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

"I want a Big Mac," I said.

He shook his head. "I don't have the money. Hamburger or cheese burger. "

"But I want a Big Mac."

"Gimme a cheeseburger, " Bobby said.

"Me too, " Billy seconded.

"Can I have a Filet-O-Fish?" Connie asked. "It's the same price."

"I want a Big Mac," I repeated.

"God damn it, Timmy!" Dad said. It didn't take much toget him mad, but even at eight years old, I knew how to wear him down.

"I want a Big Mac or nothin'," I said.

"Well, you little bastard," Sharon said. "You're gonna get nothing."

"I'llget him a hamburger," Dad said.

"I said I want a Big Mac," I raised my voice, "or NOTHIN'!"

And that's exactly what Igot. Iglared at Sharon from the backseat of the car, as her son ate my hamburger and his kid brother munched my fries.

My sister, Connie, watching them gloat, whispered, "You can't be so stubborn. You'll neverget what you want that way."

As Peterson made his rounds for the 4:30 count, he stopped in front of my cell. "I thought I'd seen something," he mumbled, shuffling through the stack of mail in his hand. He looked at my name on the door. "Nope. Sorry." He moved on.

My hopes had been raised then dropped. I lay back on my bed, wishing he hadn't stopped. The split second of hope and the disappointment that followed was worse than not expecting anything. When I was back in Quarantine, I used to stand at the bars and watch as the guard made his way around the tier handing out mail, but nothing ever came for me.

Recognizing the importance of maintaining family connections, the prison provided inmates with three stamped envelops a month. More could be purchased from the inmate store. I wrote home to Dad and Sharon, my brother and to my mom, though I knew she'd never answer. I even wrote to my ex-girlfriend once, but I hadn't heard from her either. We broke up right before I went in.

When I first got to Riverside, I called home once, but Sharon was just leaving to do her grocery shopping. She accepted the charges, but told me, "Don't call here that much." She was worried about the phone bill. It was the first time I'd called from prison, but I knew she'd be that way. Dad, as usual, wasn't home. "Let us know when you go to court," she said. "We'll try to get up and see you when you're in the county."

Money was always tight at home, and Sharon was good at managing it; but it couldn't cost that much for me to call.

I tried to phone my brother, Rick, but his line had been disconnected. He probably forgot to pay the bill again. Or maybe he changed the number so I couldn't call collect. Rick was turning out to be a big disappointment.

After count, I skipped dinner and sat on the back porch of the north side dayroom. It wasn't mandatory that everyone go to chow, and I wasn't hungry.

"There you are!" Slide Step said. "I've been looking all over for you."

I turned and peered out the block-shaped frames of the veranda's steel cage. The rolls of razor wire atop the thirty-foot fence were glistening in the sunset.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

I shrugged.

"Why are you out here, by yourself?"

He grabbed one of the heavy wood rockers from against the wall and slid it over to where I was sitting with my legs propped on the parapet wall. I was just starting to believe he cared about me, though I still had doubts I could have feelings for a man. Now, after what he had just pulled with the white guy in the shower, I knew I couldn't trust him.

He sat down, sideways in his chair, facing me. His right arm nestled between his side and the back of the chair. He squeezed my shoulder. "Talk to me."

I nudged his hand away. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his face drop, but I didn't want to look at him directly. He sat there, quietly and stared at me.

"Why did you make me do that?" I asked. "It's not like you needed the money." Between his drug dealing and gambling, and whatever else he had a hand in, I couldn't understand why he'd force me to turn a trick.

"What are you talking about?"

"That guy in the shower," I said.

"I did that for you!"

I wasn't expecting that out of him. I knew I was young, a new fish and all, but I wasn't that naive to believe him.

"Square Business, Squeeze."

I looked at him.

"You said you wanted to try it with a younger guy."

When Slide Step told me I was better than the others-it made me feel special. Even if the feeling lasted only a few moments, it filled an emptiness I felt inside. In the movie The Mack, the prize of Goldie's stable was a young white woman. Was this all I was to him? One of the ways pimps got their women to do what they wanted was to spend a lot of time with them, making them feel special and getting them to fall in love-and then BAM: "You have to trust me, Baby. We're gonna build a beautiful life together, but you have to do as I say-even if you don't understand it at first."

"What?" Slide Step asked. "You didn't like him?"

"Hell no," I said. I couldn't believe he'd think I'd enjoy a man like that. "He was chubby and hairy," I said. "He was like a big flabby fur ball."

"A dick is a dick," I heard an inmate say once, which of course wasn't true, but to someone like Slide Step it probably seemed that way. He wasn't exactly the Crypt Keeper, but at twenty-five, he was closer to Slide Step's age than he was to mine.

I studied Slide Step. He held my gaze silently, rubbing my shoulder occasionally with his right hand. He looked disappointed.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I thought you