‘Stun guns.’
‘Tasers.’
‘Knockout drops.’
‘Chloroform.’
‘Condoms.’
‘Everyone shut the fuck up!’ CO3 Dunn yells. ‘This class will prevent you from getting a ticket for not showing up because I’m giving motherfuckers tickets. This programme is truly mandatory. They handed me the son-of-a-bitch video and said, “Do it for everyone.” PREA stands for the Prison Rape Elimination Act. It covers inmates and staff, for whom there is zero tolerance for sexual assaults. The law was signed into effect by President Bush on 4 September 2003.’
‘2003!’ Weird Al says. ‘It’s 2007. Where the fuck have you been the past four years?’
‘What do you mean?’ CO3 Dunn asks.
‘Has the law slipped your minds until now or were you waiting for the anniversary of the 40,000th prisoner to be raped?’
We laugh.
‘What the fuck do you care?’ CO3 Dunn growls.
‘Nothing,’ Weird Al says. ‘I was just touched by your concern.’
‘Well, I don’t give a fuck!’ CO3 Dunn says. ‘Let’s get on to the video.’
The out-of-focus TV shows a round table of prisoners, a guard and a female warden. The first inmate describes moving from a juvenile to an adult facility at 17, serving a sentence for a minor crime. In prison, he was encouraged to get drunk on spud juice and pruno laced with Thorazine. As he details getting gang-raped, I fold my arms. He says his assailants tossed a coin to decide who owned him. The winner protected him in return for sex. The second inmate describes how his neighbour hanged himself after being raped. The next section is ‘What to watch for.’
‘It’s the guy with the sweets!’
‘Not the sweets!’
Anticipation sweeps the room. The video shows sweets left in a cell by rapists sitting in a day room. A young inmate picks the sweets up, leaves the cell and puts them on a table. He says, ‘I’m not interested.’ The rapists look defeated.
The classroom erupts with laughter.
‘It’s the kind of people that laugh at this video that are most likely to commit sexual assaults!’ CO3 Dunn thunders.
The video warns not to take things from predators. Stamps. Coffee. Writing supplies. New prisoners should stay at the back of the chow line to avoid sitting in the wrong seat. They should stay away from gambling, drug debts and isolated areas, and have friends watch their backs.
CO3 Dunn pauses the video. ‘If you don’t have the heart to help someone out, you’re an animal not a man, including staff. If it was your sister or brother, you’d help. Do you have any idea what happens to an inmate who stops a rape on staff?’
A freckled, bespectacled redhead raises a hand. ‘You get locked-down, lose your job, get moved to another yard and generally screwed over by the prison.’
‘How do you know?’ CO3 Dunn asks.
‘I rescued a kidnapped female about to get raped.’
I make a mental note to get that prisoner’s story.
‘Welcome to the fucking real world!’ CO3 Dunn says. ‘I remember a fish, scared as hell, fresh out of juvie. The fellas were wrestling with him. I told him, “You need to stop those guys putting the body bump to you.” He said, “They’re just playing.” He was a bitch within two days. They turned him out. It doesn’t matter how big or bad you think you are, four or five guys can hold anybody down. No one is immune. In DOC, any sex is now classed as rape, willing or unwilling, with prisoners or staff. Prisoners will be prosecuted, and staff will be fired and prosecuted for rape.’
Iron Man raises his hand. ‘What if you get caught having sex with yourself? Is that rape?’
Ignoring the question, CO3 Dunn restarts the video. A prisoner states he was hungry coming to prison, so he took commissary to eat. He ended up repaying the debt with oral sex.
The class laugh and howl.
The recipient of the oral told him he was preventing others from hurting him and would stop taking care of him if the oral stopped. The new prisoner continued the oral sex.
Laughter.
‘Listen to the movie!’ CO3 Dunn yells. ‘Keep your voices down!’
‘We want popcorn!’
In the final scene, a guard orders an inmate to clean an isolated area, then rapes him.
At the round table, an inmate urges rape to be reported and concern forms filled out. The female warden urges victims not to destroy the physical evidence. ‘Don’t shower, brush your teeth or use the bathroom.’ A prisoner states that rape can turn a five-year sentence into the death penalty by diseases such as AIDS.
‘What are you gonna do if sexually assaulted?’ CO3 Dunn asks.
‘Shank the rapist!’
‘Then you’re gonna go to the hole. Predators need to be off the yard. Personally, I think they should be hung by their dicks until dead, but that’s not the way to go in here. Report it!’
Everyone mocks the ridiculousness of reporting anything.
‘Report it to who?’ Iron Man asks.
‘Me,’ CO3 Dunn says.
‘And suffer the consequences. Getting shanked for being a snitch? It’s a no-win situation.’
‘I understand there’s pressure on snitches, but reporting is the only way to get rapists prosecuted. This isn’t a trivial matter. Would you like it if a fish came in today and got raped here?’
‘He’d better become a motherfucking man overnight.’
‘You guys need to back him up. Someone needs to talk to me. It’s the only way to create a safe environment for all of us. OK. Class dismissed.’
Sadly, after the class, a young mentally ill inmate on Yard 4 is gang-raped and put in lockdown for his own protection. No one reports anything.
69
Just two weeks until my release and everything is accelerating. Time. My thoughts. My excitement. My feelings for Jade. My problems revolving around the kitchen.
Due to my ticket for walking off the job, I’m summoned to a disciplinary hearing. In a tiny room, I sit facing a panel of guards and counsellors eager to make an example out of anyone weaselling out of kitchen duty. One asks why I walked out. If I say to avoid violence with Magpie, I’d be violating the no-snitching code, which would get me smashed. Anticipating them ruling against me whatever I say, I tell them it was anxiety and I’m in psychotherapy. Their impassive expressions morph into distaste. Rattled by their negative energy, I sense what’s coming next. I’m told they’ve already contacted Dr Pedder, who said I’m fit for work. I’m ordered to return to the kitchen or else receive more disciplinary sanctions, and something I’ve never heard of – Parole Class 3 status – which means the loss of my half-time release and two more years to serve. A whirlwind of agitated thoughts batters my skull, twisting my ability to reason. I pledge to return to work but yell that my attorney will individually sue them if they try to pull my release. I storm out ready to punch a wall.
At all costs, I must come up with a plan to save my release.
In the evening, Magpie bursts into Weird Al’s cell, threatening to shank me if I don’t resume work.
The next morning, I receive a slip ordering me back to the kitchen. After sighing, ripping it into little pieces, dropping them into the toilet and urinating on them, I get dressed and put as much effort into work as I can. Fortunately, Magpie isn’t there. I spray trays and scrub pans with no protective gear and lots of cleaning chemicals. At the end of the shift, a guard tells me he’s under pressure from his superiors to give me tickets for the last few days I didn’t show up, but he refused as he considers it unfair. Those bastards are really going after my release. I return to my cell exhausted, shower, put sneakers on and watch the door for Magpie, only removing my footwear after lockdown.
The next morning, I submit a request to see a doctor, having woken up with bleeding, pus-filled sores on both middle fingers. I write that I have repeatedly requested gloves from the kitchen manager, but none have been forthcoming, even though I have showed him my deteriorating hands. At work, I lavishly use
cleaning chemicals, aware Magpie will be in the following day; we’ll probably end up fighting – and even my attorney won’t be able to salvage my release. By the time I finish, my eyes are vampire red, my tonsils as hard as golf balls and my fingers have bleeding sores.
In the morning, I rush for the slip on my door, hoping it’s not a kitchen assignment. It’s for Medical. Yes! I join 20 inmates walking to Medical, half of them hoping for work waivers, others just glad to get a day’s reprieve from the kitchen.
‘There’s two doctors,’ Iron Man says, hoping a knee injury will qualify him for a waiver, as kitchen duty involves standing all day. ‘If it’s Dr Miller, we’re fucked! He never gives waivers. We’ve got a chance if it’s Dr Wentworth.’
For hours, we stew in an outdoor cage, obsessing over which doctor it’ll be. The first inmate to emerge from Medical announces it’s Dr Wentworth. Elated, we smile and nod, wide-eyed, aware the battle’s not over, bracing to perform in front of the doctor. Iron Man goes in and returns ten minutes later grinning, staring at a waiver, entranced, as if detaching his eyes might make it vanish. After high-fiving him, I go next. Doddering old Dr Wentworth asks questions, squeezes my tonsils, and examines my eyes and hands. I tell him about my requests for protective gear and Apple Sauce’s mockery. He says I’m having an allergic reaction and issues me a waiver. I walk out of Medical and kiss the paper in front of Iron Man.
Twenty minutes later, a female guard appears at my door. ‘Attwood, step outside of your cell in your shower shoes. You have been chosen to have your cell searched.’
Retaliation for dodging kitchen work. ‘OK.’ I walk onto the balcony, open a book and read while two guards toss my property.
‘Oh!’ she says, nose in the air, sniffing like a rabbit. ‘You’ve been smoking in your cell.’
‘I don’t think so,’ I say.
‘Like I can’t smell the smoke,’ she says.
‘Like the smoke doesn’t come through the vents,’ I say.
‘Yeah, right,’ she says.
I flush with irritation. No matter what I say, I’m just another lying inmate, so I’d better keep my mouth shut. Won’t have to deal with this bullshit for much longer.
‘When did they move you from D run?’ she asks.
‘The last time I was on D run was on Yard 4.’
‘I’m talking about Yard 1. You’re the one always hanging out on D run.’
Here she goes again. ‘I think you’ve got me confused with someone else. I’m in my cell mostly reading and writing.’
‘No. I remember seeing you always hanging out on D run. You were over there all the time,’ she says, radiating deviousness.
‘I just told you, I stay in my cell all day long.’
I stay silent. She’s looking for trouble, trying to provoke me. Another test before freedom. She wants to give me a ticket to jeopardise my release.
‘Where’s your TV at?’
‘I don’t have one.’
‘You don’t have one?’
‘No. Like I said, I read and write all day. By not having a TV, I’ve managed to read over 1,000 books in just under six years.’
She scowls.
‘Aren’t you getting out soon?’ the male asks.
‘Next week,’ I say.
Their shared expression says, He’s getting out, so he sold his TV.
‘So you don’t watch TV, eh?’ she asks, smirking knowingly.
‘No, I don’t. I try not to waste any time,’ I say.
‘You’ve been down long enough to get a TV.’
‘I don’t have one by choice.’
‘Hmm,’ she says. ‘It must be inconvenient to have us come along and disrupt your day.’
My blood stirs. Stay quiet. Don’t let her suck you into her game.
‘What, are you tongue-tied now, Attwood?’ she asks.
Straining to contain the resentment bubbling up, I ignore her. They eventually leave, but return with reinforcements. Every cell on the yard is searched for the TV she thinks I sold, causing uproar among the prisoners and antagonising the guards who’ve worked here long enough to know I’m the only prisoner without a TV.
Hoping to reduce my tension, I join Iron Man for martial arts.
‘Magpie’s pissed ’cause you got your waiver. He’s mouthing off about smashing you.’
‘I’m sick of waiting for him to show up at my cell,’ I say. ‘I’d rather just go to his cell, fight and get it over with.’ Most disputes are settled by in-cell fighting, which I’m prepared for.
‘Don’t do that. They’ll see it on camera. You’ll be the aggressor and you’ll lose your release. The fellas are sick of him running his mouth. They told him, “Go handle your business and squash it.” He has to make his move now, or else they’ll run him off the yard.’
‘Show me those chokeholds again …’ I ask.
After the session, I’m rearing to fight Magpie and get it over with.
Hours later, I’m reading with my sneakers on when the door opens. ‘England, we need to talk,’ Magpie says, walking in.
I bounce up, adrenalin soaring. ‘What’s up?’ Our eyes lock, but my peripheral vision takes in his hands in case he has a knife. Intensely focused, I feel energy course through me, activating the strength accumulated from working out daily for months with Iron Man. Punch the shit out of him now. No. Wait. See what he does.
Maintaining a safe distance, Magpie holds his hands out, palms up. I can see in his eyes that he knows I’m prepared to fight. ‘Look, England. I didn’t mean anything running my mouth the other day. I’m like that with everyone.’
He’s full of shit. Why would he run around saying he’s going to smash me? He’s setting me up for a sucker punch or a shanking. Maybe he has a knife tucked in the back of his trousers. I stare, ready to pounce.
‘Look, England, I like you. That’s why I fucked with you. I know it made you mad, so I apologise.’ Magpie offers a hand.
He seems sincere, but I’m wary of entering the range of being struck by a knife. I step forward, slowly, approaching him at a 45-degree angle, so my vital organs are more difficult to stab. I hold my hand out – bracing to retract it and snap-kick him in the thigh – but he makes no sudden moves. ‘All right, I accept your apology,’ I say, shaking his hand. ‘When someone like you who’s killed two guys in prison fucks with someone like me it’s a major concern to me and my friends. You’ve got a reputation.’
‘But that was years ago. I came in the system a youngster, a short-timer. Killing them dudes was something I had to do. It was either me or them. I’m getting out next month. I don’t want to cop no more time.’
That makes perfect sense. He’s getting out. He’s not going to risk his release. I ease up a bit. ‘I never knew you were getting out. I know you’ve been down a long time. Are you going to make it out there, man?’
‘How am I gonna make it?’ he says, shaking his head. ‘I’m a junkie. Someone from parole came to see me and they told me I’m institutionalised. I’ve got money. My father owned a business. But I’m a junkie, man. What am I gonna do?’ He gazes at me with despair, as if I should know the answer.
For the first time, I see how vulnerable he is. My ill will and perception of him as a maniac disappear. I see him as human and try to imagine what three decades in here have done to him. His prediction of getting released only to come right back saddens me. ‘You’ve just got to try to stay off the shit, Magpie.’
‘I’ve been doing heroin my whole life.’
‘It’s going to be hard, but try to find other things to do. Travel the country. Go places you’ve always wanted to see.’
‘If I come to England, will you show me around? I’m serious. I’ve got the money.’
‘If you get round to it, you can find me online.’
‘Cool.’ He turns and leaves.
With the kitchen and Magpie problems resolved, all I can think about now is being free, free, free!
70
‘You look happy,’ Dr
Pedder says.
‘Yes,’ I reply, beaming. ‘My release was finally processed. I should be leaving here next week. Do you have any advice for me when I get out?’
‘Get some therapy set up.’
‘We have the National Health Service in the UK. I’ll see if I can continue with them.’
‘And look how revved up you are right now,’ she says, widening her spooky grey eyes. ‘Your enthusiasm is worrying me. You need to slow down, pull yourself back. Don’t allow yourself to ascend up into the clouds.’
‘But I’m so close to getting out. I’m so happy to be alive and in one piece after everything I’ve been through.’
‘But when you get overwrought like this you’re apt to making stupid decisions. There’s enthusiasm and there’s giddiness, and you’re almost giddy.’
‘Being happy hypomanic is one of the best feelings in the world!’
‘I have two dogs at home, and one of them nearly got herself euthanised.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she was bounding around with overexcitement, jumping on people and grabbing their arms with her forelegs. That’s how your excitement is coming across right now. Your emotional side has taken over. The rational side needs to be running the show. If the rational part is in control, then you’ll stop and think before you make decisions. You’ll ask yourself: does this make sense? Does this lead to trouble? What is the downside?’
‘As far as the bigger picture is concerned, I feel that prison has enabled me to do that.’
‘Then you should be able to stay out of trouble.’
‘I’ve got a plan for when I get out. I’m determined to apply the discipline it requires. When I came to the US, I worked long hours on the phone as a stockbroker. I aim to put the same effort into becoming a writer. To write daily and not be swayed by the pleasures of my past. I recently read a Solzhenitsyn biography. He wrote for so many hours a day, not allowing any interruptions. The odds against him succeeding were overwhelming. If he could get out of the Gulag with nothing, and go from living in some old lady’s kitchen to accomplishing so much through strict discipline, then I’m ready to take on the world.’
Prison Time Page 31