Prison Time

by Shaun Attwood

  Iron Man stops by. ‘Your eyes are all red!’ he says.

  ‘Check my hands out,’ I say, displaying layers of skin shedding. ‘I asked for gloves, but Apple Sauce just blew me off.’

  ‘Have you read the label on the dishwashing fluid you’re working with?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s a toxic chemical. If it gets on your skin, it says you must call poison control. The label says wear goggles or a face shield, protective clothing and rubber gloves.’

  I fill out a medical form, stating I’m having an allergic reaction to the cleaning chemicals, as no protective gear is being provided.

  The next day I march to the dishwashing fluid, read the label and confront Apple Sauce. ‘It says on the label I’m not supposed to work with this chemical with bare hands. Where’s my rubber gloves?’

  ‘Don’t talk to me,’ Apple Sauce says. ‘Talk to the guy in plain clothes. He’s my supervisor.’ He points to another lanky Nigerian we call ‘Blood Diamonds’.

  When I tell Blood Diamonds, he replies in an even faster Nigerian accent than Apple Sauce, assuring me that I don’t need gloves.

  ‘How about we go and read the label,’ I say, and take him to the chemical bottle.

  ‘The stores are closed,’ he says. ‘I can’t get you gloves. Maybe I can get you latex ones.’

  ‘Little latex ones will fill with water. I need up-to-the-elbow rubber gloves.’

  ‘And you need a face shield and an apron!’ Clapping, he laughs so hard he bends forward.

  ‘Look, I practise yoga. I’m trying to stay as healthy as I can under the circumstances.’

  ‘You look, Yoga Man!’ he barks. ‘I’m a Buddhist. You and me are enemies. Can you teach me to fly, Yoga Man?’ He bends over laughing again.

  Everyone working in here is insane. Staff and prisoners!

  In a theatrical voice, Blood Diamonds says, ‘Oohwee! Yoga Man’s gonna sue me. So sue me, sue me. I just love being sued.’ He scarpers.

  On my third day, while awaiting the avalanche of trays, I put two crates at the foot of a wall in the clipper room, sit down and start writing a description of the kitchen for Jon’s Jail Journal.

  Magpie swaggers in, pointing at me. ‘That’s my fucking seat! Get the fuck off it!’

  The prisoners turn to watch my reaction.

  If I get off the seat, I’ll look weak and get preyed on by everyone. If I stay put, things will escalate with Magpie. Simmering inside, I keep writing, ignoring Magpie, my pulse skyrocketing.

  Magpie glances at the Mexican-American who welcomed me to hell’s kitchen. ‘Tell him whose fucking seat that is.’

  Silence.

  ‘I put those crates there,’ Magpie says, scowling. ‘I always sit there in the corner. Look, England, I can see we’re gonna bump heads already.’

  Mustering willpower, I ignore him and keep writing.

  ‘You can’t be writing shit down in here. And if I find out you’re using my name, I’m gonna fuck you up.’

  ‘I’ll write whatever I want,’ I say. ‘Everyone knows I never use real names.’

  ‘Well, get off your ass, man. That’s my fucking seat.’

  ‘I put the crates here,’ I say, staring at his eyes. Bloodshot. Worn out. Crazy.

  ‘I’m telling you now that’s my corner. That’s where I sit. I can see it now, I’m gonna have a problem with you. I’m not bullshitting you, I’ll put you in the garbage disposal head-fucking-first.’ He grabs a scraper with a long blade and comes at me. ‘Now talk some fucking shit, England!’

  Fear constricts my throat. Blood surges to my temples. My stress and frustration rise. Aware the security camera is on us, I suspect Magpie’s goading me into throwing a blow so he can stab me in self-defence. Unless I act first, I doubt he’s willing to risk another sentence or the death penalty. On the other hand, he’s insane.

  Watching him closely, I remain seated. Magpie throws the scraper in a sink and storms out.

  Minutes later, the bodybuilder who broomed me appears and takes me outside. ‘Look, Magpie just came and complained to me about you. But you know what?’

  ‘What?’ I ask.

  ‘He’s full of shit. He tried the same tricks with me when I was in the clipper room. Look, man, you’re about to get out, so don’t let him get to you. Whatever he says, let it slide off your back.’

  ‘OK. I’ll try. Thanks.’

  I return to Magpie sitting on the crates, radiating triumph. ‘England, people are complaining about you. That you’re not a team player. That you work too slow. The head white shirt’s here today. He’s gonna get you.’ He points at Blood Diamonds.

  ‘I already had it out with him over the gloves.’ I turn to Blood Diamonds. ‘Where’s my gloves?’

  ‘I’m gonna get you them. I’ll go order them right now. Teach me to fly, Yoga Man!’ He laughs and joins Apple Sauce.

  Maintenance workers start dismantling the dishwasher.

  ‘I don’t know why it’s doing this exploding stuff,’ one says.

  ‘It introduces the gas before it ignites it.’

  Spraying trays, working side by side with Magpie, is surreal and frightening. I keep an eye on his hands and their distance from sharp instruments.

  After the maintenance crew leaves, Magpie starts on me: ‘You ain’t getting gloves. You ain’t getting shit.’

  I ignore him. During break, I write.

  ‘I’d better not find out you’re putting shit on the internet about me, dude. I’ll scalp your head off. You think you’re crazy! You’ve got two crazies in here, motherfucker. I’ll show you some shit you ain’t never seen.’

  My anxiety’s so high I’m ready to fight to let off steam. If I don’t get stabbed, I don’t mind spending my last few months locked-down. It’ll get me out of the kitchen. I won’t start a fight, but if he lays hands I’m going to unload blow after blow.

  Magpie positions himself a few feet away. We lock gazes for what seems like forever, me waiting for him to make a move and vice versa. He backs off a few feet. I pace, approaching him and backing away, my mouth drying up, my mind starting to crackle, conscious of the blood swelling my veins, my heartbeat roaring louder. I work myself up until I’m on the verge of attacking him.

  ‘Look at England,’ Magpie says. ‘He’s tensing himself up to come and beat me down.’

  I visualise kicking his injured leg and sticking a cleaning tool into the space below his Adam’s apple and through his windpipe. All on camera. I’ll get an additional sentence. My family will be devastated. Walk away. But he’ll have won. The smart thing to do is to walk away. Can’t let him win. Walk away.

  Throwing off my hairnet and apron, I march out. I tell the guard, ‘I’ve got to go. My mental-health problems are kicking in. I don’t want to snap and end up with more prison time.’

  ‘Mental health problems?’ he asks. ‘That doesn’t mean much to me. If you go, I’m gonna have to write you up for refusing to work.’

  ‘That’s fine. It’s the least of two evils right now.’

  ‘You’re on report, then, Attwood.’

  Back in the cell, I do strenuous yoga to reduce my tension, at all times watching the door in case Magpie arrives. In the evening, Iron Man dashes in. ‘That motherfucker Magpie’s over on A run saying he’s gonna stick you over that shit in the kitchen.’

  ‘He never stops running his mouth,’ I say.

  ‘This shit’s serious. He’s already stuck two people in the joint and they’re both dead.’

  ‘If he comes, I’ll fight him like you taught me.’ I hurriedly put my sneakers on.

  ‘As soon as he walks in, you’ve got to feint with a left jab and do a front snap kick to his left thigh as hard as you can right where he’s got the steel rod.’

  ‘You think I’ll lose my half-time release if we get busted fighting?’

  ‘Fuck all that! Would you rather get out in a pine box? What the fuck’s wrong with you, man? Your life’s in danger!’

  ‘I totall
y see what you’re saying. Don’t get me wrong: if he does come into my cell and attacks me, I will be forced to defend myself. What worries me, though, is if he’s got a shank.’

  ‘Listen, you’re not understanding what I’m saying! All this about him coming in your house and you being forced to defend yourself, get that shit out of your mind! OK? Are you hearing me? If he comes in your cell, you attack him the minute he walks through that door. He may well be carrying a shank. It’s not like he’s coming over for high tea, England. I already taught you this. If someone comes at you with a shank, you get a hold of their arm and break their fucking wrist. Let me show you again. Stand up and come at me like you’ve got a knife.’

  I go at him. He grabs my arm and twists it until I feel my bone about to snap. ‘OK! OK!’

  ‘See how I gained control of the situation?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But like I said: go for the left leg, the steel rod. If he can’t stand, he can’t fight.’

  ‘I’ve got a feeling this might escalate and mess up my release.’

  ‘If this guy comes to your cell with murder in his heart, then whatever happens, happens. You’ve gotta let the chips fall where they may. It’s survival, man.’

  After he leaves, I read in the cell, keeping an eye on the door, not absorbing much. I’m dreading things escalating.

  Magpie doesn’t show up. After lockdown, I take my sneakers off.

  Worrying about what might happen next keeps me awake.

  67

  A visit from Jade earns me a day’s reprieve from the kitchen.

  ‘How’s your release and deportation arrangements going?’ she asks.

  ‘Immigration have to pick me up and take me to a holding centre. I just hope they process the paperwork fast and put me on a plane,’ I say excitedly.

  ‘Are you prepared for freedom?’

  ‘Yes. But my mum’s worrying about how I’ll adjust. I can’t wait to embrace the world. The prospect of freedom makes me so happy.’

  ‘But are you prepared for both sides?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The positive and negative.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like how people are going to respond to you.’

  ‘I’m not the type to hide who I am. People can respond however they want.’

  ‘People may be wary of you coming from prison.’

  ‘That’s up to them. Prison’s made me who I am today. I’m happy with who I’ve become.’

  ‘I think prison has made you a better person.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Attwood! Come here!’ a guard yells, waving me towards his desk.

  Oh shit! What trouble am I in now? Kitchen-related? ‘I’ll be right back.’ Agitated, I rise.

  ‘Did you know you have another visitor?’ the guard asks.

  ‘No,’ I say, surprised.

  ‘Well,’ he says, nodding at Jade, ‘I can stop the person from coming in, if you’d like?’

  ‘No, let’s not do that. Let’s find out who it is.’

  ‘OK.’ The guard picks up a phone and asks for my visitor’s name. ‘Do you know a Barry from Quartzite?’

  Claudia’s dad. ‘Oh, yes! Let him in,’ I say, smiling.

  Barry arrives through the set of security doors and we hug. Due to weight loss from illness, he looks like a different person, but his big kind eyes have the same sparkle.

  ‘Thanks for coming, Barry,’ I say, touched by him travelling over 200 miles. ‘I didn’t expect this. I have a visitor right now, so come and join us.’

  ‘You have a visitor?’ he asks, his voice rising an octave.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I just wanted to surprise you before you go back to England,’ Barry says. ‘Where’s the visitor at?’

  I point to Jade.

  ‘Then maybe I shouldn’t stay.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. It’s great to see you. But a few minutes before visits end I’d like to get some kissing action in.’

  ‘With me?’ Barry asks, smiling.

  I laugh. ‘Not today, Barry. We’ll save that for another occasion.’

  ‘In that case, I’ll leave before the end.’

  I introduce Barry to Jade.

  ‘Have you still not gone with a transsexual?’ Barry asks, smiling.

  ‘No. Although She-Ra is demanding a parting kiss before I leave.’

  ‘I’ve got a good gimp mask for you when you get out,’ Barry says.

  We laugh.

  Watching Jade and me chat, Barry says, ‘You two would be perfect for each other.’

  We both blush. I feel more happy than embarrassed, then proud.

  ‘He’s too wild,’ Jade says.

  ‘But you’re the perfect calming influence,’ I reply.

  ‘I think she’d be a good influence,’ Barry says.

  Turning to Barry, Jade says, ‘He needs to focus on himself.’

  ‘I’d rather focus on you,’ I say.

  Flustered, Jade says, ‘He sometimes acts like I’m being mean or something.’

  ‘I like it when you put me in check. I’d thrive if I were with someone like you. Don’t be fooled, Barry, she has a wild side, too. She has a tattoo on her tailbone.’

  ‘They call them tramp stamps these days,’ Jade says.

  ‘Check Barry’s out,’ I say, pointing at the ink on his arms: a tribal barbed-wire band, hot-rod flames scorching skulls, a green dragon below a cloudy moon.

  Near the end of the visit, Barry stands. We hug, teary-eyed, and say goodbye. I remember everything he’s done for me over the years: accepting expensive phone calls, showing up in court after having a seizure, visiting me at the lowest moments of my life …

  ‘Did you put Barry up to that?’ Jade asks. ‘To saying we would be perfect for each other?’

  ‘I didn’t even know he was coming. He must have quickly formed his own opinion. Do you disagree with what he said?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘I feel there’s something between us,’ I say. ‘Something I can’t put into words.’

  ‘You put it into words on the blog.’

  ‘Last time I really let my feelings for you flow, you backed off. You don’t want a soppy man. You want a tough one.’

  ‘But not too tough. Did you really say those things to T-Bone you blogged?’

  ‘Yes. T-Bone knows how I feel for you. He’s encouraged me all along; even when you backed off, he said you were coming to see me because you love me and we’d end up together somehow.’

  ‘And how do you feel about me now?’

  ‘I remember laying my cards on the table. I’m not going to act like that again. I just hope we meet in England.’

  ‘We’ll just have to see what happens.’

  ‘Visitation is over!’ a guard yells.

  We stand and embrace tightly. I relish the scent of her soft skin. Her lips join mine with unexpected passion, seeming to confirm her feelings. Holding her close, I break the kiss off – but not for long. The second kiss is even more passionate.

  Returning from Visitation, I run into Slingblade working on the recreation field. ‘How are you doing?’ I ask, offering my hand.

  He stares at my arm. ‘Shaun?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you from England?’

  ‘Yes, why?’

  He grabs my hand and almost pulls me over. ‘Is that where Buckingham Palace is?’

  ‘Yes, why?’

  He concentrates, eyelids flickering, no words coming out.

  ‘I’m getting out soon,’ I say. ‘I’d like to see you get out, too. What’s going on with your release?’

  ‘I’d like to go to Florida. They’ve moved the Hope Diamond there for me. It was in California.’ He reels off the names of famous people he’s going to live with.

  Listening to him makes me sad. I try to snap him out of it: ‘Look, you’ve served almost 28 years! You were eligible for release three years ago! It’s time you were out of here! You’v
e more than paid your debt back to society. You’re stuck in here because you need some help getting your release package filed and processed correctly.’

  ‘But John McCain …’

  ‘Forget about John McCain! I don’t think he’s going to help you. He’s taking massive political contributions from the private prisons.’

  ‘I wrote to the President and the Queen of England.’

  ‘The Queen of England!’

  ‘Yeah. She was here two weeks ago. I saw her on TV, so I wrote to her.’

  ‘To help you get out?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You need an organisation that has some legal expertise in getting prisoners released, and we need to establish a place that will take you. Look, when I post stories about you on the internet, I’m going to mention that you’re stuck in here and see if we can get you help. Would you like that?’

  ‘Yeah. Do you know my name and number?’

  ‘Yes. I know who you are. And if nobody steps up, when I get out I’ll contact organisations myself.’

  ‘Gee, thanks.’ Slingblade turns and walks away.

  Contemplating how to get Slingblade released, I return to my cell. My thoughts soon revert to Magpie.

  68

  Expecting the slip on my door to be instructions to return to work, I’m relieved it’s a Master Pass for rape class. Having never been to rape class before, and unsure what it entails, I join dozens of prisoners in a room, facing a beat-up TV and CO3 Dunn, his massive barrel-body expanding with each inhale. Prisoners discuss the class:

  ‘What’s this motherfucking shit?’

  ‘It’s a rape pageant, motherfucker!’

  ‘How many times have you been raped in the past month, motherfucker?’

  ‘You can’t rape the willing, dawg! We’re gonna get all the fucking details about getting raped. They’re gonna show us a video and give us free rape kits.’