"Before you come down to chow tomorrow, I want to take your padlock and put it inside a sock. I'll show you how to tie it, but make sure it's the longest sock you've got."
My eyes widened. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm not going to do anything. We're gonna do what we have to do," Paul said. "These motherfuckers have to learn we're not playing."
The next morning, we returned from the chow hall early and ducked into the shadows of the door to the infirmary. It was still dark outside and unseasonably warm, but I was still trembling as if it were below zero.
Paul had me stand behind him, with my sock dangling in my right hand. It was heavy from the padlock secured at the bottom by a tightly tied knot. Paul peered out from the edge, trying his best not to be seen. He had brought his lock in sock as well. Yet for all his bravado, he was shaking as much as me. For the first time, I thought maybe he was in over his head.
Reese came up the walkway alone. He didn't see us standing there. Nor did he see Paul come up behind him when he cracked him on top of his head. The sound of the lock bouncing off his crown let out a loud smackrattling the tumblers inside the lock. Reese staggered backward, and Paul hit him with a left hook and then again with the lock in his right hand. Reese ducked and then slipped and fell, scrambling to catch his footing up the walkway that led to the control center. Stunned, but emboldened by his falling, I lunged forward and swung, just missing him. Aside from that early night in the barracks, this was the first time I was really fighting back-and it felt terrifying. I took another swing, knowing that Paul would be pissed if I didn't try. I hit him across his ear, though the lock bounced off his shoulder breaking the impact. Paul came around my left and brought his lock crashing down on top of him, hitting squarely on the head just as he tried to bolt up the walk. Reese fell to the pavement. Paul and I each hit him again and then ran into A-unit, before anyone saw us.
By mid-morning, most of the inmates had heard what had happened. Reese was taken to Riverside, where he was kept in the infirmary for several days before he was transferred to another prison in Muskegon, which was often the case when inmates were assaulted.
And for a little while, at least, Paul and I were left alone. But there were a few who let me know, that if were it not for Paul-they'd "take that" nodding toward by ass.
"These ho's ain't gonna do a motherfuckin' thing," Paul said. "They ain't gonna do nothin' but sell wolf tickets." Wolf tickets were when inmates talked about what they were going to do to somebody, but they rarely backed it up unless they were traveling in a pack, and even then-Paul said, loudly, "many of these bitches are cowards."
I smiled, proudly, because he had empowered me. I had not felt so good since I came to prison, even though I knew Paul was doing the very thing he was accusing them of doing. He was just showing off and bluffing, like we were playing poker. Paul said, "That's a big part of it, you know. It's not whether you're going to something or not, the game is-in making them believe that you will. But every now and then, you have to show a good hand. Most of these guys are too short to do anything in here." He was referring to the fact that most were within a few months of parole-so they weren't going to do that much. "But I don't give a fuck," Paul said. "I've been down too long to put up with these knuckleheads. I'm liable to haul off and take off their motherfuckin' heads."
What terrified me most, was how good it felt to attack Reese. Once I got beyond my fears, I actually enjoyed it. There was one moment in particular, when I swung at Reese that I wanted him to pay for everything awful that had ever happened to me. "This is for Chet and Red and Nate and Moseley and every other fucker who's ever messed with me," I thought, slugging away at him. And as the lock came crashing down into his skull, I felt an odd sense of relief. Paul was teaching me how to survive in there. What he showed me that day, however, was the most valuable lesson of my entire stay. And it took a boy-not a man-to teach me this.
33
Broken Promises
Next Month. Next Year. Next Season. As soon as the school year is over.
For eight years I believed what she had to say. I was sixteen before I realized I was never again going to live with my mother. Yet after a while, I was too afraid to complain to her, because she might cut me offlike she had already done to my brother and sister.
Once, when Rick and Igot into trouble together, she told me I could forget her phone number.
Were it not for the 4:30 count, I would have slept all afternoon. Paul shoved me as the stampede of feet came up the catwalk. "You better hurry up," he said. "You don't want another ticket."
I couldn't afford any more, since Simon was looking for a reason to separate us. Simon was the ARUM, the Assistant Resident Unit Manager, or Ahole as Paul called him. I didn't know where he was, during the first part of my stay, when I was having all kinds of problems-but now here he wasand busting our balls.
I slipped out of Paul's room and fought the tide of bodies as I made my way up the hall then down the other wing to my cell.
"Parsell," Goodman yelled. "Where've you been, boy?"
"Nowhere," I said.
Goodman was the counselor-the Resident Unit Manager. He was Simon's superior. Simon had been on our case because of how close Paul and I had become. As if our closeness were a problem. And so now what did Goodman want?
"Come to my office when count is cleared," Goodman said. He was black, and Simon was white but they shared the same office on the second tier.
After count, I went to his office and stood in his door.
"Well, if it isn't Timothy, the disciple of Paul," Goodman joked, hanging up the phone. He pointed to a chair next to his desk. "We need to talk about you and your friend."
"What about it?" I sat down.
"Well, there's concern you two are spending too much time together."
"I really don't give a fuck," I said. I could feel my anger rising, but it felt good to talk back like that. I wouldn't dare do that with any of the inmates, and there wasn't much he could do to me-other than write me a ticket. Besides, no one ever intervened when an inmate was being taunted or abused.
"There's no need to get belligerent," he said. "I'm not the enemy."
"I didn't say you were. It's just that it's not anyone's business what Paul and me do-unless we're breaking the rules."
"Is that so?"
"That's right," I said, imagining Paul being proud of me for standing up for us.
"OK," he said. "Then we don't have anything else to discuss."
"Fine." I got up and walked out, fairly pleased with myself for putting him in his place. Though it did occur to me, that it seemed to have ended too easily.
Back in my room, Paul said, "You shouldn't have done that. He was trying to befriend you."
"Well, I didn't know that," I said, disappointed that he wasn't proud of me. Far from it. "What was I supposed to do?"
"I think we need to go back there and clean it up," Paul said. "He's is the only thing standing between us and that A-hole Simon."
Goodman listened quietly as I groveled in his doorway, Paul at my side. "I'm sorry, I didn't know what to say, and I was nervous you were going to move us. We didn't do anything wrong, and Simon has been busting our balls. And ... I'm sorry I cursed at you."
"I tried to befriend you," he said. "And you shit all over me."
"But what about all these other motherfuckers?" Paul said. "It's a bunch of shit and you know it." Paul was incensed because they weren't questioning anyone else about how "close" they had become.
"I don't know what to say," Goodman said. "Simon's gone to the commander."
Paul jumped in, "You know what'll happen if they separate us, Mr. Goodman."
"Divide and conquer," he said, nodding, "but you two guys have been fronting yourselves off by spending too much time together-and disappearing."
I couldn't understand what was happening, "You mean because we spend a lot of time together, but don't get into trouble-that we're a problem?"
It was bullshit, and he knew it. If we had been hanging out with a man, they wouldn't have said a thing. But because we were two queers who stuck together they wanted to break us up. It wasn't fair. Besides, they knew that if they split us up, we'd be vulnerable to being attacked.
"I'll file a grievance!" I challenged.
"And say what?" Goodman said, looking at me. "That you can't be with your boyfriend?This is prison, boy. You got no right to be with anyone."
"And you call this befriending me?" I said.
"It's too late for that now. Simon's taken it out of my hands."
Paul and I went to chow together, but neither of us had an appetite.
"It's not your fault," Paul said. "Simon was going to have us separated no matter what Goodman said."
"I hate both those motherfuckers," I said.
The next afternoon, the guard told Paul to pack his belongings. He was being moved to D-unit. "Maybe I can get over there too," I said.
Paul shook his head. "There's no way. Our best bet is to wait a week or two and then you should asked to be moved to E- or F-unit. I'll wait a week or so and do the same. Maybe the housing officer will forget you and I aren't supposed to be in the same housing unit. In the meantime, we'll have to hook up at chow and at yard."
My stomach tightened. I didn't think I could ever eat again. I was losing not only my best friend in prison, but also the boy who had protected and taught me so much.
"Can I help King carry his stuff?" I asked the guard at the desk.
"No," Simon said from the landing above. "Get Williams or Nichols to help, but Parsell you stay here."
I tried to protest, but Paul stopped me. "Don't. It's not worth it."
"Yeah, boy!" an inmate called out from the side. "Your little Popsicle ain't gonna help you now."
Paul shot him a look, but he was unmoved. "Go on, bitch, and get yourself a man while you're at it."
"That's enough," Simon said. "King! Get moving."
I walked to my cell, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of knowing I was crumbling inside. "I'll see you at chow," I said to Paul. "Hang back if they call you first."
"I'll see you," Paul said. He looked at me, and I could tell he was feeling exactly as I was. He looked up at Simon and grabbed his bags.
Later that week, when I reported to work early, Sherry's door was closed. I sat at my desk and started typing job orders that were in my in-box. I didn't know who she was in there with, but it had to be another staff member, since she never closed the door with an inmate. I heard a man's voice rise, and I went to listen at the door to see if I could tell who it was. He sounded angry. "You'd make warden a hell of lot sooner, if you weren't such an arrogant . . ." He snatched open the door and his face dropped when he found me standing there.
He was a black man, in his late twenties. He was wearing a suit, and walked out without saying another word. He looked embarrassed.
"I'm sorry," I said to Sherry. "I was just ..."
"It's OK," she said.
"I just wanted to make sure ..."
"I said it's OK."
That afternoon, I tried to ask what happened, because I was dying to know who the man was. "Don't," she said. It was the first time I felt like she was closing me out, the same way Mom used to.
"What?" she asked, annoyed. "You think you're the only one who gets harassed?"
I'd never heard her take such a harsh tone with anyone.
"Don't worry about me," Sherry said. "I can handle myself. There are battles worth fighting, and there are some you can only lose. So I pick mine wisely. What about you?"
"What about me?"
"There are no victims in here," she said harshly. "Everybody feels sorry for themselves, but what about what you did to get yourselves here in the first place? What about the victims of your crime? How much pity do any of you have for them?"
"I didn't hurt anyone," I said.
"Yeah? What about the people you stole from?"
"It was a company."
"And the woman inside the Photo Mat? You don't think she was frightened? Don't you see? All you're worried about is how you feel. How you've been messed over-but I don't hear you taking responsibility for anything. Regardless of what was done to you."
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said. "I'm going to school." I almost felt like crying. I didn't understand why she was attacking me.
"Sure, you're gong to school. That's great. I'm very proud of you, but what I'm talking about is growing up. Getting rid of these baby attitudes, like how wrong the world is and how everybody is always hurting you. A lot of you guys use that stuff as an excuse for your behavior-like it's OK to act any way you want."
"I do not!"
"Yes you do. That's all I've been hearing from you-how unfair it is that Simon had Paul moved. You know you two are lovers and that sexual misconduct is against the rules, yet the only thing I hear you talking about is how wrong Simon is."
"Well he is! They didn't catch us doing anything." I hated her for turning on me like this. What did she know about "sexual misconduct"? Had she been gang raped or forced to turn to a man for protection and then had to do anything he ordered her to do? I had thought she was cool. With Paul gone, Miss Bain was the only bright spot in my life. I needed her attention now, more than ever. Only she wasn't listening. She was talking just like Goodman, Simon, or the warden.
"Oh never mind!" I said. "I thought I could talk to you."
"You can talk to me," Sherry said. "You can always talk to me. But it doesn't mean you'll always hear what you want to hear."
"You're all just a bunch a homophobes."
A bunch of what?"
"Homophobes," I repeated. "Homophobia." I read it in the book Paul gave me.
"I'm not afraid of homosexuals," Sherry said. "And I don't dislike them either, but the rules are the rules, and the issue is not whether anything is wrong with being gay. The issue is-the enforcement of rules and your willingness to accept responsibility."
"Forget it!" I stormed out of the office.
How could she be so callous?She was probably taking Simon's side because she had to, and I didn't want to hear it. I felt betrayed by her, and I didn't care if she reported nee, or wrote me up. I wasn't going to listen to any more of her bullshit. What made me think anyone inside would be different?
"You always have a choice," she had said to me once, after Paul and I beat up Reese with our locks. "You can let what happens in here harden you upor soften you. And only you can decide that. But take a good look around. Which one do you think will take you further?" She obviously knew what we had done, but neither of us would discuss it with her directly. Besides, she knew we would never admit it, so we talked around the matter without putting either one of us in an uncomfortable spot.
Paul's lips tasted sweet, but his stubble pinched the skin around my mouth reminding me of old times under his bed. When Slide Step first kissed me, I had asked if he wouldn't do it again. I didn't like kissing. I told him about the girl I had once dated in seventh grade and the time she stuck her tongue in my mouth after a dance. It grossed me out. Slide Step understood. But now that Paul was doing the same, I was able to surrender to it. In fact, I loved it. He was holding the back of my head while caressing my neck. When I opened my eyes, I was expecting to see his shut, but they weren't. He was staring at me intensely, and it drove me wild. Paul was the first person who made me feel I could do no wrong. He even liked it when I acted like a geek and embarrassed myself. When he nibbled on my lip, I felt my dick grow.
We were lying beneath the junipers next to the gym. It was cold outside, and an occasional pine needle cut through my jeans. They were sharp, like his chin, which scratched a light trail across the skin of my stomach. He had been sucking me for what felt like an hour. He caught my load, as I exploded, and continued sucking. My breath was racing as fast as my mind, but in those few moments, I felt as if I had transcended the barbed-wire fence that surrounded us.
Paul was in D
-unit, and I had been moved to C. We waited a few weeks and asked if I could be moved to D; meanwhile Paul asked about C-but we were both told no.
I took Jake on as my man. I didn't have a choice, and Paul was being pressured as well. Something happened to him earlier in the day, but he didn't want to talk about it.
Paul scooted up beside me against the wall and took my hand. "I just can't take it no more," he said. His eyes glassed over. "I've been down a long time."
We sat there silently-holding each other's hand and listening to inmates come and go from the gym. "You know, before coming to prison," Paul said. "I'd never harmed anyone physically. I never even considered it. People don't realize how difficult it is to keep your mind when you're in an environment where at any moment you might be assaulted. It's a had way to live."
I squeezed his hand.
"In order to survive, you have to become an animal just like everyone else, because the only thing they respect is violence."
"I wish people on the outside knew what went on here," I said.
"Shit. We're convicts," Paul said. "Nobody cares about convicts."
I looked up at the sky through the trees.
He was right, but it still didn't seem right.
"You'll be out in a year or so," he said. "I still have a long time to go. I'm just tired, you know?"
I looked at Paul and nodded.
The consequences of what we were considering had not occurred to me.
We had devised a plan of escape. On the face of the inside fence, was a tightly woven metal mesh that ran about halfway up. It prevented hands and feet from being able to climb it. And the rolls of constantine wire created an extra hurdle. But the gun tower on the corner fence, behind the gym, was often unmanned.
Paul and I discussed our route as we hid in the bushes and watched for movement in the tower. "I'm not sure I can climb the fence where the mesh is," I told Paul.
Fish: A Memoir of a Boy in Man's Prison Page 32