Chapter 10 - The Hole
Day 23 - Late Morning
The eight by ten cell had yellowed cinderblock walls and a skinny window in the wall on the far side. A thin mattress pad was folded in half on a concrete block along the wall to my right. My new bunk. To my left was the familiar stainless steel toilet-sink.
For the first time in 23 days I was surrounded by a suffocating bubble of emptiness. There were no more voices to hear — no orders from COs, no shouts of energetic nonsense from other inmates, no gavels coming down, no cries of love and sadness from family members. Just silence.
I walked across the cell to look out the window. The glass was foggy with age, cross-hatched with chicken wire, and I could only see out of it with both eyes if I turned my head sideways, but I could see well enough that an inner courtyard of the jail was on the other side. The outer walls of the jail were made of red brick and in the far wall of the courtyard was an ordinary looking door with an ordinary looking doorknob. A concrete path led to a small stainless steel table and the rest of the space was taken up by freshly manicured grass. It was the first time I had seen grass in 23 days.
This must be where the staff go to get some fresh air.
I turned around and walked back to the door of the cell. It also had a window cross-hatched with chicken wire but it was a few inches wider than the exterior window. Outside this window in the small pod before me I could see two stainless steel tables, a phone, and a few closed doors. There were no signs of life.
I turned around and sat on the concrete bunk for about three seconds before I remembered that my veins were still full of adrenaline. I stood back up and walked to the exterior window and looked out. Grass. I walked back to the door and looked out. Empty pod. Back to the exterior window. Back again to the door. My heartbeat was thudding in my ears and I had no idea what to do. My body was telling me to do something, my mind was telling me to do something, but there was absolutely nothing to do.
I guess I’ll take a piss. I emptied my bladder into the stainless steel bowl and pressed the button to flush. Except nothing happened — it didn’t flush. What the hell? I pressed the button on the sink and a trickle of water started to flow. I didn’t have soap or a towel, but I rinsed my hands anyway. I tried the flush button again, but still nothing. That’s weird.
“Hey, Number Five,” came a muffled shout from outside my door. I stepped over to the cell door to look out, but I still didn’t see anything. The voice rang out again. “On your left.” I shifted to the right so I could see better and I could just barely make out a cell door with a big number three painted onto the wall above it. A face was in the window for a moment before disappearing again. “Hey, Number Five! What’d you do?” he shouted, before his face reappeared.
“Got into a fight,” I said simply. My voice was a bit shaky.
His face disappeared again. “What? I can’t hear you, speak up.”
“GOT INTO A FIGHT,” I tried again, louder this time.
Each time he spoke his face disappeared. “I still can’t hear you. Put your face into the crack of the door when you talk, like I’m doing.”
I was getting annoyed. I didn’t really want to talk to this guy, but I didn’t want to be disrespectful. And it’s not like I had anything else to do, so I slid my face over to the edge of the door and yelled, “GOT INTO A FIGHT.”
“Motherfucker!” said Number Three. “Did you fuck him up?”
I shook my head. I was still too fired up to start talking about it. I needed to calm down first.
“Oh. Did he fuck you up then?” Number Three asked.
I shook my head again and changed the subject. “HOW DO YOU FLUSH THE TOILETS?” I yelled into the door, completely unsure of how loud I needed to be. This must be how my grandmother feels when she uses a cell phone.
Number Three answered. “Ask the CO to flush it for you when they make their rounds. They do it from the outside. You didn’t take a shit did you?” he continued before I could answer. “If you did, just lay your towel over the toilet to keep the smell in.”
What towel?
POP. The familiar sound of an unlocked door rang out in the distance.
“Oh shit, right on time,” Number Three said. A moment later a young woman’s face appeared in the window of the pod door. After a bit of key jangling she entered and Number Three called out, “Hey CO. Motherfucker in five just took a shit and needs a flush.”
The CO had a blue rubbermaid tub in her hands. My property box! She walked into the pod and placed it on one of the stainless steel tables before walking toward my cell. She found another key on her keyring and opened the pipe chase next to my cell door. The toilet next to me roared to life and about forty thousand gallons of water ran through it for the next three seconds. Her face appeard in the window of my cell and she said, “you’ve got one hour,” before she turned around and left the pod.
“One hour for what?” I yelled. She didn’t respond, but a few seconds later my cell door opened with a POP. I pushed open the door and walked out into the pod to get my property box.
“You got one hour for rec, dawg,” said Number Three. “You can shower, use the phone, or do laps around the pod to stretch your legs a bit.”
“What about commissary?” I asked. “Today’s store day.”
“Not in here, dawg. You can get writing supplies and hygiene items, but no food from commissary. They’ll send back any food that you ordered and refund your books.”
“Damn. Well I should probably shower and call home while I have the chance then.”
“Yea, you do that,” said Number Three. “Hey, what’s your name?”
“Mick. Yours?”
“Harvey. Pleased to meet you.”
“Likewise.” I should’ve walked away. Continued on to take my shower and mind my own business. But some part of me just had to ask the question. “What are you in here for?”
Harvey had a proud look in his eye, almost joyful. “I refused to lock down with a child molester,” he said. “One moved into the pod yesterday and they tried to put him in my cell. I said ‘hell no! You put a chomo in my cell and I’m buckin,’ but they did it anyway.”
As far as jail stories go, Harvey’s was somewhat interesting, but I was having a hard time focusing on what he was saying. I was still trying to process everything that happened to me. A few weeks ago I had thought all my rights were taken away and that things couldn’t possibly get any worse, and now I’m standing here in the hole because I keep making stupid decisions.
“Come lockdown time I just stood outside,” Harvey continued. “After that one of the CO’s came up to me and said, ‘I’m giving you a direct order. Lockdown now.’ But I stood my ground. No way in hell I’m gonna get in a cell with a child molester.”
I’d like to walk away now. But he’s still going. I only have an hour.
“I told him,” Harvey kept going, “I said, ‘CO, you’re gonna have to take me to the hole,’ and then he said if he has to take me to the hole he’s gonna pepper spray me first. So I just stood there with my hands behind my back and my eyes closed while that motherfucker unloaded his pepper spray on me. The whole goddamn can!”
“Wow. That sucks man,” I said.
“Thank god it wasn’t that big can of OC spray. You seen the one that one sergeant always carries?”
Ok. I think that’s enough.
“Yea, I’ve seen it. I’m gonna hit the shower man.”
“Arright then Mick. Good talkin’ to ya,” said Harvey.
I turned back to my cell and grabbed a few things from my property box — a bottle of shampoo, a bar of soap, a towel, and my shower shoes. I stripped off my clothes, wrapped the towel around me, and walked to the shower in the corner of the pod. Behind the curtain was a shower the size of a small closet with stainless steel walls and fixtures. I closed the curtain behind me, tossed my towel over the curtain rod, pressed the button on the wall, and I took a deep breath while a steady stream of water started to flow. At least the water’s warm.
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