, leaning forward on his elbows.
I shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t think I’m the one here who has a problem.”
His fist wrapped itself in the front of my shirt and he yanked me forward. Clint and Bruce both stood up in surprise. Bruce demanded that the man release me. He ignored my friend’s warning and pulled me in close to him. I could smell his sour breath. “You’d better watch yourself, boy, because I can’t think of a better way to pass the time I have than wailing on you.”
I didn’t break his stare.
He released my shirt and shoved me backwards when the guards hollered at him to settle down. He returned to eating his meal. I straightened out my sweater and shook my head at Clint and Bruce who both looked angrier than I felt. They sat down slowly. I caught glances from some of the men who sat around us. They wanted a fight. I could see it in the sharpness of their eyes.
The asshole in front of me reached out and plucked Clint’s water bottle off his tray. He unscrewed the cap and lifted it to his lips.
“Put it back,” I growled.
His eyes rested on me. “Did I not just make it clear to you that-”
I leaned forward and gripped the edges of the table. “I’m not afraid of you. Put it back. You don’t run this place. You don’t call the shots. And you sure as hell don’t get to take whatever you damn please. Better get used to it, princess, it isn’t going to be all about you. Not if I’m here.”
He slammed Clint’s water back down on his tray. Then his lips peeled back off his teeth and he grinned at me. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
The room erupted in shouts when the stranger kicked me between the legs under the table. I yelled in pain and surprise. Men were scrambling up out of their seats and screaming for a fight. Bruce was shouting in my ear. I couldn’t hear him. My vision was narrowing on the man in front of me as he climbed out of his chair and stepped around the end of the table.
He reached for me. I wrapped my fingers on the edges of my tray and wound back. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The remaining food on my tray fell to the ground over my shoulder as I began pushing all the amount of force I could into my upper body to ensure I hit him hard enough to knock him down. When the tray connected with the side of his face it cracked in half in my hands. One piece fell at my feet and the other remained in my grip. He fell in a crumpled heap on the floor. The cheering around me grew louder. I tossed the tray aside.
I kicked him in the gut three times before I dropped down on top of him and used my fists to break his face. He tried to protect himself with his hands. I pressed my knee into his chest and he dropped his hands to try to push me off. Then I went for his face again.
By the time the guards reached us my knuckles were coated in his blood. He was laying in a puddle of red beneath me when the guards hauled me off of him. I struggled to break free of them. I wasn’t done. I wanted to keep going. The anger that was burning in me matched the fury I had felt the night I nearly killed my father. It consumed my thoughts and my body, pushing me to continue fighting.
A guard buried his baton in my gut. When I doubled over he struck me with it in the back of the head. I fell to my hands and knees and tried to shake my head to clear away the sickening dizziness that crashed over me.
The guard pushed me down on my stomach with his boot and called for help. It was a matter of seconds before there were hands hauling me to my feet. My legs nearly gave out beneath me when they shoved me forwards.
Bruce was yelling my name. I tried to find him in the crowd.
“You’ll be alright, kid! We’ll be here when you get out. Stay calm.” I didn’t know what he was talking about.
I wrenched my arms free of the guards who were holding me. “I can walk myself,” I snarled. One prodded me forward with his baton and I resisted the overwhelming urge to steal it from him and beat him with it. Such antics would do me no favors.
I was brought down a long hallway lit with florescent lights that flickered in the ceiling. We drew to a stop in front of a crimson red door with a window in it that was roughly six inches wide and three inches tall. The guard unlocked the door and shoved me inside.
I turned back to the guard as he began pulling the door closed. “How long?” I asked.
“Until we let you out,” he answered smugly, slamming the door closed and locking it behind him. I stood in the center of the cell. If I lifted my arms out straight at my sides I could rest both palms flat against each wall. It was a tiny room.
On my r
ight was a cement bench with a thin plastic mattress on it. There was no pillow. I had a sink and a toilet and that was all. No books. No distractions. Just the silence and my own thoughts. I didn’t even have a window.
I sat down on the bed and buried my face in my hands. I forced myself to take a slow and deep breath, followed by three more. Loneliness was the worst thing for me. I was alone with my thoughts, and my thoughts were not happy ones. They were full of guilt, anger, and sadness.
I was left to think about my father. I didn’t know how he had healed. I didn’t know what kind of damage I had done with the bat that night- for all I knew the wounds I had inflicted upon him were permanent.
My thoughts soon shifted to my mother. She had visited me in prison for the first six months or so. She refused to speak of my father. She came to see me once every couple weeks, then, slowly, the time between visits grew longer.
Eventually she stopped coming. I hadn’t seen her in nearly nine months. I didn’t blame her for it. It was a long drive to come and see her son- a man she barely recognized. A man who had nearly killed her husband; who had wanted more than anything to kill her husband.
I learned how to hate myself in that cell. I hated myself more than I hated my father.
Chapter Eight
McCoy was staring at his hands again. I sat with him on the couch quietly and resisted the temptation to reach out and touch his arm. I wanted to remind him that I was here. I wanted him to take comfort in my presence.
But I could see that he was reliving his time in prison. He was seeing those same faces that he had been surrounded by for ten years. He was feeling the pain of the beatings he had suffered. And he was remembering those days of being in solitary.
He wasn’t talking anymore. I wondered if he even remembered that he had been telling me everything that had happened. Part of me suspected that he had forgotten that I was there entirely.