A professionally dressed man and woman step off the elevator and enter the room outside my holding cell. After a moment, I recognize them as my court-appointed attorneys.
Brad, my male attorney, asks, “Hey Cillian, it’s been a little while. You look good, how are you holding up?”
I haven’t seen either of them since sometime after video court and before Thanksgiving.
I grin without showing my skeleton. “Oh, you know, livin’ the dream.”
I glance Melissa’s way, my other attorney, and they both put on sympathetic smiles.
Melissa picks up the next line. “So let me give you a little rundown for today.”
As she speaks, I come to understand I’ll be silent the entire time because I’m really just here as a legal requirement. So I start to tune out what I’m told I’m going to be experiencing firsthand, and instead, focus on keeping my face neutral to mask what I’m actually thinking.
What I’m thinking about is how nice it is to see a pretty woman up close. She’s got a secret on her tongue that’s hidden by dark maroon lipstick that’s all business. Her words flow like a sweet rhythm into my ears, and I love how her syllables slither in without the broken English and macho posturing I’ve listened to for the past few months.
For some reason I hear Officer Parker’s fun country girl voice in my head yelling at us to rack in for the night. Images of the woman I fantasize about all the time keep surfacing, and I feel shame for thinking sensual thoughts about my attorney standing right in front of me.
“Do you have any questions?” Melissa asks.
Yeah, will you be able to keep me out of prison? “How long do you think it will take?”
Brad answers. “No more than a half hour, I’m sure. They should be just about ready, so we’re going to go into the courtroom now. Just remember when the officer brings you in, don’t look at the spectators behind you, and don’t say anything unless you’re responding to the judge himself.”
Okay, Mr. Fancy public defenders tie, are you going to persuade the judge to rule in my favor? “Got it,” I say.
After riding down the elevator and being pushed into one of the triangle rooms again, I just sit and stare at the floor.
Reflecting back, the whole thing took twenty-three minutes. I know this because I watched the clock the entire time. It was incredibly uncomfortable, to say the least, but it went exactly as JJ said it would. Both the prosecutors and my attorneys presented evidence that will be referenced in the proceedings moving forward. In the end, the court scheduled the next date for the end of April. As I turned to go, I snuck a glance at the audience that was behind me. I didn’t see anyone I know, but there were four large men in black and white suits scowling fiercely at me. I don’t know why, but it was like I got hit by a cold front and just kind of froze up, and couldn’t move, until my attorney physically nudged me forward. I don’t know who they were, but they left my mind right after leaving the courtroom.
I just feel so numb now, and the longer I sit here, the less I care about what’s going on around me. I’m no longer bothered by all the sweaty bodies or not being able to stretch my arms out. I’m not even thinking about the four months until I come back here again. I’m just a vessel of meat, void of all the expansion packs evolution tacked on to make mammals after sponges.
A sponge, that’s exactly what I am. Just a goofy little sponge-bob-jail-pants that’s been squeezed of life and left out in the sun to die.
Wait in holding cell.
Get back on bus.
Wait in next holding cell.
Get strip searched.
Wait in another holding cell.
Get escorted back to section.
CLACK CLACK
I’m back.
This is the second time I’m returning to the section, and as the door opens, I look into my living quarters from a whole different angle. Again.
Although this time when I glance toward the tables, I see familiar faces looking back at me. My closest pal, Old Man Jimbo, asks if it went well with a thumbs-up, thumbs-down motion. I respond with a sideways thumb, which gets a scoff of recognition from the others.
After the copper searches me, I head back to my cell. I don’t bother making a cup of coffee, and instead just hop right up on my bunk and hold a book in front of my face.
I’m not reading. It’s just all I can do to feel like I’m hiding. But there is no fucking hiding in jail.
Old Man Jimbo, comes to my cell and tries to convince me to come out and play cards.
Request denied. I’m not in the mood.
I don’t have to argue with him for long because the CO yells at Jimbo, “No loitering!” Which gets me my alone time back.
But no less than five minutes of solitude go by before Darrell comes waltzing in and immediately starts talking with questions. Over the past couple months, I’ve gotten used to his personality and nonstop talking, but I just cannot handle his shit right now.
“—is that why the cuffs are so close together? They need to—”
“DUDE! DO YOU EVER SHUT UP?” I snap, sharp as a razor.
“Wuss up? I know you ain’t talking to me like that, homie!” he says, sharpening his own blade.
“The fuck I’m not. I just got done with the longest day of my life only to be told I have to come back to this shithole for four more months before I have the privilege of doing it again. I’m not in the fucking mood to hear your machine gun mouth pop off nonstop,” I rant from atop my bunk, book still in hand.
“Don’t like it, don’t come to jail. I don’t give a fuck about—”
A bomb goes off in my head and I jump off the bunk to get right in his face. His expression completely changes the moment I hit the ground.
He stops talking and I feel his timidity, so I press the attack. “What? You don’t give a fuck about what? ‘Cause I ain’t got nothing to lose right now, so if you say one more fucking word, I’ll be facing two charges.”
The silence between us is deafening as he grasps the stakes. After a few moments I say, “Good. Now get the fuck out of here. I need some privacy.”
He leaves the cell and I drape my sheet over the back of the bunk, take one leg out of my pants, sit down on the toilet, and pretend like I’m taking a shit.
After about ten minutes of pretend pooping, I’m able to calm down. The adrenaline burst cleared out my numbness and wallowing, so I decide it’s better to go be around my buddies right now, than it is to be alone.
“There he is!” Tad exclaims as I approach the table. “Gotta love transport days!”
“I remember my first day at court…” Old Man Jimbo starts to say.
“Bullshit, you can’t even remember to tie your flip flops!” Tad pokes.
“You’re an idiot, Tad.” Jimbo says. “Flip flops don’t even have laces!”
Old Man Jimbo was definitely born somewhere on the spectrum, or maybe he’s done too much bath salt. Either way, he has a limited grasp of literal language. Super compassionate guy though. He also has plenty of money to supply winnings at the card table.
Tad snickers and Scrappy joins the banter. “Jimbo, you’re always the life of the party, you know that?”
“People tell me that all the time, yep. Killian, you want in next game? You can have my spot.”
He pronounces my name like Kill-ian, not Sssill ian. Everyone does now because of my crime, or they heard someone else say it that way. No one calls me Knight anymore, except for the coppers, judge, or people from my past that turned to ghosts since I got locked up.
Like John. You punch one friend in the face, and suddenly a friendship is over forever.
CLACK CLACK, CLACK CLACK
We play until shift change. During rack-in, Darell doesn’t say a word, and I start to feel a little bad for snapping. Looking back, I realize I started it.
I hop off my bunk and extend an olive branch. “Sorry I snapped earlier. I just got back and was in my head.”
“No worries G.” He doesn’t even look at me when he says it.
“We good?” I ask.
“No sweat,” is all he says.
A bit icier than I expected after trying to make amends. I walk to the cell door and look out into the section, scanning the same areas I’ve scanned thousands of times. I walk a cell-lap to the table and back to the door to look out. I do it again, and still, I haven’t heard a peep from Darell, who’d normally be yapping by now.
Whatever. I tried. If he wants to be a snowflake, that’s on him. I climb back on my bunk to stare at the ceiling for the rest of shift change.