Fish: A Memoir of a Boy in Man's Prison by T. Parsell (ready to read books TXT) 📕

the lock in his right hand. Reese ducked and then slipped and fell, scrambling to catch his footing up the walkway that led to the control center. Stunned, but emboldened by his falling, I lunged forward and swung, just missing him. Aside from that early night in the barracks, this was the first time I was really fighting back-and it felt terrifying. I took another swing, knowing that Paul would be pissed if I didn't try. I hit him across his ear, though the lock bounced off his shoulder breaking the impact. Paul came around my left and brought his lock crashing down on top of him, hitting squarely on the head just as he tried to bolt up the walk. Reese fell to the pavement. Paul and I each hit him again and then ran into A-unit, before anyone saw us.

By mid-morning, most of the inmates had heard what had happened. Reese was taken to Riverside, where he was kept in the infirmary for several days before he was transferred to another prison in Muskegon, which was often the case when inmates were assaulted.

And for a little while, at least, Paul and I were left alone. But there were a few who let me know, that if were it not for Paul-they'd "take that" nodding toward by ass.

"These ho's ain't gonna do a motherfuckin' thing," Paul said. "They ain't gonna do nothin' but sell wolf tickets." Wolf tickets were when inmates talked about what they were going to do to somebody, but they rarely backed it up unless they were traveling in a pack, and even then-Paul said, loudly, "many of these bitches are cowards."

I smiled, proudly, because he had empowered me. I had not felt so good since I came to prison, even though I knew Paul was doing the very thing he was accusing them of doing. He was just showing off and bluffing, like we were playing poker. Paul said, "That's a big part of it, you know. It's not whether you're going to something or not, the game is-in making them believe that you will. But every now and then, you have to show a good hand. Most of these guys are too short to do anything in here." He was referring to the fact that most were within a few months of parole-so they weren't going to do that much. "But I don't give a fuck," Paul said. "I've been down too long to put up with these knuckleheads. I'm liable to haul off and take off their motherfuckin' heads."

What terrified me most, was how good it felt to attack Reese. Once I got beyond my fears, I actually enjoyed it. There was one moment in particular, when I swung at Reese that I wanted him to pay for everything awful that had ever happened to me. "This is for Chet and Red and Nate and Moseley and every other fucker who's ever messed with me," I thought, slugging away at him. And as the lock came crashing down into his skull, I felt an odd sense of relief. Paul was teaching me how to survive in there. What he showed me that day, however, was the most valuable lesson of my entire stay. And it took a boy-not a man-to teach me this.

33

Broken Promises

Next Month. Next Year. Next Season. As soon as the school year is over.

For eight years I believed what she had to say. I was sixteen before I realized I was never again going to live with my mother. Yet after a while, I was too afraid to complain to her, because she might cut me offlike she had already done to my brother and sister.

Once, when Rick and Igot into trouble together, she told me I could forget her phone number.

Were it not for the 4:30 count, I would have slept all afternoon. Paul shoved me as the stampede of feet came up the catwalk. "You better hurry up," he said. "You don't want another ticket."

I couldn't afford any more, since Simon was looking for a reason to separate us. Simon was the ARUM, the Assistant Resident Unit Manager, or Ahole as Paul called him. I didn't know where he was, during the first part of my stay, when I was having all kinds of problems-but now here he wasand busting our balls.

I slipped out of Paul's room and fought the tide of bodies as I made my way up the hall then down the other wing to my cell.

"Parsell," Goodman yelled. "Where've you been, boy?"

"Nowhere," I said.

Goodman was the counselor-the Resident Unit Manager. He was Simon's superior. Simon had been on our case because of how close Paul and I had become. As if our closeness were a problem. And so now what did Goodman want?

"Come to my office when count is cleared," Goodman said. He was black, and Simon was white but they shared the same office on the second tier.

After count, I went to his office and stood in his door.

"Well, if it isn't Timothy, the disciple of Paul," Goodman joked, hanging up the phone. He pointed to a chair next to his desk. "We need to talk about you and your friend."

"What about it?" I sat down.

"Well, there's concern you two are spending too much time together."

"I really don't give a fuck," I said. I could feel my anger rising, but it felt good to talk back like that. I wouldn't dare do that with any of the inmates, and there wasn't much he could do to me-other than write me a ticket. Besides, no one ever intervened when an inmate was being taunted or abused.

"There's no need to get belligerent," he said. "I'm not the enemy."

"I didn't say you were. It's just that it's not anyone's business what Paul and me do-unless we're breaking the rules."

"Is that so?"

"That's right," I said, imagining Paul being proud of me for standing up for us.

"OK," he said. "Then we