“Unforgivable Acts of Hunger”

The mess line couldn’t move fast enough on this Sunday. It was 10:30am and I was starving and my tier was one of the last ones to be called for breakfast. Breakfast looked unusually good today, bacon, eggs and toast. Since most of the prison population didn’t eat pork, I would be able to have as much bacon as I wanted to. I even planned on smuggling a bunch up to my tier to snack on through out the day. I could see that the officers guarding the mess hall were getting impatient and wanted to shut mess down. All they needed was a reason. Because the mess hall had be ready to receive visitors by 12:00 am, they were already rushing inmates out, sending them back to their tier, regardless if they finished eating or not.

I looked at the coffee bins to make sure that they weren’t empty. I saw two black guys arguing, each getting more aggressive with one another by the second. There were some unwritten rules within the inmates at Bordentown. One of them was no matter what, do not fight in the mess hall on Saturday and Sunday breakfast or you will be shun upon by the whole population. Fighting gave the C.O.’s the excuse to immediately shut down the mess hall regardless if you ate or not and dinner would not be served until about 6 and even 7 pm after the food packages were processed. There were about five people ahead of me when one of the black guys swung on the other one. What the hell? I thought out loud. That was it. The guards broke up the fight and arrested the two inmates and shut down mess. A sergeant ordered an inmate kitchen worker to shut the shutters at the serving window. Breakfast was terminated just like that. Everyone was sent back to their cell blocks, hungry and pissed.

I wasn’t expecting a visit that day and I only had one can of tuna and two Cup of Noodles to hold me for the day. The monthly state pay, which is when everybody gets paid for whatever job they were assigned was two weeks away, so most everybody was tapped when it came to food and snacks that was sold through commissary. It wasn’t a good day to miss breakfast.

I went inside my cell and lay in my bunk to daydream about the simple things in life, like walking into a bodega to buy an ice cold Corona on the sunniest day of the year, when all of a sudden, I heard a commotion outside.

The guy that swung first at mess was being escorted by three officers into my tier. Apparently there wasn’t any room in segregation, more commonly known as the hole. He was locked in an empty cell where he promptly went to sleep despite half my tier talking shit to him. He yelled that he didn’t give a fuck about any of us. I got a Tupperwear bowl from my cell and filled it with hot water from the shower area.

Our tier officer saw me come out with mischief in my eyes.

“Behave, Mayta.” He commanded.

“I’m not doing anything.’

“Yeah, right.”

I waited for the guard to disappear out of sight and went to the black guy’s cell and tossed the hot water through the bars and on him. He yelled and jumped up and down, making funny faces. The guys on my tier laughed. I was the youngest and most mischievous inmate on my tier. I was always up for a practical joke, to play fight or tell an ill story. You could say that I was an entertainer of sorts.

“Yeah, we don’t give a fuck about you either. You fat, country bastard!”

He put his face to the bars.

“I’ll fuck your little Puerto Rican ass up!”

I punched him in the face through the bars.  I didn’t retrieve my arm fast enough and he grabbed it and hyper extended it, opposite my elbow joint. I saw white lights and I screamed. I thought that he broke my arm for a second.

“Roland, let my little homey go! Now!”

Roland obeyed Smithy. Smithy worked the kitchen and was well respected through out the whole prison system. He wasn’t the least bit of a trouble maker, although I knew he practiced Martial Arts. I don’t think it was just karate that gained Smithy all his jail house respect. Smithy must have been big time in the streets or something.

My arm was aching. Had I been alone, I’m sure I would have been in tears.

Thanks, Smithy.

This was the second time Smithy had my back. One time he saved my life when thirty kids from Newark had me and my Eddie cornered in the staircase dug out with shanks. He called my co-defendant Eddie and me, his sons from New York. I didn’t have a problem with that.

No problem.

Smithy tossed me a B.L.T. sandwich from his kitchen whites pocket.

Thanks. I went back to my cell, ate the B.L.T. and went to sleep. I didn’t sleep long before the guys at the TV room woke me up, hooting and hollering over an Eagles football game. I walked towards the room in my flip-flops. Roland was in front of his cell, holding the bars.

“Hey you little Puerto Rican faggot!”

“Your mother liked it.” I answered back.

“You think it’s over? Smithy can’t save you forever.”

“Fuck you, fat ass!”

Roland was 5’10” and about 255 lbs of muscle and fat. He had a baby face, except that he had evil eyes.

“Wait until I get out of here. You know they’re going to release me right on to this tier since they already have this room available.”

This made sense. There was a strong possibility that Roland might become a permanent resident of E-3. Roland was a big boy to be beefing and fighting with.

“I’m gonna fuck you in your little Puerto Rican ass. Watch!”

“What?” I said, stunned that he said this. Threats like this wasn’t common in Bordentown. I knew rapes happen, but only in the hardest lifer tiers.

Roland took out his penis on me.

“You ever had one this big in you?”

“You fucking, faggot motherfucker! “

I stormed into my homeboy Uribe’s room. He was a Columbian guy that was in for a lot of cocaine.

“Uribe, let me get the biggest Tupperwear bowl you have.”

“Why?”

“Cause I need it.”

Uribe went under his bunk and gave me a Tupper wear that was meant to hold a

cake.

“Perfect. Let me have your baby oil.”

Uribe knew that I was up to no good.

“What are you going to do?”

“That black motherfucker took out his dick on me and told me he was going to rape me. The one they have locked up in the empty cell.”

“He did what?”

“Yeah! I have to do something about that. Now let me have your baby oil.”

Uribe gave me his baby oil.

I borrowed, begged and stole 15 bottles of baby oil. I also borrowed four electrical stingers that were sold through commissary. I poured the oil into the lid of the cake holder and plugged the stingers and let them sit inside, heating the oil little by little.

The C.O. on duty was a body building fanatic. I gave him my entire collection of Muscle and Fitness and Flex magazines. This didn’t guarantee anything, but he has been known to turn a blind eye for certain people…like me.

Roland was sleeping on his stomach, snoring, oblivious to the danger that he was in. I had to tell the guys on my tier what I was up to, so they could get their stories straight. Nobody seemed to like Roland, especially the guards. I’ve seen him making a show out of dissing them on more than one occasion in the halls of Bordentown.

It didn’t take long for the oil to begin boiling. The plastic bowl was threatening to lose shape and possibly melt. Someone gave me an even big bowl to transfer the oil into. The C.O. peeked into the T.V. and saw what was going on. He went straight into the officer’s bathroom and stayed there.

A speck of oil hit my forearm, causing instant blisters, giving me an idea how painful this was going to be for Roland.  Someone tossed me some leather work gloves.

I cautiously carried the bowl, blanketed with towels to the front of Roland’s cell. I had to figure out what was the best way to toss the oil without harming myself in the process. It seemed nearly impossible. Some of the other inmates agreed that it wasn’t going to happen. Without thinking I just did it. A few specks of oil got on me, but the adrenalin I build up, allowed me to ignore it for the time being.

Roland instantly woke up, screaming in agony. He jumped out of his bunk and practically climbed up to the top of his ceiling. He banged against the wall and went into convulsions. The sight of it mesmerized anybody that was watching. It seemed everybody said “Oh shit!” at once. Then Roland did something stupid and yanked off his white tee shirt. Layers of skin stood stuck to the shirt, revealing bright pink flesh that was under it. At least a third of his back and head had been burnt by the oil. Roland finally passed out. I stared at him. I felt somber. It had been a long time since I’ve done something this evil. To escape the feelings that came with it, I immediately numbed up. Yeah, I felt kind of sorry for Roland. It’s difficult to see any human being suffer in such pain.

Would Roland cause me the same pain if given the chance? Probably. Would Roland rape me if possible? Most likely. Was I in prison? Yes. Then fuck Roland and anybody who threaten to do me harm. That’s just how you have to be.

Dinner mess came. Some of the inmates congratulated me and approved of my actions. As the night passed, I became less happy I became with myself. Would I ever do anything like that again? If necessary I decided. I just hoped necessary never comes.

Roland was discovered after mess during count. He was taken out of the tier in a stretcher and taken to Saint Francis Hospital in Trenton, New Jersey.

Everybody was locked in their cells and Internal Affairs came to interview everyone on our tier. The black man in the cheap tweed suit and eye glasses stared at me intensely. He looked like an alcoholic to me.

“I heard his screaming. I thought I was dreaming or something, so I went back to sleep.”

“You weren’t watching football? The Eagles.”

“I don’t like football.”

“What kind of man doesn’t like football?”

I shrugged.

“I was too busy fucking and fighting to like football when I was growing up.”

The I.A. investigator didn’t like my sarcastic remark. I scratched my nuts.

“We’re going to find out who did this.” He announced as a threat.

“I hope so. I sure don’t want to wake up being burnt by hot water.”

“Did you say hot water?”

“Yeah. Who wants to get burnt by hot water?”

“Get out of here! Next!”

I got up.

“If I ever get burnt like that, my family is going to sue you and this prison. You better find out who did this.” I walked away with a smirk on my face.

I went to my cell and went to sleep. I had nightmares of Roland screaming for what seemed the whole night.

Posted on November 04, 2007 at 09:42 AM   |   Previous Entry   |   Next Entry   |   Entry List   |   Email Entry   |    Digg

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