by Andrew Birch
“What y’all doin with that”, Blessing suddenly asked, seeing my fingers working the metal rod.
Blessing was a fat black girl, young and really spoilt. If I’d have had a tenth of the stuff she’d had showered on her during her life, I’d have been fucking made. Fat spoilt bitch. I suddenly felt like sticking my pen into the skanks face, but I didn’t.
“What am I doin with this?” I hissed under my breath, “I’m gonna stick it in your fucking eye, that’s what.”
“I’ll tell the warden and he’ll cook your ass”, she shot back, attempting to take the file from me, “ya ain’t allowed to touch that!”
I grabbed it back,
“He’ll cook my ass yeah, but you’ll still only have one fucking eye” I replied, hissing again like an alley cat.
Blessing wasn’t tough. She hadn’t grown up on the streets; she hadn’t had to run from cops dragging behind her a boyfriend that was in the middle of an OD, she hadn’t had to hide a hot handgun in her knickers as she returned to her children’s home where she lived. No, Blessing hadn’t done any of that. She’d had a fucking car on her 18th birthday, and a fucking party with a fucking live band and her daddy had spent more fucking money on her that I would ever fucking see. So she wasn’t tough. She looked at me, decided that she was about ready to wet her panties at the thought of what the skinny young blonde was going to do to her, and shrank away back to her work.
“Yeah, you better” I hissed. Fuck her.
I didn’t hear another word out of her. The warden was a thick piece of shit, all I had to do was look like I was trying to pocket my pen, and he’d train his eye on that. Sleight of hand. Honestly, even a chimp would have looked at my other hand trying hard to work the metal rod free of the ring binder. But not this thick piece of shit. And ten minutes to the end of work time, he was ready for finishing. I watched his hand fiddle in his pocket for his cigarettes as if to get one ready for when the bell sounded. He wasn’t even watching me now, nobody was. And so I downed my pen and wrenched at the metal rod with both hands and tugged at it as hard as I could. Stubborn fucker. I had to get it loose. If it was noticed, then I wouldn’t have another chance. Still he was fiddling with his cigarettes and looking at the hands of the clock tick slowly and silently away. One final pull and the metal rod came suddenly away with a sharp crack. Quick as a flash I slipped it into my pocket and scattered my pen onto the floor. He looked up,
“What you doin there, Taylor?” he asked sharply.
“Dropped my pen sir”, I said, “Shall I get it?”
I knew I wasn’t allowed to move without his permission. He came over to me, picked up the pen where it had fallen near my slippers and placed it gently on my desk, allowing his face to brush a little too close to my cheek.
“There ya go”, he said softly”
“Why thank you sugar”, I whispered. As he walked away with his cheeks a little flush, I noticed a bulge come in his pants. Probably thinking about me later, all chained up. Most likely be yanking one off. Men were all the same. I’d learned that a long time ago. Think with their dicks, not their brains. Nobody had noticed the metal rod now safely in my pocket. Diane would notice it. And very soon.
Thursday came. Anybody wanting to visit the hairdresser had to sign a sheet saying they didn’t want to work that afternoon. Sure, I wouldn’t get any money, but I had a plan, didn’t I? And so off I went, to check out what this beautician’s parlour looked like. It looked like any other prison room to be honest, with the exception of a few chairs, and a sink. I wasn’t sure whether i was doing the right thing, but I remembered the way they’d held my head as they were punching me, and it hurt like shit. I didn’t want that to happen again. Sure, they could still hold me down, but there wouldn’t be a rope for them to hold.
I still wasn’t sure about this though. Not that I was vain about my hair or anything. I mean, I knew I was pretty, and I could flick my blonde hair to get guys to look at me, but here was the thing. I was locked up here for eight years, and all that flicking my hair was gonna get me was a randy fucking guard shoving his dick at me. I didn’t want that. I wanted the top rung another way. The not whoring way. So yeah, maybe I couldn’t flick my hair for a few years, so what; there would be nobody to flick it at anyway.
As for the dykes, I didn’t know. Most of the more butch lesbian groups had kind of horrible crew cuts going on, they looked more like guys. I shuddered to think what they might want from me if I turned up like that. Couldn’t have it both ways, I guess. Either way, we would soon find out. I might have to watch my ass for a while. Literally.
I had to wait for a bit. One of the black women was in getting some coloured stuff put into her thick black weaved rope like hair. At the side of me was a thin middle aged woman. Looked kinda washed out, like she was doing drugs. I could’ve done with some stuff myself, but that was a problem for another day. Needed to stop myself getting smashed to the floor first.
“Your hair is nice”, she said quietly, “Haven’t seen you before.”
“Ain’t been here before”, I said a little too harshly.
Seeing the woman’s scared face, I continued,
“Names Taylor.”
“Borland”, she replied, “Nancy Borland. I just come here to get out of work as often as I can. I swear I used to have my hair down to my butt.”
Her hair was going grey now, and was just off her collar. She looked like she’d been here for a while.
“I don’t even know who I afford it”, she said, “It’s not as though the wages go far, is it.”
“No”, I said, “I have nothing left for the rest of the week now”
“Hmm”, she looked at my blonde long hair, “
“It’s not as if you need it cutting”, she added, “You should probably save the money for toiletries”
“If it stops me getting my face smashed in, then its four dollars well spent.”
Borland nodded.
“I heard Diane showed you who was boss. She normally does that to people she doesn’t like.”
“Yeah well”, I answered, suddenly being reminded of my beating, “she won’t be using my hair as a fucking bell pull again”
Borland was called to the chair then, and I began to look at my feet to while away the time. Cheap ass uniform, cheap horrible white socks that got holes in straight away, cheap ass plastic slippers that didn’t fit. Yeah, they liked us looking like trailer trash alright. I watched Nancy get her hair cut. The woman doing the cutting looked about sixty, and dressed like one of those frumpy old women you see in old ladies beauty parlours, light blue cardigan, permed hair, knee length skirt you know the type. Flat frumpy fucking shoes like she’d never been fucked in her life before. Maybe once just so her husband could have a kid, then she sealed it all up and nobody had touched it since. Give her a week in her and those dykes would sort her out. She was fucking around with Borland’s hair, cutting a little piece here and there. Nancy was making small talk, or trying to, the prissy old bitch didn’t like to talk so much, apart from tut tutting when Nancy moved. When Nancy slouched a little, she scolded her. Who did the fucker think she was?
Anyway, after a while it got to my turn. My plan was ready in my mind, and I had a new found confidence, a kind of swagger to my walk. It was a confidence that suddenly came to me, a confidence that I had a plan of action, and whether it worked or didn’t, I was going to follow it through. I always had this kind of swagger to my walk after that. I know it freaked people out, that always amused me. I saw the almost fear in her eyes as I sat in the chair, no, I slouched in the chair and waited for her to try to regain control of the situation.
“Sit up, young lady”, she said, “let’s have a look at you.”
I didn’t move in the chair, and remained motionless.
“Such pretty hair”, she remarked, “shame it’s hidden with such a scowling face. You know…you can get a lot more done in life with a smile than you can a frown. Smile and people will smile back. Scowl and people
will scowl back.”
As she pawed my long hair, I realised that she had a point. I wasn’t so full of myself that I couldn’t learn a lesson. I realised form an early age that to get on in life, I’d have to soak up as much information as I could. Most of it was bullshit, but I had to admit, the old bitch had a point. I straightened up in my chair, and gave her my sweetest smile. The dangerous one. I think she saw the danger behind the eyes, but concentrated on brushing out my hair, somewhat pleased that I had at least sat up straight.
“And what are we doing with this lovely blonde hair today then?” she cooed.
“Just cut it off”, I answered. There. I’d said it. Entered myself in a world of dykes just to get one over on the playground bully. But, fingering the metal rod still in my pocket, it was gonna be worth it.
“How much would the young lady like cutting off?” she asked sweetly.
“Just make sure it’s off my neck and cut above my ears”, I replied.
Suddenly, she saw. Or at least thought she did.
“Oh”, she answered, “you’re a le…”
“Just cut my fucking hair off”, I said, going back to being sullen.
Without another word she picked up her hair clipppers and moved to the back of me. Sliding the clipper in under my thick sheet of blonde dirty hair, she started to cut.
It felt different. I had to admit that it looked ok. My head felt lighter, and from some angles, I looked less feminine. It was really short. I could see why guys weren’t into girls with short hair. There would be no flicking my mane at guys for a long time. At the back and sides and around my ears, it had been shaved to peachfuzz, and was short enough for the skin to show through the bristles while the top was a springy short crop of inch length hair. My long hair was now a memory left behind on the prison beauty room floor. I did look like I belonged to the dyke bitches club, but you know what? I didn’t give a royal fuck. Nobody would use my head as a bell pull again. I fingered the metal rod in my pocket as I went to lunch
Chapter 3. Back on top
I don’t know what they thought as I strutted into the dining room. The confident swagger I now had made people stare at me. Course, they were looking at my shorn off hair, and wondering whether I was actually dangerous, or just ever so slightly insane. I shut my ears to the comments that came to my ears, and the sneering snide remarks. As I met their eyes, most of the women slunk away. I queued in silence as the filthy slop was served up. There seemed to be a buzz in the whole canteen. Diane and the fat bitch and a couple of her other cronies were sat in their normal place in the corner. Diane, I noticed, had one eye on me. She knew something was happening. Everyone did. I was getting a reputation. The opposite of what Dorothy had advised me to do when we were sat my cell. I found my friend and sat with her.
Dorothy sighed. People were wary of the new girl now. She had looked dangerous before, with that sweet smile of hers. Now with this weird butch short haircut she had, nobody exactly knew what was going on in the girls mind. Most likely she was slightly insane, Dorothy reflected. And you had to worry about insane people, she mused as she ate. The golden rule here was never to change the status quo. Diane was in charge; everybody knew that and always had. It had worked ok so far, power struggles always meant trouble, and change. Nobody liked change. This girl was trouble with a capital T, and Dorothy knew that if she wasn’t careful, the trouble would blow back on her.
“What the hell have you done to yourself?” she asked me, after swallowing a mouthful of the pigswill they called food.
“Got a haircut”, I replied. The trailer trash inbuilt in me meant that that I sprayed her with bits of food as I spoke with my mouth full. No class, or education to tell me to do anything else.
“That’s more than a haircut honey”, she said, “That’s a train wreck? You trying to fit in with ‘those’ girls?”
“No”, I replied, managing to swallow a piece of the foul tasting crap, “my hair was too long, told her to cut some off. So she did.”
“Hmm, you’re not kidding. That’s gonna be sending certain signals to certain people, if you know what I mean?”
I did know what she meant, and at that moment, a fat black woman walked past me and ran her hand up the back of my neck, feeling the short bristles of my buzzcut. I shuddered at the touch, and she laughed and walked away. Damn her, I thought. She wouldn’t be laughing in a fucking minute. I’d grown up on the streets. By the age of nine, I figured I knew everything about the world I would ever need to survive. While other nine year olds were out playing with dolls, I was making fifty bucks a day selling cigarettes to the little kids. And a nine year old going round with fifty bucks in her pocket learns pretty damn quick to defend herself. These bitches were different to me. They didn't see the opportunity here. They saw punishment, and jail as something unpleasant. I saw it as an opportunity. A kind of microcosm for the American dream, where everyone was equal, and the system and the laws were enforced rigidly. I’d realised that the system was set in stone, you couldn’t fuck with it and you couldn’t change it, but you could work with it, and someone with half a brain cell could become top of the pile real easy. Sure, I was still only a kid, and although I was healthy, wiry and strong, I wasn’t exactly built to go caving in the heads of these bitches. So I had to do something different. If you have the problem of a wall blocking the way, you can knock the fucker down, go around, or go find a ladder and climb over it to get to the prize. That’s always been my way of thinking anyway. Fuck these bitches. They didn’t know who they were dealing with. With a new found confidence, I realised that they were right to be scared. Fucking look away. I’m the new queen fucking bee. As I ate the last mouthful of what said on the box it had been chicken, I looked over at Diane, who was staring at me still; I reached out my tongue and pretended to mouth her. She looked away suddenly and said something to Big D at the side of her. Now was the time. Now or never. To have faith in myself and the plan, or to put my head down and be a soft little cunt for the rest of my life. Fuck that. Fuck that right off. I stood from my seat and made my way calmly around the table to work myself around to where Diane sat. I saw several eyes on me, but kept that catlike smile on my face. As I imagined would happen, a guard suddenly stopped me. Not that we weren’t allowed to walk around the canteen, we apparently were, but I was new and was still something of an unknown quantity here. I was young, and young inmates tended to be bullied or tried to shrink into the background. I’d had enough troubles in my life already to know in my own mind that I was never gonna be that person.
“Going someplace, Taylor?” he asked coming right up in my face.
I thought about jamming the metal rod right between the fucker’s eyes, but I didn’t have a death wish. I had to live in this place for a long time. He was only young, his clip on tie, probably put on by his mom and choking him, was forcing all the blood up into his face. Like all the others, he noticed my sweet feline smile and weird butch haircut that was nearly as short as his standard military short back and sides, and he didn’t know what to make of me. Was I trouble with a capital T, or just slightly insane. I don’t think he knew. Truth be known, I don’t think I did.
“I just need to see Diane”, I said in my thick accent that I knew they liked. Yeah, I could put it on a bit when I needed, and it usually worked. Sweet Dixie trailer trash, the accent said. Give you her pussy for a dollar. Men loved it. Eventually, the southern accented me became second nature, and now everyone thinks it’s where I’m from.
“”Gotta pay your dues”, I said to the guard quietly”.
He nodded imperceptibly. Everyone knew Diane was top dog. As a new girl, I would naturally be expected to hand a proportion of my wages over. He let me continue.
Yeah. Like after all the stuff I’d gone through with that no good low down junkie boyfriend of mine on the outside, I was ever gonna let some other loser have anything of mine. Fuck right off. Diane’s eyes were on me now, with a sneer on her face, but her eyes were scared. I went right up to h
er thin face. She was mid-forties, thin and wiry, and looked to have been in a few fights before. One hundred percent mean, from the top of her black collar length hair to the tip of her white plastic shoes.
“Nice haircut”, she said, “I always thought Dykes were pretty girls like Alicia, not skinny skanks like you”
“Got something for ya”, I said quietly. She still sat.
“Smart girl”, she smiled, and Alicia, her goon smiled too. Big D was distracted, talking to a woman behind us on the next table.
“Maybe if you’re a good girl”, she laughed, standing, “I won’t let Alicia sit astride you and ride your ass too hard. I might even let you keep one of those pretty green eyes. Now…”
She held out her hand,
Alicia was watching me, the big gorillas tongue hanging out at the thought of doing her dirty dyke things to me and my little skinny ass. Diane’s nostrils flared as she smiled…
But I had the metal rod ready up my sleeve
And quickly rammed my hand into Diane’s face. I pushed the metal rod into her nose and up her left nostril. She gasped as she wondered what I’d done. She shouted and raised her hand to her face. Too late. My palm came again, the hard part of my hand connecting with the rod and the tip of her nose. Like a steam hammer in her face. I smacked the metal rod hard and it went deep up her nose. Again with the palm of the hand so hard it cut my hand.