Ten (My Brothers Best Friend) (13 page)

Certain cellblocks were more dangerous than others. One thing remains the same for a first time prisoner: the process of entering prison is not comfortable in the least. I was subjected to a strip search, which involved having to spread my ass cheeks and squatting for a room full of guys who then looked up there. Wonderful.

After hours of medical tests, screening for illnesses such as HIV and other crap, I was given an identity by the numbers printed on my clothes and a fucking jumpsuit which looked more like old man’s pajamas than actual clothes. Everything was stripped from me and I became a statistic, a number, an animal that deserved no decency.

The guards laughed right in front of me, joking with each other by mocking my youth and looks.

“He’s going to be eaten alive in here.”

“I bet he lasts a month.”

“I give him a week.”

Yeah, that might have worked on me if I cared. I was scared how things would play out for me in there, but I welcomed death if that was how things would go. At least I wouldn’t be there and wouldn’t feel the hole inside my chest left by Alex. I wouldn’t have to live in constant uncertainty and confusion.

In the end it came down to her brother or me. I suppose she didn’t love me like I loved her.

Allegiances, "friendships", meant nothing to me anymore. I knew I couldn’t trust anyone. If someone was nice to me in there, they more than likely had an agenda.

The daunting reality when they walked me to my cell crept into my soul. This cell would be my home for ten years if I made the full sentence. It was a harrowing feeling. Each step sounded like an alarm in my head, mental images of who my roommate would be ran endlessly through my mind on the short journey. We stopped outside a cell. There were no bars like I thought there would be. Instead, a huge grey steel door with a tiny window stared back at me, the number 106 printed in white. My new address was cell 106. In that moment, an ephemeral touch of sorrow and guilt filtered through me as my student counselor’s face appeared in my thoughts. She had helped me so much over the years following my father’s arrest and mother’s passing. She thought I would never end up there, and did everything she could to make sure that didn’t happen, and there I fucking was.

Listening to the clank as the door to my cell was unlocked, my eyes scanned a thin cot pad over a metal bunk bed; they didn’t even look big enough in width to be twins. A metal toilet sat in the open in the left corner. I didn’t see paper. There was a sink but that was as bleak as the rest of the room. All the home comforts of my bedroom were a distant memory; this would be a rude awakening for me.

My eyes diverted to the man on the top bunk staring at me. He stepped down from the bunk with little effort and stood an inch or two above me. He was covered in tattoos and only wearing a pair of boxer shorts that clung to his junk like saran wrap. I noticed my bunk was missing a pillow yet his had two. Did I ask for it? Would the guards make him give it back?

“Don’t be shy, kid. This is your new roomie,” one of the guards said with a shove to my back, causing me to stagger forward nearly into the chest of the guy still staring at me.
Perfect.

I dropped the blanket I was given on the bottom bunk and decided it was flee or fight, and as the clanking of the door locking echoed behind me, there was nowhere to flee. I invoked my inner Moore take-no-shit attitude and nodded up to his bunk.

“Is that my pillow?”

The guy’s intense dark eyes squinted as they assessed me, and just when I thought he was the silent, deadly type, he spoke.

“Is it on your cot?”

I wanted to smile. Intimidation, and so early on. Fuck that. I needed a pillow to silently scream in to, otherwise I might end up breaking down in front of people and earning myself a beating or someone’s bitch pocket.

“I don’t know. Was it?” I asked with a chin lift. The guy was bigger than me in weight and height and he was inside for a reason. I may have been poking a very dangerous bear but I couldn’t let him win this or he would try to intimidate me over everything.

“I’m taking it back,” I declared, and he grinned at me, not with humor, it was more menacing, like a dare. His eyes darkened as the pupils expanded and his eyebrows dropped, making them look hooded.

“You can try.”

If I took it he could come at me and he had a much better advantage, so I tried the way Alex always got my pillow, or blanket, or snacks. She was crafty and I always found it adorable.
Fuck Alex.

I pointed to the sink behind him and asked, “Is that mine?”

I wasn’t sure if he would take the bait as nothing in there was mine but he turned to see what I was referring to, and as he did I was quick to grab the pillow and toss it on my bunk. Childish? Yes, but it worked. He turned back to me and chuckled, a deep, real laugh.

“Damn, you must be as young as you look. You can keep the pillow, you earned it.” He laughed before climbing back on to his cot.

I didn’t say anything. The whole exchange left me feeling even more unsettled. I climbed under the itchy as shit blanket and burrowed my head into the thin as fuck pillow, and prayed Chuckles up there didn’t try to kill me in my sleep.

Six taught me so much, and it was crucial to how my time inside played out. He took me under his wing, and although I always thought he would want something in return, he never did. It took some time before he opened up, but one night after someone tried to attack me in the shower and I had to defend myself, he did.

It was scary, but instincts took over and a raw, new energy inside me burst out - rage. I fought back and won. My insides were screaming so loud I thought I’d break out of my skin and morph into something new, something not human. I huffed and puffed like a raging bull as I stood over him bleeding at my feet his eyes bore into my fiery ones for a couple of intense seconds and then everyone went back to their business like it didn’t happen.

“Hide your emotions,” Six told me when I got back to our cell. “If you want to look tough, do
not
show fear, anger, happiness, or pain. Feelings are your worst enemy because they reveal your flaws, the weakness inside you bound by emotions.”

I lay on my cot, listening, taking in everything he had to offer me.

“Both inmates and guards prey on weakness. Don't give them the opportunity to do so.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I had to know his angle. I was warned coming in to not be overly friendly with my cellmates, but to ask some questions if they were approachable.

“Maybe you remind me of someone,” he said.

I didn’t know how to respond to that. Instead I stayed silent while he carried on talking,

“These cells are filled with manipulative people. They’re the worst of the worst and enjoy head games. If someone can figure out what makes you angry, they can use that knowledge to coax reactions out of you. These men have nothing but time and the boredom that accompanies it. Because we’re surrounded by each other 24/7 they have unlimited opportunities to test their scheming skills on you.”

Had this happened to him?

“These guys are experts at manipulation and finding the triggers to set you off. They learn them from watching you, studying your reactions. All they have is time and you have to remember not everyone in here is innocent. In fact, most aren’t.” His bunk groaned from his movements.

Did he know I was innocent? No, he couldn’t. Maybe he was just as observant as the men he was talking about. Maybe he
was
one of the men he was talking about.

“Is this your first time in prison?” I asked.

“It feels like I’ve always been here. I got put away when I was twenty. I’m twenty five now.”

I wanted to ask what he was in for but I wasn’t sure if that was a done thing in real life. The reality compared to the stuff on TV was such a contrast. I couldn’t rely on all those prison movies I watched in my lifetime to get me through this. Before I could decide whether to ask, he continued talking.

“Many have been in prison before and will tell you all kinds of stories. Most people lie about why they’re in here and tell you sob stories of their innocence, but is anyone really innocent? Others will layer on what they’ve done to instill fear. You will have to judge for yourself whether to believe any of the knowledge people give you - including me.” His mattress shifts and bulges, causing me to lift my arm up just in case the whole frame gives out.

“Why did you pick the top cot?”

It was a question that had been niggling at me. He was huge. His feet hung over the edge and so did his arm. If he’d rolled off in his sleep that would have been some awakening.

“Because I use common sense. It’s harder to shiv someone on the top cot, and I can see everything that’s going on below me. You have no clue what I’m doing up here in the darkness of the night.”

My brow furrowed. What the hell did that mean, and did I want to know what he was doing in the middle of the night alone on his bunk? Fuck no.

His throaty chuckle rattled the cot. “You need to learn to read people. Try to figure out if people have a reason to lie or mislead you. Some fuckers in here will try to intimidate you or mislead you for the hell of it. Be careful.”

“How do I know you won’t?”

I had to choose my words carefully. Potentially, anything I said to him, no matter how innocent I thought it was, could have been the opposite. It could have been taken out of context. Did he have a trigger? Would he blow up at me if I asked too many questions? Fuck, I hated this.

“You don’t. You can’t trust anyone.”

Oh great. That’s encouraging.

He went silent after that and I gathered that was his goodnight.

Over the coming weeks he spoke to me every night, teaching me something new.

“Avoid conversational topics or your opinions of shit you’re asked about, like religion or politics. That shit’s not taken lightly in here and you can find yourself with a few holes in your chest if your views differ from those asking you about them.”

I didn’t even know what my views were on those things. I used to think Alex was sent to me from God, but if that were true was he really God, or was it another raw deal from the devil?

“You already see how a lot of groups are all to do with race in prison. Stay the fuck out of racial issues; you don’t want a whole crew of angry fuckers coming at you in the shower. The odds won’t play out like they did last time. Inside these walls, inmates in a clique are like pack animals. Your father’s influence will only get you so far.”

I froze at his words. He knew who my father was?

“You know him?”

“Everyone does. Why do you think that junkie came at you the other week? Your father’s down in solitude for attacking that idiot’s cellmate.”

I wondered where he was. I even got to thinking maybe he was transferred and nobody had told me. It wasn’t like I ever visited him.

“Why did he attack him?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I just know that your Dad is quite the charmer. He has a new nickname now.”

“And that is?”

“Hannibal.”

My stomach jolted and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know more.

“He bit the guy’s wrist. Chewed through the flesh like a ravenous dog. Tore into the artery before anyone could pry him off.”

Silence lay thick between us, and suddenly his head appeared over the cot. His eyes were like black pits in the darkness of the night. It was quite haunting. “Is that the Dad you knew?”

He appeared genuinely intrigued about the answer.

“Dad is not really a title he earned, but the man I knew killed my mother in front of me so…” I didn’t add anymore. I’d already told him more than I should have. There he was warning me about over sharing and not letting people know personal shit about me they could use, and two seconds later I was spilling deep stuff.

Six was the only relationship I had that lasted inside. I got talking to a guy who, like me, was into hockey in a big way. He got sent down for something petty and was told by his homeboys to join a gang when he got inside, because they believed that was the only way to survive inside. The thing about gangs inside is they are far more dominant. They work very differently on the inside than on the outside. My plan was to avoid joining a gang at every cost. Gang members are warriors, and gang leaders demand absolute loyalty. If you were asked to carry out a command it was expected to be done without question. You had no choice, because aside from getting out of prison, there was only one way to quit a prison gang while in prison, and that was by dying.