Chapter 4

The first three hours of prison were the worst, definitely. My arraignment and the waiting all went by in a big blur. Luckily, the guards who took me out of arraignment brought me out through some kind of secret exit so there was no media or cameras around to harass me. I was a “special” case – normally I'd have waited around the jail until they were ready for a transport that day, but they wanted me out as soon as possible so I was transported right away.

When the transport van pulled up to the prison, it was exactly like you'd expect it to be from seeing it in a movie – a gray, concrete building surrounded by fencing and a dark gray sky. This morning the sky had been a cheery blue, but now it looked like it would dump an early October snow on us. It was strange how it had changed so drastically, and so fittingly.

Those three hours that followed were the ones that were the worst. I was fingerprinted, palm-printed, made to undress and endure a humiliating and violating strip search. Of course, it was policy that it had to be a man. That was probably the worst, and what made it so embarrassing. It made me realize exactly what I had to be afraid of by being here.

I had been sent to Warren Correctional, a male-only facility about an hour outside of New York City. I had heard of the place a few times, but I never kept up on New York prisons so it was only a blip on my radar until now. It was no Riker's Island; it was a minimum-security prison, so the worst offenders were sent there. It was still a prison though, and everybody knew the stereotypes of what happened in prisons.

Once the humiliating parts were over, I changed into the outfit they issued me; a dark gray shirt and pants, with 853479 in big stenciled letters on the left breast of the shirt. This was my inmate number, my identity now, for the next two years. I wasn't Lance anymore, and I wished that whoever this inmate 853479 was didn't have to be in Lance's body.

After I dressed, the male guard that had been with me the whole time handcuffed me again and took me down a hall. At the end of it was a desk, where a robust African-American female guard was sitting, typing away at a computer like a secretary.

“Got a new one, Roberta,” he said. Aside from telling me where to put my hands, which way to turn, and giving me other instructions, he hadn't spoken a lot the whole time I'd been with him.

“Yeah, I've heard about this one,” she said. “You aren't going to give me trouble, are you?”

I shook my head no. I had enough trouble already, I didn't need even more today.

“Okay,” she said skeptically, and stood up out of the chair and walked over to me. “I'll take you to your cell.”

The male guard took over her place at the desk and she walked with me down another hall.

“Lights go on at six every morning, and they go out at ten every night,” she said, not looking me in the eyes. “Breakfast is at seven and every inmate has breakfast in their cell. Lunch is at noon, and you can either eat in the chow hall or stay in your cell, your choice. Dinner's at six. We've assigned you to protective custody, since you're a special case. Yard for that hall is twice a week, Tuesdays and Fridays, before dinner. Keep your nose to the ground and out of trouble and you'll stay in protective custody. If we have any problems out of you, we'll send you to segregation, and I guarantee that's not a place you'll like. Got that?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“In the future, the respectful way to address a guard is 'Yes, CO.' Respect us around here and we'll respect you. Understood?”

She was friendly about it, not authoritative. “Yes, CO.”

“Good. I know that sucks, but you just have to get used to things like that around here. Now, we have a library available to all the inmates and as long as you stay out of Seg, you're free to go to the library whenever you'd like with a guard escort. You can check out one book at a time. We have a commissary in Adams Hall, as long as you have money in your account you can buy things they don't have in the chow hall. And if you ever need it, we have a full-time infirmary unit on staff. Head nurse is Abby Howell. I think you'll like her.”

I looked over at her, at the same time she looked at me and smiled a little.

“All the inmates like Abby. She relates to them in a way that the guards don't, and she's nice to them. It doesn't hurt that she's young and pretty, either.”

We came to two large doors, and she opened one of them and ushered me through, closing it behind her. Beyond the doors was another big hall, where I finally saw all the cells lined up.

“This is Baker Hall, otherwise known as protective custody. This will be your new home for the rest of your stay – if you behave yourself, that is.”

I had thought that reality had sunk in long before now, but the feeling when I first stepped into this hall was intense. The hall was long and seemed like nothing but cells with iron bars. It was a lot like staring at the Grand Canyon – miles and miles of rock, but it gave you that feeling deep in your gut knowing that it was much more than rock. Only this was a bad feeling.

Hearing the hall doors open stirred the prisoners apparently, because some of them came to their cell bars to stare as we walked down the hall. I knew they weren't looking at the guard, they were looking at me. I couldn't imagine what they were thinking about me, and I didn't think I wanted to.

“Got a new neighbor for you, Damian,” she said as she walked up to one of the cells and pulled out her keys.

I heard a scuffling and saw an African-American man walking towards the bars on his cell, right next to what would be mine. From what I could see, he looked to be about my age, probably a little younger.

“Oh yeah? That's good, it was starting to get lonesome around here.”

“You need to quit running them off,” she responded. “You jabber your mouth so much, I'm starting to think they get in trouble just to get sent to Seg to get away from you.”

“Now CO, don't be like that. You know I'm the charming one around here.”

She gently led me into the cell and pulled the bars closed, and started locking it back up.

“Yeah, Damian, we know. You're good people, but you never shut your mouth long enough to get in trouble, that's your problem.”

“Hey, good problem to have if you ask me, right?”

“Around here, better problem than most,” she said. “Try your best not to scare the new kid away from you, got it Damian? This isn't social playtime.”

“Yes, CO,” he said, very enthusiastically and from what I could tell, jokingly.

“You behave,” she said, pointing at him. Then she turned back to me. “If you need anything, ask for CO Daniels, that's me. I'm in this hall a lot, I'll try to get you what you need, okay?”

I nodded, because it was about all I could muster, and she nodded back understandingly and walked away, keys jangling on her belt.

I was surprised at what I'd experienced here so far, I hadn't expected the guards to be so nice. Maybe they had seen a lot of the inmates come in feeling out of place like I did. Then again, I had only met two of the guards so far; I couldn't rule out the possibility that there were some that wouldn't be that nice.

I took a second to glance at my surroundings. The cell was about as small as I had imagined, probably no bigger than six foot from bars to the small window across from it. Bailey's room was bigger than this – hell, my guest bathroom was even bigger than this. Of course, there was the obligatory toilet in the corner, with no options for privacy, and a sink next to that. Right next to the double-bunk bed was an empty counter, and what its purpose was I couldn't figure out. On the opposite side of the wall was a small desk and a chair. I was trying to figure out how they fit so much stuff into such a small place.

“Looks bigger once you take all the stuff out of it,” I heard a voice say. “You'd think since they're required to give us so much necessary junk they could at least give us a little bit more cell to fit it all in.”

The voice sounded like it belonged to the inmate next door, but it sounded like he was standing right inside my cell, so I looked around to see how he was carrying his voice so far.

“Over here, look beside your desk,” he said.

I walked over to the desk and looked down, and I saw a covered vent a few inches off the floor.

“This is how we talk around here. Not all the cells have this, but the ones who do take advantage of it.”

“How'd you know I was looking around?” I asked.

“I was new once, too,” he said with a laugh. “I've seen lots of new kids come through here. Not a lot of them look like you, though. You look pretty fresh to a place like this, so I assumed you'd be looking around, feeling the place out.”

I suddenly realized I was exhausted, so I sat down on the floor in a small space between the bars and the vent.

“So, what you in protective custody for? You not a child molester, are you?” he asked.

“No,” I said assertively.

“Then, what you in PC for, man?”

“A lot of people know me,” I said.

“No offense, but you don't look like no gang member or anything,” he said.

I shook my head. “I'm not.”

“You don't look like you even belong here, brother. I mean, you all clean cut and shit, know what I mean?”

I didn't say anything, but I heard a little chuckle from him.

“I guess that's what we all say though, huh?”

Things went silent again, and I laid the back of my head against the wall.

“You one of those quiet ones, huh?” he said.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“That's cool. You can ignore me. I like to talk to people, you know? Even if they ain't listening to me. This place can get so lonely you think you gonna go nuts sometimes. Makes it feel like there's someone there, even if there ain't.”

I wondered if eventually I would get so lonely that I would start talking to people even though I knew they weren't listening to me.

“What's your name at least? If we're gonna be neighbors, it'd be cool to at least know your name.”

“Lance.”

“I'm Damian.” I saw a dark hand reach out of the next cell and close to mine, reaching out for a handshake. I reached my hand out of the bars and grabbed his, and shook it. When he released my hand, he balled up his fist, so I did the same and he bumped his fist against mine.

“Everybody calls me Little D. You know, gotta have the nickname if you from the ghetto and stuff. You obviously ain't from the ghetto, so you wouldn't know that.” He chuckled again. “That's probably about as much skin-to-skin human contact you gonna get for the next few months, so better get used to that.”

“Are we even supposed to talk like this?”

“Not really, but they don't care much as long as you're not causing trouble or passing kites.”

“Kites?” I asked.

“Yeah, you know, notes.” He paused. “You really are fresh, aren't you?”

“I guess so.”

“This is your first time in prison, isn't it?”

“Yeah,” I said with a sigh.

“No worries, Little D will educate you on the finer and not-so-finer points of prison.” He said it with such attitude that it almost made me laugh. “First of all, stay away from the prison gangs. They'll gain you nothing but trouble, man. Don't believe all the bullshit they tell you about how they can protect you either. And watch your back. You're new here. Not to further stereotypes, because I hate that shit – but you're new, you're white, and you're a pretty boy. No offense or anything, I'm not saying that 'cause I don't like you or nothing, I'm just telling you the truth. Hate and racism runs rampant around this place, guys like you are seen as fresh meat around this place.”

“That's what scares me,” I said.

“It should scare you. Most of these guys in here have years on you. We're in prison; sometimes you have to do what you have to do. That's the truth. Protect your own life, but don't cause unnecessary drama for yourself – PC is pretty nice, you don't even want to see what Seg is like.”

“Everybody's been talking about 'Seg'. What is Seg?”

“Administrative Segregation, otherwise known as solitary confinement. They don't use solitary anymore, Ad Seg sounds nicer. No reason to call it what it is. They lock you in a cell consisting of 99% concrete, with only a plexiglass window to view the world outside your cell. You're there twenty-three hours a day with nobody to talk to. Guys have gone crazy in there, man.”

“Have you been to Seg before?”

“Twice this visit,” he said. “Spent about half my stay there, and I don't intend to go back and make it more. Maybe that's why I like to talk so much out here.”

“How long have you been here, Damian?”

“Call me D,” he said. “I've been here five years now. And that's only this stay. I still got a couple more years to go. I've spent probably half my life in and out of juvie and prison.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

I let it soak in for a few seconds; at twenty-six, all I was dealing with was paparazzi and media harassment, and I'd thought I'd had it rough for someone my age.

“What are you in here for?” I asked.

“I got a problem with drugs,” he said. “Seems drugs like to follow me around wherever I go. That's kind of why I'm here in PC; I turned from a dealer to a snitch, and that's how a lot of the people who don't like me ended up here. Then I got caught myself. I keep out of trouble for the most part in here, but I don't think I know how to stay out of trouble out there.”

Things fell silent for a moment; I was still trying to soak in the fact that he was only twenty-six years old.

“Anyway, that's enough school for today,” he said, and I heard the scuffling of him standing up. “I don't want to overwhelm you on your first day. Don't concern yourself with the problems of the world. Just concern yourself with yourself. Try to mind your own damn business and watch your back. If you do that, you might make it out no worse for the wear.”

I looked at my surroundings again, remembering all the things Damian had schooled me on. I wanted to stay in protective custody, because it seemed like the best place to be if I didn't want any problems. I had an ally, or at the very least a mentor. I didn't feel as alone as I had this morning. Now that I was here and I knew I'd be staying a while, I had to keep myself out of trouble if I wanted to make it out.