Shorty

Shadows darkened the hillside in ocher. A few jays cried. Cackled and spun in the forest gloom against the pastel sky. The stream foamed and trickled. Freight train sounds and trucks laboring up inclines was the stream as light left behind the mountains.

BOOM. “Son of a BITCHHH“. That was Charlie. He often screamed as he held the bars in either hand like in the movies. Squeezed up next to the walk where the trustees moved in relative freedom. Separated by the bars, he screamed to no one and then returned to the cell. He grinned to Evans, who had hepatitis and was immobile on the top bunk. And Evan smiled and started to speak but could only cough. Then he smiled again. Charlie sat on the lowest bunk. He picked up his Zane Grey and looked at it and then threw it at the toilet, but it missed and hit Crenshaw. And Crenshaw looked up from his bunk and scratched his head. Then he smiled.

“Motherfucker. My back’s really fucked up from these bunks, man. I think this place is gettin’ to me.“ And he was up and pacing in the run, the tiny hall that Charlie had just come from. He rubbed his back and scratched his head and mumbled, “motherfucker.” We all laughed and shook our heads. It was nearly 6 in the evening and dinner was due soon. After that there would be one coffee call from Shorty at eight and then again at 6:30 in the morning.

I thought of Sisyphus.

I pulled the blanket over my head. Bill was sick and I could only lie in the shadow of the bunks above me. The naked lightbulb of North Korean infamy gave a feverish glare on the chill green walls. I had stopped looking at the carvings and the scrawls, knew by heart that Pierce was a “dog-faced homosexual“ and that Ed Morgan had but three years to do. Even the naked women drawn in pencil were no longer distracting me. Everyone agreed that they were fucking good. But I could only think of how I hurt, and how I wanted to cry. It seemed that I could think of nothing else.

The log bridge over the stream glowed with pilgrim candles. The nimbuses radiated from the pool 10 feet below and then twinkled and flashed into the forest darkness. Campfires glowed from cliffs above us and then further down the tiny valley. I stared into our fire and imagined tiny elf towns in the shadows and rocks. Saw moonscapes in the embers. Bill laughed as someone crawled across the log. A traffic jam had started as people piled up in the dark waiting for a light to go back to the latrines and the beach. Three girls smiled from the trail that passed our fire. “Do you have any extra blankets?”

“Oh, yeah. We won’t be sleeping anyway. Do you want to stay here?“

And so we talked. Other people would inch by and stop to rest and laugh in the light of the fire. Then they would be gone. I went to gather more wood. I found myself wandering, searching. I saw people everywhere. The entire valley was filled with brothers and sisters. Nearly everyone was asleep. I climbed a tree and broke off some dead branches and Bill and I threw them on the fire. It blazed, and two of the girls and Ambrose and two flower children woke up and sat transfixed. And then talked. We all laughed as the third girl woke up and had no idea where she was. And the fire died and everyone slept.

Bill and I walked. We enjoyed sounds and colors. Crossing the bridge had become part of a life we loved. We did it easily. And we sat and watched the fire. Someone passed me a joint in the dark and I nodded thanks and took a drag and passed it to Bill. The colors in the fire danced—singing pastels and intense mauve and purple. I wanted to sleep now. I wondered if the phantom behind me had designs on the chick using my sleeping bag. I hesitated to wake her. As I thought, I realize that he was gone. And so I wrapped up in her warm arms and thought of myself in the sixth grade when I had wanted to become a hermit. The sleeping bag smelled of perfume and hickory smoke.

Kneecap was blown off and leg was bleeding and I couldn’t move Didi smiled at me and 1000 machine gun bullets ripped into her body. Chris looked on she waved at me and said, “good luck.“ Then she disappeared. POOF. And I trembled and wondered how I would explain to Mother.

COFFEE.

And there was Shorty, and I was still trembling. “There’s my man,“ he said, and I felt better. And I drank the steaming coffee and picked up Zane Grey and read until breakfast. By then Bill was up and Crenshaw. At 10 Evans was on his way to the hospital. Charlie laughed and was gone by 11. Released on “own recognizance.“ He took my moth-eaten blanket to turn in and gave me his. We said, "so long." Crenshaw‘s lawyer told him that he’d be in court by 12. He scratched his head and mumbled. Shorty came and called him and he was on his way and screaming “Motherfucker! I getting out.“ Bill and I were out by five.

We were afraid to jaywalk, and silently thought of the forest.

“I’m going to miss Crenshaw.“

We laughed and shook our heads.