CLACK CLACK, CLACK CLACK

First wake up of the day. Eat breakfast. Put spoon away. Close cell door. Get back on bunk. Spend time trying to go back to sleep.

CLACK CLACK, CLACK CLACK

Second wake up of the day. Eat lunch. Put spoon away. Close cell door. Drink instant coffee. Chop it up with celly. Clean cell. Wait.

CLACK CLACK, CLACK CLACK

Pod open. Shower. Play chess.

CLACK CLACK, CLACK CLACK

Eat dinner. Put spoon away. Read book. Wait.

CLACK CLACK, CLACK CLACK

5:30 PM. C.O. shift change complete. Pod open.

I'm doing laps with JJ when Dan comes to join us.

"What up. Down for some chess?" asks Dan.

"Nah, I’m gonna try and win some noodles with JJ against Chino and Gunz. Maybe after though".

"I'm watching Survivor at seven, then The Amazing Race at eight. Looks like I won't have a chance to win my milk back before tomorrow," he says sadly.

"Drop and give me thirty and you're clear. And make the last five Up Daddys."

"Bet." He says in agreement.

We step out of the lap lane and Dan gives me thirty pushups and yells “Daddy” on the last five. When he's done, we finalize with a fist bump and step back in the lane with JJ.

"You guys hear about that fat trustee?" JJ inquires.

"Something about Joshe’s celly asking about the dudes’ crime and things were not adding up. You think he's a mo?"

"Mo?" I ask.

"Molester. Child molester. Or pretty much any sex offender."

"Oh, shit. Gross. And yeah, I can see it. He's got that creepy perv vibe."

"Yeah, and I know Josh. He ain't gonna let him live there if he's on that shit. He's over on the phone right now getting someone to look him up- Oh, there he goes!"

I look over and see Josh all hyped up, storming away from the phone and heading straight for his house. We keep an eye on the cell while we continue doing laps. A minute later Josh comes strolling out red-faced and shaking his head.

"Josh!" JJ yells to him, doing the head nod gesture for him to come join us.

Josh walks over, and a couple of dudes playing cards get up and join as well.

"So he is a MO," one of the homies says.

"Yeah, he had some fifteen year-old girlfriend and her parents found out. Sick fuck is like forty one. I slapped him up and told him he better press the button and get out of here or he’ll be eating out of a straw tomorrow."

"Haha, I can see him packing his shit," someone says.

Sure enough, about five minutes later the MO has all his stuff in a sheet and is rolled up ready to leave.

"So they just take him to another section or what?"

"Yeah, they will take him to a Protective Custody section where he can go be around all his other Cho MO buddies."

Good, I think to myself. I absolutely can't stand the fact pedophiles exist, let alone seem to be so protected in our society. Especially here in Utah. It would be a much more fitting punishment for our society to castrate those demons upon sentencing, especially for the types of heinous crimes that involve ruining children.

CLACK CLACK, CLACK CLACK

First wake up of the day. Eat breakfast. Put spoon away. Close cell door. Get back on bunk.

As I'm trying to fall back to sleep this morning, the speaker on the wall comes alive.

"Knight, you have video court this morning."

"Okay, so what do I do?" I reply sleepily.

"Bring your I.D. to the programming room and wait there for transfer officers to take you to the video court room."

"K, when do I go?"

"Now."

JJ comes into the house. "Looks like you've got your first court hearing."

"What does that mean?"

"Oh nothing, you'll see the judge in the courtroom on a little T.V. and there will be a camera on you too with a microphone so you can talk to the judge. All that's gonna happen is he's going to say a bunch of official legal stuff and you'll plead not guilty. Then they'll set a future date for an in-person court hearing, and appoint you a legal defender. Oh, and for your case there's going to be a preliminary hearing."

I'm trying to take it all in, but it's a lot of info.

"And, um, that means that I'll... ummm... I don't know man, what would a preliminary hearing even be for? I'm trying to guess but I have no clue."

"You've really never been in trouble, eh?" JJ says, like he actually believes me for the first time. "That's gonna be really good then, the judge will definitely like that. The preliminary hearing is just for the judge to decide if there is probable cause to believe a crime was committed and that the defendant may have committed it. If so, the case moves forward to trial."

He's speaking another language, and he's speaking it more fluently than he does with his regular english.

"In your case, since you called the cops..." He pauses and shakes his head free of cobwebs made from disbelief. "The prosecutors are gonna officially enter in all the evidence of the case to the judge, it's seems to be clear cut, so the trial will proceed. That is, if you plead not guilty this morning when you go to video court."

"Yeah, but I am guilty. And I already told the detectives a million times I fucked up and feel terrible! So what's the point in saying I'm not guilty?" I ask, with frustration building.

The kind of frustration which is always lingering in the back of my mind, like a piece of pork stuck in your teeth for two days, that you just can't get out no matter how much you pick at it.

"Because that's just how the system works. They can still offer you a deal, and there is gonna be a bunch of time while your public defenders and the prosecutors compile their evidence. You're potentially looking at a couple years before it actually goes to trial. But like I said, that's if they don't offer you a deal first, and given everything I've heard from you, I can see them dropping the charges down pretty good so you won’t have to do much prison time."

"Wow, so I'll definitely be going to prison then?" I ask.

"Oh for sure bro. I know it sucks, but you've got a body on your hands. You won't do twenty years or anything like that, but probably five to ten."

"Geez”. I let out a big sigh. “What's prison like?" I ask, because if I have to go, I wanna know.

"Those are stories for later. You should probably head over to the programming room now, don’t wanna miss your date!" JJ jokes.

I brush my teeth, grab my I.D. and head over to the programming room, as it's called. The programming room is the place where vetted non-jail staff are allowed to come in and do various programs like AA, NA, and church.

Another inmate comes in and pulls up a chair next to me to watch CBS news. Twenty-five minutes pass, and we haven’t said a word, soaking in the station’s provocative narratives designed to keep us coming back “right after this commercial break”.

I’m only half watching, the other half imagining what court will be like. Then my thoughts drift to prison, how long I’ll be locked up, and whether it will take years in this jail just to actually get to prison, like JJ said.

A breaking news alert interrupts my spiraling thoughts as I hear my name come out of the T.V.

"Cillian Knight, the man accused of hitting and killing a homeless man on the freeway while driving intoxicated, is going to plead either guilty or not guilty today."

"That's right Karen, Knight called 9-1-1 after allegedly running into the yet-to-be-identified man early in the morning, October fifth."

I can feel the guy next to me looking at me before he even opens his mouth and asks, "That you up there homie?"

"Yeah, I was drunk leaving a party and the dude was just out in the middle of the freeway," I say for what feels like the hundredth time.

"And you called the police on yourself?" he asks in disbelief.

A gigantic sigh leaves my body.

"I did, but I had no clue he was gonna die from the hit. I literally thought I was saving his life."

"That sucks," he says, then goes back to watching the news.

That sucks, he says to me. Like it's just another headline he spent fifteen seconds caring about. This guy has been here before, I know it. He's heard variations of my kind of story before, maybe someone he knew on the streets, or met in jail. It’s puzzling how indifferent his whole vibe feels when hearing someone talk about a life-changing experience.

"What are you in for?" I ask, returning his nonchalant attitude.

He does not turn away from the pixilated reality as he starts telling me about getting busted holding onto some dope while trying to slang on the block. As he runs his story, he keeps puffing himself up bigger and bigger. According to him, he’s stacked with cash, ice, wheels, women, kicks, and at least a couple plugs for whatever he wants. When he shifts to talking about dope, he gets even more animated, bragging about just how much weight he moves.

I am still learning this language and some terms I figure out from context, but others have me scratching my head for meaning. At some point he said something about holding four bloons in his mouth that he swallowed when the cops rolled up on him. I think that means he put the drugs, in this case heroin, into little balloons? I wonder if that's how they would get some of those drugs in here. Although that means he would have to pass them, then dig through his poop to retrieve them. Gross, but I can see how that would work. I'm gonna have to ask JJ when I get back.

CLACK CLACK

I’m back.

This is the first time I’m returning to the section, and as the door opens I look into my living quarters from a whole different angle. I’m actually a bit relieved to be back after being gone all morning and most of the afternoon. Hours and hours of waiting around in tiny holding cells packed full of inmates, just to say a couple words to a guy on a screen.

As I scan the section my skin starts crawling because I can feel so many eyes on me. It isn’t fear of a fight so much as the quiet weighing of who I am and where I belong among them. It feels like breakfast that first morning I had my panic attack, because it's not just the inmates eyes I can feel, it's also the cameras, and the cop, and above us all I swear God has taken out his Godnoculars and is watching me again with a juxtaposition of curiosity and disappointment. But of course that last part could just be my ego thinking for me again. Realistically, I don’t think any of the gods would be interested in me. Except for Loki.

The copper in the section tells me to put my hands up against the wall, pats me down, searches my mouth, has me shake my hair, and show him behind my ears. After confirming I’ve brought nothing into the section, off I go.

First things first, I walk quickly to my cell to relieve my bladder. After I finish pissing, I start making up a cup of coffee. There are no knobs on the sink, only buttons that allow the water to flow for about five seconds per push. It’s before 5:00 PM, and there’s still a little warm water left. By the third press, the lukewarm water reaches its maximum temperature, which I use to fill my cup of instant coffee. A little stir with my flimsy white spork, take a sip and... Ughh, it tastes like burnt boot broth.

I’m standing at my cell door with a caffeinated alertness looking out into the section when I notice a straggly haired dude at the TV who keeps sneaking glances in my direction. I don’t recognize him, and it’s clear he’s looking my way. He looks to be over fifty-five with white hair and sun weathered wrinkly skin.

I finish my coffee and go to the sink to start cleaning my mug with my back to the cell door. All of a sudden, I hear a voice I don’t recognize echo in the cell.

“Hey-O, how’s it going?” I spin around faster than a subatomic particle in the Large Hadron Collider. And there he is, the same dude who kept looking at me at the T.V., now fully inside my house.

“What are you doing in here bro, you’re not allowed in other people's cells.” I say as if I’m not the only one who’s just learning the rules.

PUMP PUMP, PUMP PUMP

The adrenaline is screaming at my body that shit is about to go down!

He can sense it, because he goes, “Woah, woah, hold up. They just told me to come to this cell. If you’re mad because you wanted the bottom bunk, I get it, but I’ve got a medical clearance. My back’s all fucked up, and I’m not tryin’ to step on no ones toes here, okay?”

“What do you mean? That’s your shit? Where did JJ go?”

JJ never had anything outside his box so I didn’t even notice anything changed after someone else apparently moved in.

“No clue, the bunk was empty when I got here. No clue what happened to your old celly either, but you don’t have to worry about me, I’m not a biker, I shower everyday and I’m pretty laid back. As long as you’re cool too, we shouldn’t have any problems.” He says, plopping down on his bunk.

“Damn,” I say, defeated by change. “JJ was my first real celly, and he was teaching me a lot about this place.”

“First time in jail?”

“Yeah. Just got back from video court and pleaded not guilty.”

“How much time you looking at?”

I spend the next 45 minutes talking to him about how I ended up here. He has a quiet demeanor and listens intelligently. I feel like Vaughn and I are gonna get along just fine.

CLACK CLACK, CLACK CLACK

“You good?” I ask, ready to shut the cell door for the night.

Vaughn checks the toilet paper.

“Only got a quarter of the TP left,” he says.

Excellent, a chance to talk to the only CO I actually want to talk to, Officer Parker.

“CO!” I yell.

She turns around to face me. It’s only a split second, but when our eyes meet it feels like we really see each other. Her glasses really do fit her face well, and I think that—

“What? What do you want?” she asks from the copper station, breaking me from my trance. Oops, I guess it’s been longer than a split second.

“Can I get a roll please?” I ask, holding my hands up like I’m ready to catch a football.

She doesn’t say anything back, just grabs a roll and hurls it my way. It’s a little high so I have to jump to get it, and like a receiver for the New York Jets, I drop the pass.

“Oh come on! That was an easy catch!” Officer Parker jeers.

“Yeah if I was six-seven!” I yell back.

I bend over to pick up the roll off the ground, when she attacks behind my back.

“With how skinny you are, I’d think you would be a better catcher.”

“OOOOOOOHHHHHHH!” a couple of the trustees yell, dragging the sound out long enough for everyone else racking in to pick it up and join in.

The dis is not how skinny I am. She basically just called me a bitch who takes it in the arse. My face turns as red as the beard on my chin.

I turn to face her again, but my bruised pride defends itself with a rumor that's been going around.

“Hey, just cause your husband likes to get pegged does not mean that every man wears a dress.”

Her smile disappears like a dollar bet on the horse named Sure Thing, and is replaced by a look that could kill. The pod goes as quiet as it can be, except for the sounds of distant toilets flushing and cell doors Clack Clacking shut.

“You think you’re funny? Who do you think you are running your mouth like a retarded red headed step child? I could have you—”

“Sorry sorry sorry my bad, I was just—”

Lava erupts from her eyes. “DO NOT interrupt me! Get in your cell and rack in right now before I send you straight to max!”

I half turn and start going back to my cell. “My bad I—”

“STOP TALKING, YOU’RE DONE!”

I drag my eyes off her and start mov-

BAM!

I walk full-speed, metal to forehead, into my cell door that was left ajar.

The trustees watching burst out laughing, with a few guys from their cells joining in.

My face could cook an egg.

I pick up the TP I dropped after smacking my head, close the cell door, take a huge breath, hold said breath, and before I can release it, my celly Vaugun speaks with a neutral tone.

“That was rough to watch, that one’s unstable for sure.”

I feel the tinge of practiced paranoia and immediately make a shhhing gesture and point to the speaker in our cell.

“Pshhht, we’ve been cellys for four days now, you know I don’t give a fuck about these pigs. They can all eat a big phat donkey dick.” He pauses to make crude gestures. “By the way, I notice you worry a lot. We all have to find ways to feel a little control in here, but you can’t sweat the small stuff otherwise you’ll start to lose your mind.”

I understand the stoic wisdom he is trying to impart on me, but he does not understand the way my mind works. Worrying about the small stuff is exactly what I have to do in here. Even though this is not the big scary “I might get stabbed” environment, it is the only place for me to learn to recognize what exactly the small stuff is. Because at the end of the night, I’m coming to terms with the fact that I will most likely be in those stabby stab environments soon enough, if I get sent to prison.

I’ve also learned that arguing or debating is completely pointless in here most of the time. The people that I’m surrounded by are mostly educated in a much less formal setting, with completely different areas of study. Instead of algebra, they learned how to turn a half ounce of coke into a whole ounce of profit. Instead of learning how to be on time or use a POS for a job, they learned what kind of protection they need during a drug deal. Instead of learning about studies in psychology on how learned behaviors and environmental factors shape actions, they learned which crackheads to sell to and which ones to avoid.

So I just agree with Vaughn. We chop it up for a little bit before I hop up on my bunk and start reading.

My mind starts doing its wandering thing again and I find myself not able to recall what I just read. Not just one sentence either, sometimes it’s whole pages. My eyes will scan every line of a page but after I suddenly shift out of my thoughts, I find myself having no clue what I just read. How can that be? How can we do things on auto pilot and yet still say we have free will? Dreams have to hold the secret key to what consciousness really is. How can my brain make up a dream and everything in it, yet have the sensation of experiencing it simultaneously? Which one of me makes up these wild crazy stories while I sleep, and which is the one experiencing them.

Do we have freewill all the time, or just during the times when we’re asked to prove it?

End of chapter 5

The Scalpel is The Knife of knowledge.

Sewing The Knife write into my back,

I’m using The Knife to dissect syllables.

Grasping The Knife with the tip of my tongue,

I’m using The Knife to speak in tongues.

Gluing The Knife to the bottom of my boot,

I’m using The Knife to protect my soul.

Squeezing The Knife with all four digits,

I’m using The Knife to finger out life.