CLACK CLACK, CLACK CLACK

That’s the jarring sound I still hear echoing through the section as all thirty-two cells open one after another. My life still revolves around this,

CLACK CLACK, CLACK CLACK

all day, every day.

It’s my 168th breakfast since I got out of quarantine and into minimum-security general population. Today also marks the first day I’m waking up in my new life with a laundry trustee job. Not a damn thing has changed during the day.

I still walk in the same line to get breakfast, then take my Zyprexa and go back to sleep right after.

I still wake up about an hour before trays get here for lunch.

I still pretend I’m sleeping until trays arrive, so no one bothers me while I gauge where I am.

The ten minutes it takes, after racking in, for the trustees and copper to count the trays and spoons, allow me time to make up a warm cup of instant coffee. I sit at the same spot at the same table with the same group for every meal now.

After lunch, we still go back to our cells to rack-in until the tray cart leaves the section, before the copper starts clack-clacking two cells at a time for cell cleaning.

The cleaning still takes about about forty-five minutes before,

CLACK CLACK, CLACK CLACK

the day room opens. I down an Effexor, down the coffee, hit the shower, then head to the tables for another day of pinochle, smack-talk, and gossip.

CLACK CLACK, CLACK CLACK

4:00 PM rolls around and we still repeat the same routine as lunchtime, except we're let out as soon as the trustees are finished cleaning up after dinner.

Sometimes I’ll make a phone call at this time, and tonight is one of those nights. As I get my fathers voicemail yet again, I feel a pit open in my gut. Something isn't right. I try calling my Mom and Stepdad twice and get no answer. What the hell is going on? Did I do something wrong recently that I don't realize? I pick up the phone to call my sister, and as I’m dialing her number, I hear the section door Clack-Clack open. In walks a large transport copper dressed in black. On the fourth ring my sister answers, at the same time the copper dressed in black yells,

“KNIGHT, COME TO THE FRONT!”

“Hey sis, sorry I just got called to the officer station, I’ll call you right back,” I say anxiously.

Tears fracture her voice, “Oh, Cillian, I'm so sorry. We just found out earlier today.”

She didn’t call me either of my nicknames, Cil, or Silly C. Something very serious is going on. “Found what out? What do you mean, what happened Sis?” I ask frantically.

I watch the copper yell out at the section again,

“KNIGHT, LETS GO!”

“Just call me back as soon as you can,” she sobs.

I hang up the phone and start walking towards the cop station. I look towards the tables, and Tad asks me what’s going on with a head raise, which I respond with an exaggerated shrug.

“Got your I.D.?” the copper in black asks me.

I respond by taking it out of my shirt pocket and holding it out in front of me.

He grabs it, chains me in cuffs, and says, “follow me.”

“Where are we going?” I ask suspiciously.

He doesn’t look me in the eye when he says, “The chaplains office.”

The CO pops the door for us, but before we leave, I turn to the tables and yell, “he said I’m going to the chaplain’s office!” Even from a distance I can see worry appear on their faces.

The transport copper takes me through the massive hallways and into a room with carpet that I’ve never been in before. Out of the seven doors, only one is ajar. A voice escapes from the open office saying, “bring him in please.”

The copper escorts me into the office and takes the seat between me and the holy man sitting behind the desk.

“Cillian, have a seat,” the chaplain commands softly.

That’s twice today, I’ve heard my first name spoken with a concerning tone. I can’t help thinking back to that first day in general pop and I’m flooded with a typhoon of memories—the kind nurse calling my name just before I panicked into the darkness, then that same angelic voice pulling me back from the abyss.

I swim away from the past, shoring up in the present.

“Cillian, thank you for coming in. I need to share something very difficult with you.”

He pauses a moment, keeping an eye on my body language before continuing, “I just received word that your father passed away earlier this morning. I know this is heavy news, and I’m here to supp-”

No.

No, I don’t believe him. He’s confused and has the wrong inmate.

Then why was my sister crying?

No.

No no no, this isn't real. It can't be!

All I can see is a blurry world distorted by the refraction of tears.

“How did he die?” I ask, cutting off whatever comforting words he was in the middle of.

He looks at me softly for a moment before answering, “I was told the cause of death was a heart-attack.”

No fucking way. I can’t speak anymore because my jaw is clenched shut. I can’t move, because I can’t feel my body. I can’t do anything except stare past the chaplain, past the whole room, and see my father’s face with my third eye.

The picture of his kind face morphs into a video reel of my childhood: Learning to play chess on the board his father had passed down to him, with the pieces his grandfather carved by hand. Making a pinewood derby car together to race in the boy scouts competition. Mowing a lawn for the elderly around the neighborhood, while he did the trimming. Learning how to clean correctly, using the three step method he learned from his time as a janitor. The laughs, shouts, and tears. But strongest of all, the countless hours we spent debating, arguing, and discussing religion, the purpose of our existence, and what happens when we die.

He never wavered in his belief that he could turn my mind and soul back toward his perceived God, and the faith of my Mormon ancestors. And I never wavered in mine–I believed I could gather enough evidence for him to finally accept his beliefs were a man-made set of rules, not a divinely chosen truth.

I remember a few years ago, we were driving in the car when he pointed to an area along the mountain and started talking about high-density housing that was in the works because of the anticipated doubling of Utah’s population by 2030. After stating the fact, he immediately shifted to a prophecy from Mormon scripture about people “flocking to the tops of the mountains.”

I responded sarcastically, “moving to the mountains huh? Nobody would have done that if there weren’t prophecies, right?”

He had to stop and think for a moment before saying, “No, they would have done it, but the prophecies are there to say—” and then continued to reciting the entire quote and its surrounding context for the rest of our drive.

The memory of his silly mannerisms he used while speaking make me chuckle, causing the chaplain to break the extended silence with an awkward cough. Another tear hitting my hand reminds me that I have a body. I blink away the remaining reminders so I can see where I am.

The chaplain can sense I’m processing things deeply so he says, "Cillian… I know this is heavy. I’m going to step out for a bit, but you’ll be okay. Take your time, breathe, and when you’re ready, you can head back to your section. If you need to talk more, I’ll be here tomorrow."

“Thank you,” I say, “thank you for telling me too.”

He lets me have the last word, squeezing my shoulder as he walks past.

I sit in silence for a few moments trying to motivate myself to move, which hits when I realize I need to go call my family.

I stand up and tell the copper, “I’m ready,” so he starts walking me back towards the way we came. As we’re entering the hallway, I almost run right into someone walking in the hall.

“Watch it!” Officer Parker squeaks as she sidesteps to avoid our collision.

“Sorry,” I say numbly.

“You need to be more careful, don’t you-”

The copper dressed in black, cuts her off with one word, “Park.”

I can hear him doing charades behind me. I assume he’s doing the chopping hand against throat thing to tell her this is not an opportunity to give me a hard time.

She must have put two and two together, because she quietly goes, “Ohhh,” then a second later, “Sorry about that.”

“Let’s go,” the copper says to me.

I start walking and Officer Parker falls in step with the officer escorting me from behind.

Along the way, they chit-chat behind my back about jail-staff drama. It’s only when she drops her voice to a whisper that I try to eavesdrop and catch something like, ‘take him to the Dragons of Eden.’ The rest of her whispered words I can’t hear, but my somber mood asks me why I care anyways. I don’t have an answer.

Clack Clack

I’m back.

Enough time has passed while I was gone for everyone to be racked in for shift change already. I’m surprised when Officer Parker comes into the section as well, but she must be our CO this evening. I glance at the empty phones, prompting me to ask Officer Parker “Hey CO, can I stay out and make a phone call?”

She looks at the clock on the wall before responding. “Sorry about your unfortunate news, but I can’t let you do that. You’ll be out in ten minutes though, so it won’t be too long.”

She pops my door and I head to my cell.

I tell old man Jimbo about the news, then spend the next ten minutes hearing him console me by talking about his own father and how he took care of him before he died.

CLACK CLACK, CLACK CLACK

It's the final rack-in for the night. I’m already on the toilet when Jimbo comes in and asks, “You good?”

I just spent the last three and a half hours crying on the phones, telling inmates how awesome my pops was, and venting about how I’ll never get to speak to him again. But I see we’ve still got over half a roll of TP left, so I respond, “all good.”

He closes the cell door and avoids the elephant in the cell by asking me, “ready for your first clothing exchange?”

His eyebrows are at max height, and I know he’s talking about our secret mission tonight to get the coveted crack rock.

While we wait for Officer Parker to come get us for clothing exchange, he goes over the plan again with me. “When you make it to Q’s cell—you know, that trustee in quarantine you saw Tad talking to last night—?”

I nod.

"He’ll have the drugs in a tightly folded piece of paper, stuck to the sticky side of a deodorant label, which is attached to the top corner inside the garbage can."

“Right,” I say, “I remember. Then he will pretend to struggle with the trash being stuck at the bottom, and that’s where I start “helping” him with the trash can right?”

“Correct,” Old Man Jimbo says. “You hold the corner with the deodorant label, and while you both look like you’re trying to get some sticky trash unstuck, you unpeel the sticker and palm it.”

“That part shouldn’t be too hard,” I say, “but then I have to hide it in my socks right? So how do I do that without looking suspicious?”

Jimbo looks down and notices I have not spent forty-five dollars for tennis shoes. “Well you can’t bend down to velcro crocs can you?” He thinks for a moment before the lightbulb turns on. “I’ve got it! You purposefully walk out of one croc, and when you bend down to put it back on, just slip the paper into your sock! That should be perfect. You’ll also be right under the stairs, so you’ll be mostly covered from the CO station and cameras.”

I can visualize how to pull it off, but I’ll have to be quick and precise with each movement. I can feel the pressure building, but I just can’t say no and walk away from this. There is nowhere to walk to.

“Can you talk to the CO at the station when I get to the cell to distract him?”

“Tad and Scrappy are already on it. They are gonna have a pretend argument, which should be all the distraction you need.”

“That’s perfect. Okay I think I got this,” I say, hands already extra sweaty.

“I know you do,” Old Man Jimbo says with a proud smile.

Clack Clack, Clack Clack

Office Parker pops our two doors allowing Tad, Scrappy, Jimbo and I to walk out, with the operation “get the drugs” underway.

Grabbing the clothing carts from the storage room, we’re joined by four other coppers ready to raid. We return to do our section first and everything is as straightforward as foretold. I go around holding the garbage bag for inmates to empty their trash, and for the coppers to throw away any state food they find stashed.

Officer Parker finds such a stash, and when she dumps the food, she looks at me with recognition and then smiles. “You’re the kid who dropped that perfectly thrown pass and then ran into the door!”

She’s doesn’t hate me, that’s good.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh don’t play coy with me. You’re a lucky duck I had so much paperwork already that night, or you wouldn’t be here right now,” she says, pointing to the ground.

“A pond, is a pond, is a pond. But I am sorry for taking it too far, this darn tongue is always getting me into trouble.”

She responds first by pursing her lips together and giving me “the look,” before saying, “Well, you got away with it once, but don’t ever joke like that again with me. It would be a shame to see a pretty face like yours end up in max.”

She turns to go back to her search, and I can’t help butt notice her body-geometry sway with sensual secrets. However, there is so much more to her than just lustful thoughts. There’s a pull in the way she carries herself, a strength of character that makes me pay attention. Her presence alone commands my focus, and I find myself wanting to understand her, not possess her.

As we head to the next section my nerves start to kick up a notch, because after this, Qs drugs in quarantine are ready to be picked up.

We’ve only made it through a few cells when Officer Parker and I find ourselves within speaking distance again. Outside an inmate’s door, we have to wait while he wraps a sheet around himself and gathers his clothes.

She lets out a big sigh and complains into the cell, “we do this literally every other day! How can you not be ready?”

The sleepy eyed inmate does not give a single fuck, and keeps going at his own pace.

Standing a few feet away from the woman I think about often, I try to come up with something to say, but my mind feels like applesauce after all the sorrow from today’s news about my pops.

And then it hits me—like the apple falling on Isaac Newton in his garden!

“So what’s up with the Dragons of Eden?” I ask, thinking I’m cool for bringing up something I shouldn’t have overheard.

Her eyes flash a kamikaze of emotion. “How do you know about that?” she attacks.

I defend by transforming into a coy fish, “lucky guess?"

She squints at me suspiciously, and I can tell my humor isn’t amusing right now. “Okay, fine,” I say. “Your whispers can definitely carry in that hallway. I heard something about The Dragons of Eden, but that’s all I could catch.”

Her expression relaxes noticeably. “So, you were eavesdropping on me talking to my brother in the hall earlier, were ya?”

She may have just dropped her hair dryer in my fish tank, because I am beyond shocked. “Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Jr. is your brother?”

She chuckles. “That’s funny. Growing up, his friends called him ‘Thor Jr.’”

The inmate, taking forever, finally walks out of the cell with his bundle of clothes.

As Officer Parker heads into the cell to start her hunt, I keep the conversation going. “I can’t believe that’s your brother—you guys look nothing alike. I don’t mean to be rude, but he looks a little… goofy, and you look like you could be on America’s Next Top Model.”

She glances my way and pauses a moment, like she's trying to figure out where the risky compliment is really coming from.

“That would be because we don’t have the same parents,” she says.

“Now that makes sense.” The mystery almost solved, I ask, “Were you both adopted, or just one of you?”

She abruptly stops rummaging through another man's possessions, faces me, and says, “Enough, we’re not playing the game Twenty Questions.” Instead of returning to the search, she struts right out of the cell.

I’m a little worried she’s going to tell on me for my provocative comments, but the worry is short-lived. Instead of going to the lieutenant, she moves on to the next cell in line to be searched.

Throughout the rest of my time in the second section, Officer Parker keeps giving me a look. I can’t even attach it to any particular emotion; from what I can tell, she’s just observing me.

Clack Clack

The door to the quarantine section opens up. The air smells thick with… despair… and maybe someone shit themselves coming off drugs.

All my senses are on high alert as we get the carts into position.

“Watch it! You almost rolled over my foot,” Tad says to Scrappy, presumably building up momentum for their mock fight.

“It’s not my fault if you’re not paying attention,” Scrappy claps back.

“How many times do I-”

I tune out the vocal noise and focus on the task at hand. I see a copper head toward Q’s cell, so I quicken my step to be there right when it opens.

Q is standing there, with clothing in one hand and a garbage bin in the other, and he up-nods at me. I slowly down-nod him to let him know I’m on board and that it’s on. The cell door pops, and the copper doesn’t even check Q’s clothing bundle—he just heads straight in, trying to get this section over with as quickly as possible.

The plan goes extra smoothly because Q had the foresight to fold one of the corners of the sticky part on itself, allowing me to pull the sticker free without having to fuss with it.

Smooth is not what I wish my palms were right now, because the sweat is preventing the sticker from sticking, and I have to clutch it in a fist while awkwardly holding the garbage bag. Q walks off to go through the line, and I can hear Tad and Scrappy arguing in earnest. The copper coming out of Q’s cell heads over to the next one in line, but his attention is fixed on the commotion my comrades are making.

Now is my chance. I deliberately step out of one of my Crocs. As I bend down to put it back on, I lift the garbage bag, trying to hide my movements as best I can. I only have one free hand to peel open my sock and shove the package inside.

After securing the drugs and sliding my foot back into my Croc, I stand and scan the room. No one on the bottom level is even looking my way—but when I glance up, my heart skips a beat.

Up on the second tier, leaning over the railing, Officer Parker is staring straight down at me.

Fuck. What is she even doing up there right now? From that angle, she could have seen everything.

I have no choice but to pretend nothing’s wrong and keep doing my job. When I come into view of Tad and Scrappy, I give them the down-nod—we’re good.

“You know what? The real issue is these old-ass carts,” Scrappy says to the lieutenant, who’s been watching them closely from the copper station.

Tad chimes in. “Yeah! These things are falling apart. Lieutenant, how about getting us some new ones before somebody loses a toe?”

Lieutenant Farkle responds through his mustache. “I think they work just fine for what they’re for.”

“This cheap-ass jail,” Scrappy says. “You’ll regret that when you get slapped with a million-dollar lawsuit for encouraging a hazardous work environment.”

“That’s enough chitter-chatter,” the mustache says. “Back to work. You’re holding up the line.”

Paranoia walks in my shadow as I go through the motions of my job, waiting for the moment Officer Parker stops me and demands to know what secret I tucked into my sock.

But she doesn’t. Every time we come within speaking distance, she only gives me that same unreadable look—observing, not accusing.

The time drags by at a miserable pace as we go through the fourth and final section.

We’re almost back to our section, and Officer Parker still hasn’t given me a single clue about what she’s going to do.

Clack Clack

We’re back.

Scrappy doesn’t know what I know when he asks Officer Parker, “CO, can we watch a movie tonight?”

“What do you think after what y'all pulled this evening?”

What we pulled? Is she talking about the drug thing or the fight?

“What do you mean?” Scrappy asks before anyone else can speak.

“Oh, come on. Just because I’m blonde doesn’t mean I’m dumb. I know you and Tad fighting was just a ruse.”

Damnit—all four of us think it at the same time.

Tad responds too quickly. “He really did almost—”

“Like I said, I ain’t buyin’ it,” she cuts him off. “I know you guys have asked for new carts before, but you have to be patient. Nothing moves quickly here. You know that.”

Phew! All four of us think the same thing again: she believes the mock fight was to get new equipment.

“We just take our job seriously,” Scrappy says.

“I see that, and I appreciate y’alls strong work ethic,” she says, looking at me the whole time. “Which is why I’m going to say yes to a movie tonight.”

She pops the TV room door open, and as we walk in, Tad praises her. “CO, you’re the best CO in here, you know that?”

“I know,” she squeaks from the copper station. “But I did see the laundry closet needs organizing and cleaning. I know you guys would vote for the newbie to do it anyways, so Knight, ready to put in some overtime?”

I’m already in the room when Scrappy speaks first. “Normally we would, but he’s had a rough day with some news about his family, so we can give him a pass this time.”

Thank the gods for Scrappy’s quick thinking. I just want to lift this heavy rock off my shoulders.

“Well, I think some cleaning will help take his mind off things,” she retorts.

I finally decide to speak for myself. “It really has been a long day. I wouldn’t mind learning the next time around.”

But Officer Parker just won’t relent. “Look, if you don’t think you can handle the load of a laundry trustee, then maybe we should find a replacement who actually wants the job.” Her threat removes any last resistance.

“No need for that,” I rush to say. “I’m good for a little cleaning. Like you said, it’ll be good to take my mind off things.”

“K, let’s go,” she says, starting to walk toward the section door, expecting me to follow.

As I pass Scrappy, I ask, “How long does it usually take?”

“Won’t take long, maybe a half hour. You good?” he asks.

“I’m good. We’re good.”

We confirm it with a knuckle punch.

Clack Clack

Officer Parker opens the section door, and something feels off. I have a sickening feeling she is not actually taking me to the storage room for cleaning tonight.

We walk to the room, and I am genuinely surprised when she unlocks it and holds the door open for me to go inside.

The privacy presses in on me. If there’s ever a moment to find out the truth, it’s now. “What’s it like to be the queen in the high castle, watching all the little ants work?” I ask, casting my line out to see if I can get a bite.

“What are you talking about?”

“In quarantine, when you were up on the second level instead of down with the other COs.”

“You mean while I was doing the rounds and your buddies started with their little charade to get new carts?”

I feel a wave of relief because I’m pretty sure I’m off the hook. She just happened to look down at me right when I looked up at her.

“Oh, you were doing your rounds. Makes sense.”

After I answer, she turns and closes the door with a loud click.

“Why do you look so worried?” she asks suspiciously.

“I’m not worried. I’m new and just trying to figure out how everything works.”

She parrots my words back to me, and the hook I thought was gone yanks me straight out of the water.

“Oh, you’re just new and trying to figure out how things work. Makes sense.” We’re each watching the black in each other’s eyes hold the light with no escape when she adds, “Because I thought for sure you’d be nervous about whatever’s in your sock right now.”

I feel like I’m trapped, with nowhere to swim.

“Don’t go giving me that face. You said yourself you saw me watching you.”

I can’t believe this is happening right now.

“All I said was I saw you up on the second tier, and I didn’t know why you were up there yet.”

She smiles wickedly as she puts one hand on her pepper spray. “This is how it’s gonna go. You’re going to reach down slowly and take off both your crocs and socks and show me what you’ve got. If you don’t, I’m going to pepper spray you and charge you with assaulting an officer.”

This is insane. If anyone walked in right now, she’d be finished too—and she knows it.

I have no choice but to comply. Then the strangeness of everything hits me: why is she doing this here so unofficially? Shouldn't this be done with a bunch of drama and handcuffs involved, instead of behind closed doors with no cameras?

Before I follow her command, I ask, “Why are you doing this? Why not just turn me in?”

“What's the fun in that? Now we don’t have all night, so this needs to happen quickly. No resisting. Put your stuff on the table, then open the package.”

She still has one hand on her pepper spray, but her other hand reaches into her pocket and pulls out a smartphone. I hear the little record sound beep and realize she's recording me.

For fuck’s sake, this just keeps getting worse.

I take off my crocs and socks, then fish out the tightly folded paper off the deodorant sticker and start opening it carefully. Inside is clear plastic film wrapped around a bunch of little white squares. At this point, she stops recording and says, “Now, when I press record again, I want you to tell the camera your full name, what you have, and where you got it.”

This is the most excruciating thing I’ve ever gone through, and I just can’t do a single goddamn thing except what I’m told.

“Cillian Knight, I have some crack, and I got it from one of the trustees in quarantine.”

She stops the recording, but not her smiling. “Good. Now when I start recording this time, I want you to take the rest off.”

Now she’s just humiliating me, but once again, I do as I’m told.

She presses record, and I take off both my shirt and pants. I’m standing there in my green cotton underwear, hoping it’s enough. It’s not, because she motions for them to come off too.

I do as I’m told.

Here I stand, a man naked before God and woman. My pride stripped bare as my bottom. A menace to society, and a cancer to those that have loved me. In this moment, I know, no matter the company around me, I will always be alone.

Officer Parker turns off the camera and says, “Okay, all finished! See, that wasn’t so bad now, was it?”

“Can I get dressed now?”

She looks me up and down. “Yes you may, my little pumpkin,” she says, in a voice that doesn’t belong in this room—or this job.

Who is this creature that took over Parker's body? “What are you going to do with that video?”

“Nothing, so long as you never give me a reason to.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that if I choose to anonymously post that video, you are looking at adding a lot more than murder to your record. You’ll go away for life. Just remember that if you ever even think about telling a single soul about us—”

“Us? What about us—”

She cuts me off by sliding her hand behind my neck and pulling me in for a kiss. The kind of kiss that’s been sealed for a long time within a cracked vault. My head can feel the silver and cold spreading through my veins, but my heart is melting with molten fool’s gold.

Her watch beeps, indicating it’s the top of the hour and time for the kiss to break.

Only one word escapes my lips. “Wow.”

She lets out a little cough. “That was even more delicious than I thought it’d be.”

“So this,” I point back and forth between us, “is the ‘fun’ you were talking about? This is the whole point of humiliating the hell out of me?”

“What can I say? I’ve got a little problem with trust issues.”

“Little?”

Her playful slap on my shoulder sends a wave of intimacy down my spine. It feels like a lifetime since the last time I shivered in such a warming way.

We look into each other again. This time, I’m the one to pull her close and lock our lips together.

She breaks the kiss again and says playfully, “Okay okay, that’s enough dessert tonight. We have to get you back to the section.”

I point to the drugs on the table. “What about those?”

“What about them? Wrap them up how they were before and put them in your sock.”

“So like nothing happened?”

She winks. “Nothing did happen, and even less will happen next week when I’m assigned to your section again.”

It would feel more like a setup if I didn’t just share two intimate kisses with her, with implications of more to come. Is she really someone I can trust, though? Yet again, I find myself without a choice, so I start packing the drugs up and put them in my sock.

We’re in the hallway walking back when something dawns on me. “If you needed the video as blackmail, why make me undress?”

“Only the drug part was for blackmail. The other part is for my own satisfaction.”

Wow.

Clack Clack

We’re back.

Gone is her mischievous smile, only to be replaced by her normally stern look.

I step into character as well, like nothing has changed. “CO, will you pop the T.V. room, please?”

I walk into six eyes greeting me with heavy anticipation.

“Good evening, gentlemen.”

Scrappy grins and grabs the back of the one empty chair. “Have a seat, sir. Have a seat.” He waits for me to sit before continuing. “You got a lil’ sumthin-sumthin for us?”

I glance over my shoulder and see Officer Parker facing her computer screen before digging into my sock and grabbing the package, which I pass discreetly to Scrappy.

“You’re my boy, Blue!” Tad says excitedly.

Scrappy puts it in his own sock before getting up. “T, let’s go split this up in the cell. You good with that, Jimbo?”

“Oh, sure, sure. I trust you guys.”

Tad and Scrappy return a couple of minutes later. Scrappy checks behind him, pulls out the package, and passes it to Old Man Jimbo. “Split exactly half and half. And since you helped make this happen, Killa, Tad and I each put one of our squares in there for you. Sell ’em or snort ’em, either way, they’re yours.”

I thank them each with a fist bump.

We spend the next half hour recounting details of the operation every time a commercial comes on.

It seems to me that Tad has the worst drug problem of the three because he keeps mentioning how much he can’t wait for commissary to come and bring him his pickle.

When our show ends, Old Man Jimbo clears his throat. “I would just like to say that I had faith this whole time, so guys, Christmas came early this year.”

“What do you mean, Jimbo?”

“I mean Christmas came early, as in, it came around sooner than expected.”

Scrappy shakes his head. “No, like—what’s for Christmas that came early?”

“Oh, I see what you’re asking. Commissary coming early is the Christmas.”

Scrappy sighs in frustration. “Jimbo Slice, you gotta help us out here. What are you talking about?”

“I mean, I know how to get us out of our pickle—with a pickle!”

I chime in with some clarity. “So you’re saying you already ordered a pickle on commissary, and we don’t have to wait four more days?”

“Exactly! How was that not clear?”

The three of us who were confused a moment ago all verbally express our new understanding with exaggerated “ohhs.”

As if our time has been wasted, Tad asks, “Why did you wait this long to tell us!? We could have been blasting off already!”

“Because we were talking, duh!”

“Old Man Jimbo, you make my brain hurt.”

“Well, I’m only doing mine in my cell, where I can enjoy the high on my bunk. I’m not coming in here all jacked up.”

Scrappy makes a joke about what Old Man Jimbo might say to a guard while high as balls, then we decide it’s time to head to our cells for blast off.

Officer Parker pops our doors and gives Scrappy permission to trade Old Man Jimbo a noodle for half his pickle. While they are making the trade, Parker and I glance at each other. I catch a flicker of calm certainty, like a checkmate planned the moment my King was trapped.

Old Man Jimbo comes in and closes the door behind him, then we start discreetly getting our stuff ready. Jimbo separates my two squares, then adds one more as a gift from him, for putting in work. He puts a little bit of the vinegar juice into each cap, followed by one white square each.

“Each one of these squares goes for $25, just so you know.”

“Holy shit! Maybe I only need half of one to start?”

Jimbo shakes his head. “No, you need this much to really launch. Trust me, it’s way better.”

I didn’t even know if I wanted to do any yet. I thought I had a few more days to decide. Here I am, though, and after everything that has fucking happened today, I’m ready for this trip.

“And I’ll just be able to relax up on my bunk like you?”

“Everyone reacts differently to different drugs, but I think you will. Okay here we go.” He holds up his toothpaste cap to cheers mine, which we dink together before sticking them in one nostril and snorting.

The burn! It burns! Ahhhhhh it’s like acid got thrown on my brain! Looking at Jimbos face it seems like he’s going through the same!

“Phew! Okay! I’m going to lay down now!”

"Me too!" I climb up on my bunk! Now I’m laying on my bunk! Now I’m staring at the ceiling! Now I can see things moving on it! No wait, those are my eyes moving! I feel amazing! No wait, I feel like I need to try and touch the ceiling to see if that spot is moving or not! It’s not! This is amazing!

All of a sudden, I see words bounce around the cell and towards where my ears are watching! What a silly thought! Ears watching! Eye am the all seeing ear!

“Close your eyes and you’ll see some really cool shit!” I know those sounds belong to Old Man Jimbo! Someone I trust!

I obey! I Close my eyes and my world goes dark! All of a sudden I can feel EVERYTHING!

I obey! I obey! I obey! For some reason those words keep echoing in my mind! I see the words form like white smoke against the black of my eyelids!

On and on and on the echoes continue! Out of nowhere, they stop! The words ‘I don’t obey’ take their place!

Now those words go forth!

Now they switch back! I obey!

Forth and back now, every other heartbeat matches up with every other phrase!

The words stop forming and are replaced by a shiny wooden roulette table! The typical red, replaced by white! Black and white spaces spinning round and round with a little white square circling instead of a ball! I still hear in my ears the echoing phrases! “I obey!” “I don’t obey!”

Round and round the square goes, and I know if it lands in white I will obey forever, and if it lands in black I will never obey again! It’s all or nothing!

The sands of time are endless as the wheel spins without cease! No other thoughts occupy my brain until suddenly, my fathers face appears! Behind him, I see the wheel stutter a bit! My fathers face turns into the chaplains, then Officer Parkers brother, then Officer Parker herself! The faces start appearing and disappearing more rapidly, morphing into all the faces I’ve seen since coming to jail. Old Man Jimbo, Tad, Scrappy, Q, Judge Shwannahsee, Brad & Melissa, the celly I had for a day but can't remember his name, Kevin, C-Money, Anthony, Darrell, Vaughn, Wess, Dan, Straggle Tooth, Los, Bones, JJ, the various coppers, and all the inmates that have come and gone from the section, the girl I once loved, my once best friend John! Finally the faces stop on one! The face of a man lying in the street, the face of the man who died because of my actions! His mouth starts to move and I hear his voice for the first time tell me one thing! {You always have a choice.}

Right on the last syllable, his eyes shoot open and the wheel spinning behind him stops. The little white square starts tumbling down off the edge, bouncing from black to white to black to white while the homeless mans eyes watch it dart around. As the square slows down, it almost stops in a white space before getting one extra bounce, landing flush over the number O and into the only green spot on the board.

The face behind my eyelids stops watching and starts laughing maniacally.

{What did I tell you, Fool? You always have a choice!}

End of The First Slice.

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.

Taping The Knife to either knee,

I’m using The Knife to mince my needs.

Holding The Knife in my third eye,

I’m using The Knife to see behind me.

Running The Knife right through my hair,

I’m using The Knife with time to spare.

Attaching The Knife to my Adams apple,

I’m using The Knife and I’m swallowed whole.

The Knife,

is used,

to cut,

A Man Into Slices.