I stayed quiet for a very long time. Gradually, the strung-out guys relaxed, the room cooled, and the benches drifted into silence.

…CONTINUED FROM PART 1

I stayed quiet for a very long time.

Gradually, the strung-out guys relaxed, the room cooled, and the benches drifted into silence.

After awhile, I could almost pretend that everything was as it had been. All I had to do was avert my eyes from the stark reminder of the commotion: the knocked-out body sprawled out on the floor. Talk about the elephant in the room.

Soon another shipment of granola bars arrived. This time though, instead of simply pushing in the box with his foot, the guard entered our cell. With great purpose, he strode to the body, and brought it to consciousness with a few careful slaps to the cheek.

As the jailor lifted his head, I could see that the guy was bleeding from his mouth. Once he awoke, it was clear that one of his eyes had been beaten closed.

The guard helped him stand up, and cuffed him very professionally and without an ounce of prejudice. Leading him gently out of the cell, they proceeded down another hallway past the guard’s office. I never saw the guy again. No idea where the jailor took him, or why he cuffed him instead if the two string-out guys who had beat his ass – all I know is that I never saw the guy again.

How had the jailor known? I thought maybe he had been watching on a camera, but then why wouldn’t he have broken up the fight or at least come in to rescue the guy sooner? I don’t know.

As it got later, some of the guys started drifting off to sleep. Some reclined against the wall and shut their eyes, a couple of others lay out on the benches and on the floor. I was jealous of them – jealous of their departures from that room – jealous that I was the one who had made a fool of myself, making sleep for me impossible.

I wasn’t the only one awake – the two strung-out guys got up again and walked toward the window. A few other heads turned to watch them light up – but instead of pulling out their pipe again, they walked together into the bathroom at the edge of the cell.

“sssss-sss-sssss-ssss,” the big black guy laughed through his teeth. He looked over at me.

“I tol yall they make it to the cub,” he went on, and some of the other guys added their tired, listless approvals.

Made it to the cub?

“They dancin at the club,” he blurted, again to a few isolated laughs.

OH the club…The CLUB, I must have heard it wrong.

The strung-out guys were gone now – they had disappeared into the club.

People got quiet; listening I guess, waiting. Soon they got their voyeuristic wish as moans started escaping from the club. Moans and then grunts and then the sounds of pleasure – lifted eyebrows from the guys on the bench.

I had never been anywhere near real people having sex that didn’t involve me. I still haven’t – never have again – have you? Ever seen OTHER people having sex? Weird, huh? Well, what about sex between men in a jail? Seen it? Heard it?

Adrenaline rushed through my body, and I was scared.

Then they really got going, and it got loud. It sounded like what you think – they were talking shit, and switching spit, and grunting like wild animals. Very quickly, it got loud enough so that I began to wonder whether the attendant would come in again. I looked over toward his office, and saw just his shoes propped up on his desk. It was dark now, and the shifting lights of television were the only thing that lit his room.

The sounds of sex and the club’s energy seeped into our cell. Not everyone was as scared as I was – that soon became clear. One guy in particular – a Von Kaiser looking dude with a thick mustache and a meth face – he seemed to be keeping his glare in my direction. I avoided his look for as long as I could – and when finally I looked his way, he stood up and began to approach.

He walked toward me carefully – like *I* might attack – and the rest was in slow motion. I knew what he was going to say to me before be said it – I saw it in his eye.

“After these two pansies quit it,” he started, “We gawn in the club ‘n give us a turn?”

I’ve always felt that if someone dumps boiling water on your head, you don’t feel it. Your body shuts down its pain censors, because what’s the survival purpose of feeling all that pain? Your brain would override its normal behavior for the good of the holistic organism.

“I’ll go on in with you,” he continued, “unless you got the grid-” and he pointed down at my shirt.

The fear was gone – I wasn’t there, wasn’t myself. I didn’t make any choice, it just happened automatically like I was watching myself on a screen.

“Now we ain’t goin nowhere man,” I spat at him, like a cornered snake, “because I got HIV.”

He backed up off me immediately as if I had slit my own throat and the blood was shooting toward his clothes. He looked terrified.

“So don’t touch me. And that’s why I need my medicine in here,” I continued, getting louder, “and they can’t just keep me. You don’t know me – I need my medicine or it’s gonna get bad.”

He kept stepping backward, keeping his eyes locked on me. He was the guy from the beginning of Raiders, sliding back, just about realizing that by fucking with the jewel, he had unleashed all the traps – and that he had only instants to live.

The room could sense something – we became more compelling than the lovers in the club. Then all at once he turned to the guys on the other bench.

“This guy right here gotta grid man,” he ratted, “how they even gonna let him in this playce?”

And now I could hear how southn he was – he was just a fucking redneck. No more for me, I couldn’t hang. It was the only choice I could have made – one of self preservation. I had escaped their world, but I didn’t feel powerful – just insane.

The other guys clucked and tsked and oooood, and I could feel every one of them looking at me, scared, in pity, and morbidly curious, like rubbernecks driving by an accident.

People switched benches. The nice guy who had told me about Monday – he moved farthest of all, tainted by our interaction, and scorned by my betrayal.

I had really gone too far. Everyone took turns looking, and yet nobody spoke. They were fearful, yet vengeful – I was the leper of their colony.

And as the music of the club gradually drew to a close, I sat alone on my bench, and vowed not to fall sleep.

I kept my word, and was the last one awake in the entire cell. It must have been 3 in the morning – because every single man in that room was asleep – stretched out on their benches, spread over the floor – some had even moved back to my bench, though sat far down toward the other end of the cell.

My eyelids got heavy, and I felt myself wake up – I must have dozed – but I looked around and saw everyone still at rest. I tried to keep my eyes open, but I just kept waking up. Dozing, uncontrollably.

I woke up again, this time to the sliding of the cell door. The attendant was being careful not to wake us, but the grating sound of iron caused a few of us to stir.

I was confused, exhausted; dreaming – I thought it was our delivery of Granola Bars. But it wasn’t – it was our jailor bringing in a massive, handcuffed, stumbling drunk into our cell. If my would-be suitor had been Von Kaiser – this guy was obviously Bald Bull.

Bald, massive, swarthy, sweaty, muscular, fat – a 6 foot 5 nightmare of a man.
The jailor gently walked him in, and even helped him get seated on the bench. Took his cuffs off, and walked out, gently shutting the gate. As the door slid shut, Bald Bull fell off the bench onto his ass and passed out.

A couple of guys opened their eyes and looked – but seeing everything was safe, they all went back to sleep.

Still in a state of absolute exhaustion, I fought it and tried to stay awake. My horrible blunders all seemed like a bad dream, and with everyone asleep and the cell, silent, it seemed as if once again we were all equals.

I woke up again, and again – nodding off into the dark silence of the room.
My eyelids were like lead, and there was nothing I could do. I rest my head on the wall – just for a second, and my eyes went dark.

Dreamless I must have slept for a couple of hours – way more than anyone there could afford. I opened my eyes just as the hand of the giant touched my shoulder. It felt almost firm and supportive, like a gym teacher or a coach. The blue light of the morning was shining thorough the windows.

At once I came to, and tried to squirm away from his touch. Instantly, his grip hardened like cement; like the jaws of a steel shark capturing its prey.

He was massive before me, his grip like a bear’s. I struggled in absolute vanity, like a baby trying to escape a doctor’s needle. Breaking free was inconceivable; even if I had had a kitchen knife or a razor blade, I’d never have been able to make a dent in his stone hard frame.

I remembered my protection; the decision that had been made for me. As the adrenaline rushed through me, I realized that I was the last one to wake up – everyone else in the cell was present, alert, and looking on with great intensity.

He lifted me up by the shoulder with one hand, almost cracking my bones in two. I stood up to avoid resisting, desperately trying to save my muscles from destruction.

“You’re fucking CRAZY,” I shouted into his face, “don’t touch me you fucking crazy?? I’m SICK I have HIV I have AIDS!”

He dragged me toward the bathroom, impervious, and undeterred. As he spoke into my ear, his voice was rasping, low, and grave.

“That’s awright,” he started; and looking through me blankly spoke these words which will not cease: “So do I.”

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