Keywords: Structure, discipline, authority, boundaries.
The Fourth Slice
“Some are night owls, some were ravens, once birds of midnight, now descended to fowls.”
CLACK CLACK, CLACK CLACK
First wake up of the day. Stand in line. Eat breakfast. Put spoon away. Close cell door. Get back on bunk. Let mind wander. Fall asleep.
CLACK CLACK, CLACK CLACK
Second wake up of the day. Stand in line. Eat lunch. Put spoon away. Close door. Chop it up with celly. Clean cell. Wait.
CLACK CLACK, CLACK CLACK
Pod open. Walking laps. Walking laps with Dan. Playing chess with Dan.
“COMMISSARY!”
The copper yells to the pod. “What do we do?” I ask Dan.
“We just go to our cells and wait until they call your name, then bring a pencil and your ID.”
“Do we have to put the game away?”
“Nah, just leave it here. This CO is cool.”
Just like Dan said, everyone’s waiting by their cells. The trustees make a large circle of twelve chairs facing outward. In the middle stand two commissary ladies and a huge pile of plastic bags stuffed with all sorts of goodies.
I watch inmates walk over when they hear their name called, carrying a blanket, pencil, and ID. The ones heading to a chair with a phat sack have a little extra spring to their step, but I notice a very different demeanor in the ones walking toward a mostly empty sack.
The bags are dwindling and I start getting nervous. Maybe my order didn’t get put in on time. Maybe something happened with the money put on my account for the first time. All sorts of scenarios are running through my mind when finally, I hear, “Knight!”
I get to the chair and I’m thrilled to even have a sack. The commissary lady checks the receipt against my ID and hands it back. I figure that means I’m good to start taking the items. I check off each item from the receipt and pile it on my blanket: one bag of coffee, five noodles, a bowl, a spork, a bag of hard candy, shampoo, and a bar of soap.
I walk back to the house and find JJ sitting on his bunk, staring at the floor.
“Yo, they miss your order?”
“My girl only had enough money to give me phone time this week.”
“Shit, man. Here’s a couple noodles since you helped me out.”
“You don’t have to do that.” He verbally rejects and physically accepts the offer simultaneously.
“DAYROOM’S OPEN!”
We are allowed to leave our already-open cells.
JJ goes straight to the phones. I head back to my game of chess with Dan.
“Hard candy?” I offer him a piece from my commissary haul.
“Dude! Hide that! We can’t pass commissary, remember?”
“Oh my God, I forgot. That’s such a stupid rule! I bought it. What do you mean I can’t give it to someone else if I choose?”
“I know, it’s fucking hateful. We’re not supposed to trade tray food either.”
“Yeah! What the hell is that about? I had to sneak my milk to someone the other morning. You would’ve thought it was some big operation. We were all looking around, making sure the guard wasn’t watching and shit.”
“Yeah, and if you get caught, some of the cops will actually write you up. Not all of them are douche canoes, but most are.”
“Wow, here’s a write-up for giving someone a piece of candy. Some bullshit.”
Dan snorts. “Hey, you know what they say…don’t like it, don’t come to jail!” I laugh because he snorted. He laughs because I laugh.
I close my fist around the candy and reach halfway across the table, next to our chess game. Dan makes sure the copper isn’t looking our way and brings his open hand up to meet mine. I quickly drop the candy and he hides it in his own fist. He checks one more time that the cop still isn’t watching, unwraps it, then pops it in his mouth. It’s filthy how this system encourages petty criminal behavior due to ineffective and illogical rules.
As we play chess all day, he tells me more about his crime. Turns out Dan is a bit of a psychopath. The girl he’d been on a few dates with decided to ghost him without explanation, so after trying multiple ways to understand why she didn’t like him, he had the not-so-brilliant idea to climb through the window of her ground-level apartment and wait for her. When she got home and found a man in her place, she started to panic and scream.
He just needed her to tell him why she didn’t like him, but she wouldn’t give him a chance to speak. Finally, he snapped, pulling a knife and demanding she quiet down and explain why she didn’t want to be with him.
I’m just trying to keep my face as blank as I can while Dan tells me his train wreck of a story.
As luck would have it, she ran right out of the place and was able to call the cops before anything worse could happen.
Now he’s in county jail playing chess with me. Turns out he doesn’t have a drug or drinking problem either; he’s just mentally unstable and needs help.
He won’t find that here though. He’ll do some time, go through some public behavior classes, and be right back on the streets with the same underlying issues.
I read in a book once: Not everyone who sneezes has a cold, not everyone who can’t sit still in the classroom has ADHD. Will the Trojan Horse of Big Pharma help someone like Dan? Perhaps. But it’s not the magical fix so many wish it to be. A pill doesn’t ultimately make decisions for us. Healthy daily habits and accountability are the foundation of a strong and balanced mindset. Life is hard, life has always been hard. There’s not a lot in life more rewarding and empowering than implementing disciplines on a daily basis.
Dan’s story has helped me judge him and his character more. Am I going to stop talking to him and playing chess just ‘cause he’s kind of a creep with some screws loose? No, I’m not. Because there’s a lot to learn from any one human being. Because I crave connecting with others. Because I need to help others to exercise my true potential.
Me, me, me. Is it my own pride that’s colossal in its pretentiousness?
CLACK CLACK, CLACK CLACK
First wake up of the day. Stand in line. Eat breakfast. Put spoon away. Close cell door. Get back on bunk. Spend X amount of time trying to fall asleep.
CLACK CLACK, CLACK CLACK
Second wake up of the day. Stand in line. Eat lunch. Put spoon away. Close door. Chop it up with celly. Wait.
Clack Clack
Clean cell with JJ.
CLACK CLACK, CLACK CLACK
Pod open. Shower. Chess with Dan.
CLACK CLACK, CLACK CLACK
Dinner time.
It’s beef stroganoff tonight. But no one on the outs would call it that. We don’t get real beef in here, and instead we get estrogen-inducing soy bullshit. The meal itself has less than no flavor. Why don’t they sell salt and pepper on commissary?
At least it’s warm, and the noodles aren’t crunchy tonight.
JJ and I close the door after setting our spoons on the cup port and start playing cards while we wait for shift change.
He teaches me a new two-person game called Casino that’s a bit like Polish poker. We play until the next officer arrives for shift change at 5:00. Normally we’d play until doors CLACK CLACK at 5:30, but there’s a beautiful blonde at the guard’s station drawing our attention. Officer Parker is our CO tonight.
“Oh my God she’s so sexy, I would drink her bathwater.”
“Ugh, you’re a sick fuck,” I say, disgusted.
Men can be so crude. Me want to smash. Me want to bludgeon with cudgel. Derp derp derp.
CLACK CLACK, CLACK CLACK
Morning. I wake up to find something written in my hand that I don’t recall writing.
What happens when your mind has too much time to think?
{“But what really happens when your thoughts start to think back.” }
ZZZ…ZZZ…ZZZ
I must have woken up in a dream again and started writing to myself. Sleep writing, I guess you could call it.
I’ve been here less than two weeks and I can already feel the unrelenting march of time seeping into my veins, slowing me down and warping my perceptions. One. tick. at. a. time. Repeating over and over... tik tik, tik tik.... Knight wake up!… Tik Tik, Tik Tik…. Clack Clack, Clack Clack…. Wright, wake up!!!!….. TIK TIK, TIK TIK…. CLACK CLACK, CLACK CLACK…. CILLIAN WAKE UP!!!!
End of Chapter 4
Interlude:
I’ll be honest, my target audience is not a super large % of the population, so if there are things that rub you the wrong way, I completely understand. But that’s life.
I’ve already had to endure extreme scrutiny from friends, family, peers, and the public. At the end of the night, I just have to take a leap of faith and trust what I’m doing is a net gain for myself and others.
I firmly believe there is no such thing as bad art, just an undesirable perspective.
{“And if someone can sell a banana taped to a wall for $150,000 that wasn’t really about the banana, but was a “commentary on value, ownership, and the absurdity of the contemporary art market." It means people paid for the concept, the notoriety, and the right to be part of a conversation.”}
And I feel no shame at providing a similar concept for free.
Free of ads, free of popups, and free from forced membership signup.
Thank you for reading my pitch for funding.
{“No thank, u!”}
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$( - ) ( - )$ {“(. ) (. )”}
- U
Here is a form to send us your thoughts so far. Or you can email us direct ShaneWright@AManCutIntoSlices.com
{“We’ll see ya around!”}
Enjoy the rest of the story.
-Shane & {“Cillian”}