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

in prison. As gay men, we'd never have power over anyone, not even ourselves. Miss Bain challenged that notion. Here she was a woman, in a man's world, applying her intellect to get ahead. And she was doing this by taking on a mail to help teach her what she needed to learn.

In that moment, I had no doubt she'd one day make warden, even if she was a woman, in a man's world and fighting the odds. There was a lot I could learn from her. Paul was right: I needed to pick someone and study him. Only it wasn't going to be a man. I decided right then it was Miss Bain. She was who it was that I was going to study.

"It's all about a power trips and head games," Paul said. We were in the day room a few minutes before lockdown, watching the eleven o'clock news. "It's the same shit that pimps use to season their ho's."

"How do you know these things?" I asked.

"Taylor taught me," he said. "They use fear and intimidation, or they pretend to be your savior. They trick you into believing they're the only ones who can protect you-care about you. I'm sure if you were still with Moseley-he wouldn't let you come near me, because he was afraid I'd wise you up. Keeping you isolated was how he kept you in his control."

I nodded, remembering how Rock once threatened he would kill my entire family if I ever went to the guards and snitched on him. And judging by how he looked at nee at the time-I believed him.

"That's just part of the game," Paul said. "They break you down firstlike brainwashing. It's what they did to Patty Hearst." He nodded to the TV.

A major event dominating the news was the Jonestown massacre. Jim Jones, a cult leader, had convinced 912 of his followers to commit suicide by drinking Kool-Aid laced with cyanide. The commentators were making a connection to Patty Hearst, the newspaper heiress who had been kidnapped by terrorists and brainwashed into robbing a bank. They called it the Stockholm syndrome in which captives became sympathetic with their captors.

"You know," Paul said. "It didn't happen exactly the way you think it did."

"What?"

"Slide Step. When you first arrived at Riverside."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's the oldest game in the penitentiary. It's called the Underplay for the Overlay. Slide Step set the whole thing up."

I felt my heart drop. As much as I loved Paul, he had to be making that up. He was jealous of Slide Step, that's all. "Get the fuck out of here," I said.

"Oh he did," Paul nodded. "He had his eyes on you the moment you hit the yard. Taylor and I were standing next to him when you came in with the other fish."

"You're a fuckin' liar," I challenged.

The guard flashed the lights and shut off the TV. It was time to return to our cells.

"Why would he do that? It doesn't make sense," I said, refusing to believe any of it-was this Paul's way of manipulating me? For the first time, I looked at Paul skeptically.

"He wanted you to come willingly into his fold, grateful to him for rescuing you. Who wants a wife that's resentful about being there? It's easier to control you that way."

"But Slide Step didn't control me!"

"Look Tim, Slide Step has been doing time longer than you've been alive."

"He's not that old!" I said. "He's only thirty!"

"If you count his time in juvenile hall."

I was angry with Paul, because I didn't want to hear this even if it were true, which I refused to believe.

I went to my cell and kicked the locker door. It made a loud crash against the wall and resonated out into the hall. The noise reminded me of the first time Slide Step kissed me, and how relieved I was that he wasn't going to hurt me. At least not how I thought he was going to hurt me. But now I wished he would have beaten me. If Paul's story were true, a beating would have been easier to take.

The snow outside my window came down heavily. I could barely see the chow hall through the small windowpanes as they frosted over. I'd wedged pieces of toilet paper inside the cracks to keep the wind from blowing inside.

Sitting alone in the dark, I thought about something else Paul had said. "Inmates are always looking to destroy whatever good you had left. They're jealous that you've been able to keep something hidden away. Or maybe it makes them feel better-knowing they can take from you what's been stolen from them. But fuck 'em, you just don't let it happen. And the best way to do that is to walk around like you're immune to whatever goes on here. So if someone else is getting hurt, you look away, or better yet-you laugh about it to keep others from turning on you. It's play or be played-It's just the way it is."

In A-unit, because there were bathrooms inside the cells, they locked us in at night. It was comforting to know that at least for the next ten hours, no one could get into my cell. I chose not to believe it. Slide Step cared for me, and that was real. It was as if by telling ine that story, Paul was taking from me that one thing I had hidden away. I hugged my pillow and slowly fell asleep.

31

Go for the Grab

"Can I open that one, first?" I said, pointing to the long, gift-wrapped package at the back of the tree.

Sharon reached in and handed it to me. The tape on the end hardly looked tampered with, but I quickly ripped it open before she could notice it. It was the new tripod for my camera, which I wanted to set up right away.

"Let me have that one," Bobby said, pointing to the gift nearest him.

We