I flicked the playing card on the floor. It was a ten of Diamonds, which meant that I had to do ten push-ups. I had more than half a deck of cards to go. I was relieved to see that the next card was a three of Spades. I was sweaty and my muscles were tight and trembling. I did the three obligated push-ups and gave myself a quick break to go inside my cell and take off my sweatshirt. My window was open and the cold winter air breezed inside. At first it felt refreshing, but then suddenly chills ran through my entire body with emphasis on my spine. I never felt anything like it before and I knew there was something that wasn’t quite right about it. I went to finish doing my jailhouse push-ups. I was unable to finish three playing cards, all in the low single digits. I felt unusually weak and tired. I went back to my cell to lie on the three inch thick mattress on my bunk. I buried myself under all three of the itchy synthetic wool blankets on me. Two of them I robbed from slightly more unfortunate souls than I.
Sleep came over me fast. My dreams were more disturbing than usual. I dreamt that I was walking on Saint Nicholas Avenue in Washington Heights at night and the streets were desolate. A Dominican man was walking my direction and even though I sensed that he had a gun, I wouldn’t move even though it meant that we were going to bump into each other. We did and with attitude he asked me, “Que pasa, motherfucker!” and took out his gun and shot me pointblank in the face. I woke up confused and shivering in a cold sweat. It took every ounce of energy to peel myself up from bed just to sit up on my bunk. I realized just how alone I was in my ten by eight foot cell. I collapsed back in bed under the itchy blankets and had more upsetting dreams.
Morning came and it was time for count. Inmates are required to stand in front of their cell of count. I barely made it to my door with my itchy blanket over me. A black guy in the cell in front of me checked me out.
What’s wrong with you, motherfucker? You got that shit?
I don’t feel good.
Nigga, you look like you’re dying? You fucking with those homos?
Nah man, I’m not fucking with any homos. What’s wrong with you?
Ain’t nothing wrong with me, nigga. I’ll fuck you up. I don’t care if you got that shit or not.
I looked away and did my best to ignore him, even though it burnt a hole in my stomach, I knew I wasn’t in any condition to fight.
Within the hours, rumor had it that I had AIDS and it seemed that everybody was much tougher than the day before. Every time I left my cell, someone accidentally on purpose bumped into me. I was aware that there was certain guys who didn’t like me and I was fine with that because they didn’t fuck with me. I wouldn’t fuck with anyone who was willing to do anything to win a fight either. Except that now, I felt as strong as a five year old and they knew it. And I knew that just because I had the flu, the criminals I lived with weren’t going to have either sympathy or compassion for me. It wasn’t in their scumbag nature.
I stayed confined to my cell and only ventured to one mess a day, usually lunch. Even this was burdensome as people gave me grief wherever I wanted to sit.
Get the fuck out of here with that AIDS shit!
In my misery, I had to force my self at a table. Eating utensils in prison are obviously plastic and when snapped in half can become a very pointy and sharp instrument that could do a lot of damage when plunged into someone’s eardrum with minimal force. I ate as fast as I could with my half a fork with people talking shit to me and then I made my way back to my tier and under my itchy blankets.
I thought about how fucked up prison was: no sex, no beer, crappy food, nothing but dudes and now the flu. I reminisced about going to different clubs like Roseland and a place called 10/18’s. It was easy to feel sorry for myself. Had I been patient and not look for short cuts, I would have been attending a prestigious college, Cooper Union, no doubt having lots of sex with freaky, artsy fartsy white girls. This was supposed to be the best times of my life, my fuck years, instead they were just fucked. In perfect timing with my thoughts, I threw up my chicken patty, mashed potatoes and overcooked veggies. The cold sweats and shivers came back. I escaped with sleep.
I dreamt that I was on prison property, in the midst of escaping when suddenly there was lions, tigers and gorillas everywhere. The animals had not noticed me as I was slowly creeping to the guard’s parking lot to steal a car. All of a sudden, sirens went off and flood lights shone on me. This alerted the beasts to my presence. Both the animals and prison officers chased me. I tried car after car and at the last possible second I found one that was opened and got in and locked the doors. As a correction officer tried to get in, a lion pounced on him and bit half of his head, tearing his flesh right off. Blood spurted and dripped down the window. I peeled off in a panic. An angry gorilla was running full speed towards me. I stepped as hard as I could on the gas and the impact of the hit caused him to crash right through the window shield. His head was split in half. Monkey blood sprayed all over me as I did a couple of donuts to throw the animal off the car. I backed up and ran over it a few times and speeded off. As I rode off prison property and onto the New Jersey turnpike, I looked back to see that there was hordes of lions, tigers and gorillas chasing after me in the distance.
A substitute guard woke me up by calling count. Substitute C.O.’s are always rookies who have a hard time maintaining discipline in a tier because of their inexperience. This guy must have been working at Bordentown no more than three weeks and was very naïve. What did this mean? This increased the likely hood that there would be violence tonight. As I stood by my cell to be counted, I could already sense the energy. The fools that talked shit were talking even more shit. The guy’s who looked hard, looked harder and the scared, were more scared. When it took the officer three attempts to count everybody, I knew he was way too incompetent to keep order. Somebody was going to the hospital tonight and I knew in my condition, it just might be me.
The video of the night was announced, Reservoir Dogs. I knew of the movie because I read the reviews in the newspaper approximately a year before. I knew it was better to stay in my cell, but I had been looking forward for too long to miss the movie. Since nobody had heard of the film, I was able to drag my chair and my itchy blankets to the TV room and get prime seating in the corner. I sat, quiet with my blankets covering me over my head, waiting for the flick to start. Little by little the room filled up with my neighbors. Some sneering at me, but most ignoring me.
A black kid named C-Born, my age from Patterson came up to me with his chair.
Yo, I wanna sit there.
I didn’t dignify him with a response.
The kid loved attention and he was often loud enough to get it. He started talking to the room at no one in particular.
Yo, what’s wrong with this AIDS infested Puerto Rican motherfucker?
A few guys told him to leave me alone.
Fuck this nigga. Yo, you’re going get up or do I have to make you get up?
The fire within was ignited.
Neither one is going to happen. If I was you, I’ll leave me the fuck alone.
Again, he spoke to his audience.
This nigga is talking real slick right here. He must not know C-Born.
I wished I had brought my broken eating utensil with me. I became angry with myself.
What the fuck you gonna do? You look like you’re about to die.
Then I have nothing to lose then.
With that he shoved my forehead, banging the back of my head. I didn’t fully get up from my chair when he attacked me. It felt like I was getting punched with bricks. I saw sparks and got dizzy with each punch. I tried to grab and hold on to him but I was too weak. He just pushed me off and kept punching. The only thing I was able to do was try to cover my face and body with my arms as I found myself cowering in the corner.
He even stopped for a few seconds to talk shit to his boys.
Yo, this is the easiest beat down I ever handed out in my life. Any of y’all want some of this?
His boys laughed. I heard one of them say, leave that pussy nigga alone.
I saw the nervous C.O. on the red phone. This meant the goon squad would arrive within five minutes to beat the shit out of both of us and drag us to segregation a.k.a. the hole for a mandatory period of 15 days for fighting.
My knees were wobbly and I just wanted to collapse. C-born kept on punching me, but he was slowing down. He was tiring out, but tried to play it off by talking shit about how much fun he was having beating me up.
The goon squad arrived at the front gate. The nervous C.O. fumbled with his keys and even dropped them. This caused the members of the the goon squad to become more intense. I was getting beat up, I was about to get beat up even more and then dragged to the hole for it all. This was unfairness that I could not tolerate. I would rather die.
As C-Born looked at the goon squad in shock, I took the opportunity to lunge at him. He turned as my teeth dug in the flesh of his cheek. I locked down. It took seconds before I tasted blood. C-Born screamed. I put every ounce of energy into locking my jaw, so much that my body went limp. C-Born fell back and I fell with him, latched on to his face. Once on the floor, I shook my head like a pit bull ripping the flesh off his face. The other inmates tried to pull me off, but this only made his cheek tear off more, causing even more damage to C-Born’s face.
I don’t remember when I was knocked unconscious by the goon squad. I woke up with my feet shackled to the bed post and my hands in cuffs. I felt delirious. It took minutes to realize that I was in the prison infirmary. On the bed next to me, was C-Born. His face was swollen and patched up. We looked at each other.
Are you okay? I asked.
C-Born was obviously doped up on painkillers.
Nah, nigga, he slurred, you fucked me up. I’m gonna need plastic surgery and shit.
Good.
Posted on December 09, 2007 at 05:22 PM | Comment (8 comments)
