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

lie was on to me. "OK then, five days top lock. And if you're caught again, we're gonna take a look at your good time."

At least it would be five days I wouldn't have to meet Moseley at chow.

After serving my five-day sentence, I was standing at the bulletin board looking at the menu, when someone appeared beside me. I'd become accustomed to ignoring people unless they put their hands on me, so I paid no attention to him. I finished reading the dinner menu and finally looked over. It was young Paul, from Riverside. Taylor's boy.

"Hey, Squeeze!"

"Hey, Paul! What are you doing here?"

"Freedom, man." His green eyes were sparkling. "Freedom," he repeated.

"When did you get here?"

"Just now. I heard you were here, so I cracked on the housing officer to get me over here."

"No kidding?" I was surprised, given how indifferent he was to me at Riverside.

"Square business," he said. He was almost beaming.

I wondered if he was just relieved to see someone here that he knew.

Paul King was nineteen years old, serving a ten-to-twenty for armed robbery. He'd been down since 1976, so he was now into his third year. Since he'd reached five years from his first out date, they lowered him to mediumsecurity.

"How do you feel about it?" I asked.

"It feels fuckin' great. Are you kidding?"

"We'll see if you still feel that way after a few weeks in this motherfucker," I said.

"Count time," the guard yelled, from the desk at the axis of the two open-tiers.

Count times at MTU were identical to Riverside's. We had to go to our rooms while the guards came around counting heads. It took about thirty minutes to clear us.

"You can tell me all about it at chow," he said. "Let's meet up and we'll walk over together."

"OK," I said.

I met Paul right after count, and we walked together to chow. I was suppose to hang back and wait for Moseley, who was in C-unit, but every now and then the guards would catch me loitering and order me to move along. So I went in with Paul and decided to tell Moseley that guards had ordered me inside.

Paul talked the whole way to chow, as if he'd just been in solitary and hadn't seen anyone for days. Paul was such a chatterbox that it was hard to slip a word in. But I enjoyed his company and was happy to listen to him. He seemed just as eager to have someone to talk to, but later on when he settled in, he confessed that he was nervous. He said he had wanted to get next to me from the moment he first saw me.

"I thought you didn't like me," I said.

"Slide Step wouldn't let me anywhere near you."

"That's not true," I said. "He'd let me mess with other boys."

"Not me," he said. "He knew I'd try to snatch you away from him."

I smiled. He was acting like I didn't know that he was a boy, too. "How's Taylor doing?" I asked.

"He's all right," he said. Shaking it off, like Taylor didn't mean anything to him. "Taylor and Chet got locked up for some stupid shit they pulled with a guard. They had him moving drugs for 'em, and then they snitched him out-hoping to get time taken off their sentence."

"I was there when it happened," I said. "Are they still in the hole?"

"Yep. They were out for a little while, but Slide Step made the bitches lock up." After they had tried to doublecross Slide Step, he wasn't going to let them walk the yard anymore. So they were forced into protective custody.

I smiled again, but I was smiling not so much because Chet was locked up but because of the way Paul was talking so tough. Not that he was ever feminine, but he was talking a lot of shit for someone who had had a man at least once.

"You know a lot of people thought Taylor was my man. And he was," he said, "but I ran that. These motherfuckers just don't know."

"Don't know what?"

"I'll explain it later," he said.

Moseley stopped at our table. "What happened to you?"

I looked up and felt my face burn with embarrassment. Paul was the closest thing I'd had to a friend since I got here, and now Moseley was taking charge.

"The guards made me go inside," I said.

He just stood there and watched me.

"Moseley!" one of the guards next to the window yelled. "Let's go!"

I looked at Paul and back to Moseley again. Paul stared down at his tray and then looked away. Moseley was now eyeing Paul, too.

"Let's go Moseley," the guard repeated.

"Wait for me outside," Moseley said to me. "I want to talk to you."

Paul glared at him as he walked away. "Don't take that shit from nobody," he said, finally. "You are way better than these motherfuckers."

I looked down at my tray. My half-roasted chicken looked raw and picked-at.

When I first sat down with Paul, I hadn't anticipated the reaction I got from Moseley. And yet, at the same time, there was something in the way that Paul spoke to me, that sparked hope. I was so close to being at the end of a rope. It was probably the closest I'd ever been to considering suicide.

When the guard released our section, we dumped our trays and walked out together. Moseley stared at us as we walked past.

I stopped outside the chow hall door and lit a cigarette.

"You got another one of those," Paul asked. I handed him one and lit it for him.

"Let's go," he said.

"I can't. I have to wait for Moseley."

"No you don't." Paul sounded incensed. "Fuck that!" He grabbed my arm.

I hesitated. "C'mon," he said. "I'll show you how this game is played."

I looked back at the door for a second, and then went along with him,

my heart pounding. "He's going to the Correction Center in a couple of weeks," I said.

"Even better," he said. "You can't let these bitches run you like