Chapter 8 - Fight
Day 22 - Night
“Five minutes to lockdown, fiiive minutes to lockdown.” Sometimes the loudspeaker announcement was made with great urgency, but on this particular evening it was cool, calm, and collected. On the other hand, the pod volume that had been subsiding came back with a vengeful roar as a new flurry of activity was beginning. Chairs scraped across floors, voices were raised to resolve urgent matters, microwaves roared back to life. Even the COs were out of their chairs trying to make sure everyone was in their cell within the next five minutes.
It was 9:45pm. Breaking Bad was on until 10.
I turned my head to Clint. “Dude, why’d you get me hooked on a show that I can’t finish?”
“It’s good isn’t it?” he said. “I can see the TV from my cell, so I can still finish it. Your cell’s all the way up there though, I doubt it’ll work for you.”
“COME ON GUYS, LOCK IT DOWN,” a CO was shouting.
Clint’s response came swiftly. “We still got five minutes,” he said.
“Four minutes and...” the CO looked at his watch, “three seconds. Let’s go.” He made a shooing motion with his hands before moving onto other groups of inmates. “LET’S GO!”
I got up from my chair in response, but Clint didn’t move.
“Sit back down,” he said. “We still got four minutes and three seconds.”
I sat back down. So what? I’m supposed to ignore the COs authority but obey Clint’s. I felt silly, even though he was trying to teach me something here about holding my ground and standing up for myself. He wasn’t necessarily disrespecting authority. He was just making sure authority didn’t disrespect him. Noted.
Breaking Bad went to commercial just a moment later, so I got back up anyway.
“See you tomorrow man. Thanks for the pizza,” I said to him.
He held out his fist for a fist bump. I had my cup of water in my right hand, so I went for the fist bump with my left.
“No, don’t disrespect me like that,” he said. “Right hand. Right hand only.”
I didn’t understand the difference, but I switched my cup to my left hand and then fist bumped him with my right.
“There you go! See you tomorrow then,” said Clint as he gathered up his things and took three steps backwards into his cell. No wonder he’s so casual about the time limit, he hardly has to move at all!
Another voice entered the conversation. “He’s right though,” said the stranger. “In Islamic culture, you wipe your ass with your left hand and you do everything else with your right hand. I don’t want a fist bump from a shitty hand.”
Is Clint a Muslim?
I acknowledged the tidbit with a nod and made my way upstairs to my cell. Saget was standing in the doorway shouting at people across the pod, as usual. How the fuck does he always have so much to say? He moved aside to let me in while he continued to shout useless nonsense.
I sat down on my bunk, Saget’s girlfriend looking me directly in the eye. He still had his photos pasted to a piece of cardboard that was propped against the wall on the desk.
“What’s store box mean?” I asked when it seemed like there was a break in his shouting.
“Huh?” he turned to look at me, almost as if he forgot I was there. “Oh, it’s when you borrow one soup now and pay back two soups on store day.” We had placed our commissary orders yesterday and would receive them tomorrow.
“How many soups you got comin?” I asked him.
“I can’t remember, at least a few. My baby momma put $10 on my books right on time. Well, she put $20, but I only got $10. The state took the other half.”
“Why’d they take half?”
“Well. You know how they take a dollar a day off your account right?”
I nodded. My mom would put money on by books when I told her I was running low. I could use it to order commissary or make phone calls. And each day there was a dollar less in my account. Cheaper than rent I guess.
Saget continued. “If you don’t have any money on your books then you go negative. Once you go negative, any money that comes in, half goes to the debt and half goes on your books.”
“Oh that’s some bullshit.” I said.
“I know right!” Saget turned back to the cell door that hadn’t been closed yet and started shouting again. “Hey Shorty! I got two soups comin’ for you tomorrow!”
“Lockdown,” the chill loudspeaker voice announced. “Lockdown.” It sounded as if the guy on the intercom was falling asleep.
“LOCK IT DOWN!” yelled the two COs in the pod, much louder than the loudspeaker. By this point everyone was in their cells, but not all cell doors were closed.
“Look at this. Watch,” said Saget. He pulled the cell door closed, but not all the way. Far enough for it to look closed, but not far enough for it to lock. “Shhhh,” he said.
I shook my head. What the fuck is wrong with this guy? It’s like he invites trouble.
“So uh,” I started, not really sure how to broach the subject. “I got a soup missing.”
“Huh?” he said.
“I always order enough soups so that I can have two each night. But tonight when I went to get my last two soups, there was only one left in my box.”
“You sure you didn’t miscount?” he said.
“I’m sure. If I order an even number of soups and only ever use two at a time, I should never have an odd number left. But tonight I only had one left.”
He scrunched up his face trying to think of the logic for a moment before giving up. Then his eyes went wide with realization. “Oh shit!” he said. “Hey, I didn’t take it. I would never take stuff from my own cellie.”
I knew he was in here for burglary. I knew he spent a lot of time at the poker table. I knew he owed Shorty two soups. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he owed things to other people too. But I believed him that he didn’t take my soup.
“Someone said he saw Ike coming into our cell a few hours ago,” I said.
“Ohhh,” said Saget. “Ike stole it. What a piece of shit! He’s all the time tryin’ to play dumb at the card table. Tryin’ to act like he’s got a winning hand, even when he don’t, that kinda thing.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “Damn though! He’s got some balls going into someone else’s cell and stealing a soup. That shit’ll get you thrown right in the hole.”
I had already written the soup off as a loss. I wasn’t expecting Saget to pay me back. But I was hoping he would accept at least a little bit of responsibility. Perhaps even offer an apology.
The semi-ajar cell door opened abruptly and a CO’s face appeared in the doorway. “Hey! Lockdown means lock it down!” He slammed the door, making my ears ring.
I was ready for bed and would’ve liked for the rest of the evening to pass in silence, but Saget returned to the door to look out the window. He narrated the comings and goings of pod officers, dropped to his belly and shouted bits of nonsense through the gap under the door, and paced back and forth with jittery energy. I brushed my teeth, splashed some water on my face, and got in my bunk. He has to shut up eventually.
But about 15 minutes later the sound of doors unlocking cut through the air. POP. POP. POP. Several cell doors were unlocked — the doors of people on the cleaning crew.
“Oh shit it’s Clint,” announced Saget. “Clint’s on the cleaning crew tonight.”
Clint was walking by our cell door at that moment, a mop in his hand. “You god damn right,” he said. “Clean this pod for a few weeks and then when a bed opens up in the workers’ pod, I can get the fuck up out of here. They let you stay out till midnight there! So, I can watch Breaking Bad in peace.” He continued walking toward the shower in the corner of the pod.
Being on the cleaning crew was a combination of work and privilege. The privilege was that you could be out of your cell for just a little bit longer each day. The work was that you had to clean up after 90 careless inmates. I had put my name on the signup sheet for the cleaning crew, but I had to wait my turn. Just as Clint was waiting for a bed to open up in the workers’ pod, I was waiting for a spot to open up on the cleaning crew.
“You sign up for cleaning crew?” I asked Saget.
“Fuck no!” he said. “I’m not gonna work for the state for free.”
The night carried on, and eventually Saget stopped shouting and got in his bunk. I could hear him start to snore not too long after that. How the fuck is he asleep before me?
Morning. One day closer to release. After breakfast I looked around for Cornwhistle, but he was nowhere to be found.
“He’s in court today,” said the skinny day-shift CO.
Oh shit. Last time he was in court he declined a plea deal for 16 years. I wonder what’s in store for him today.
Unsure of what to do now that my chess partner wasn’t around, I returned to my cell. Saget usually slept till lunch, but he was out and about in the pod today. There was nothing to do here except sleep or read the only book in the cell — a bible. I remembered Saget’s suggestion the other day, you should start with the book of Matthew, he had said. So I did.
The morning was calm and quiet. The reading was slow and unentertaining, but it was going well. I was reflecting on my life — my past and how I got here, my future and how I’ll get there — when Saget burst into the cell with tremendous energy while shouting more useless nonsense across the pod.
I had had enough. “Dude, show some respect,” I said with a calm, but stern voice.
He turned to me. “What’d you just say to me?” he said defensively.
“I’m trying to read here. It’s a quiet morning and you’re shouting. There’s no need for that. Show some respect.”
“Oh you want to know about respect?” he said aggressively. “You don’t know a god damn thing about respect!” He was in my face now. “You’re about to go to prison and you don’t know the first thing about respect.” His shouts and insults continued without pause. “You won’t last a day in prison!” His energy levels were increasing and I could tell he wasn’t interested in hearing anything I had to say.
But he had crossed a line. I stood up and looked him square in the eye while he continued to shout. I was ready to punch him right in the middle of his face. I hadn’t been in a fist fight since I was much younger and much smaller. What if I break his nose? I thought. I don’t want to do that. Authorities will get involved. I just want him to shut up.
The more thinking I tried to do, the more shouting he did. It was an incessant stream of screams and insults. My heart was racing. “I will hurt you,” I said as calmly as I could. It was the last warning I would give him.
He issued his final shout — “YOU WON’T LAST A DAY IN PRISON YOU PUSSY ASS BITCH!” — before my right arm moved toward his face, almost involuntarily. But just as the punch was about to land, I held back. I grabbed his throat instead and held him there. I squeezed until his shouts stopped. Not too hard, I thought. Just enough to make him stop. But the energy in my body didn’t match the energy in my thoughts. As my hand connected with his throat, my legs drove forward, slamming his back against the wall. His face turned red and started to scrunch up in pain. Finally, he’s quiet.
I let go. There were tears in his eyes and he ran to the polished stainless steel mirror in the cell, looking at his neck. A moment later he ran out of the cell.
“CO, CO! This dude’s trying to kill me!” he shouted. “Look at the marks on my neck, he said he’s going to kill me!”
Oh fuck, what have I done. There’s no going back now.
Wait, don’t go! There’s More to Read!!
Premium subscribers gain access to my personal thoughts, reflections, and lessons learned — below and at the end of every chapter. If you are not yet signed up, you can claim one premium post for free to see if you like it. Once you sign up, you gain access to all of the paywalls since Chapter 1. You can read paywalls for previous chapters on the website.
Thanks for subscribing to Banter || Behind Bars. Feedback is always appreciated, just leave a comment or reply to this email. If you liked this story, you probably know someone else who’d like it too, so please spread the word.
For premium subscribers, hear my feelings about the fight below.
