At Light's Edge - Chapter 4: Programs Anyone?

Four

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Programs Anyone?

“I think we—”

“Quiet!” shouted the C/O, hushing the small group of youths assembled before him. “Stay in single file, don’t talk to one another and do not hail any of your homeboys should you see them along the way. Got that?”

“Yes,” responded the group.

The orange side’s hallway was longer than Renie had remembered it and the green side’s hall was at least twice as long. Billy was dropped off first and Renie lost what semblance of hope he had of sharing a cell with his new friend. The other boys, one by one, filtered into their unit wings like cards dealt from a casino dealer.

The C/O escorted Renie to his final destination where the Control officer opened up one end of the unit’s entry/exit sally port. Once the C/O and Inmate Stone were inside, the Control officer closed the portal then opened the other door granting access to Renie’s new place of residence. One of the housing officers, T.J. Johnson, searched Renie upon entry and gave him his new green side clothes. He also handed Renie his standard issue of bedding, instructing him to bring back the orange jumpsuit and then he would receive his inmate ID card.

“Up there,” pointed the C/O, “217.”

Renie’s new home was in J- Wing. His cell number was 2-217-U, meaning second tier cell number 217 and the upper bunk. He climbed the tall, wide stairway to the second tier and walked toward his new cell. “Hey, Buttercup,” someone whispered through their cell door as he passed by. Chills engulfed Renie as he pondered the thought, Buttercup?

The housing Control officer opened cell 217 and Inmate Stone entered. The bottom bunk resonated order, detail and spotlessness, but was noticeably empty. Immaculate, Renie surmised that his celly was a disciplined youth of some sort. The claustrophobic sound of the automatic cell door closing behind him startled him. Home sweet home, I guess.

Renie made up his bed and placed his things on an empty shelf. When the cell door opened again, a tall, thin older teen entered and simply stated, “So you’re my new roomie.”

He thought for a moment before replying, “That’d be me.”

“Got a name?”

“Renie, Renie Stone.”

“I’m Tony Richards. Guess we’ll be roomin’ for a spell.”

“Or a lifetime.”

Tony had returned from his part-time, split-shift work detail in the chow hall. Inmates returning from work were generally allowed to enter their cell for a one-way unlock. Being a porter that cleans floors, empties garbage cans and provides other duties as requested by any staff member, was not the career path Tony envisioned while growing up. His goal was to be a powerful gangster, but little is ever mentioned about that career path’s unseen benefit of spending most of that life behind bars.

“What you in for?” questioned Renie with great apprehension. He did not know why, but he had an underlying nervousness, a gut feeling of tense fear.

Tony had stabbed another youth seven times during a turf fight in his neighborhood. His opponent would not go down, so Tony took the boy’s blood and smeared it in stripes down his face like a Native American Indian going on the warpath. The police arrived just as Tony’s enemy fell dead to the sidewalk. 

“I don’t like to talk about it,” he replied.

Squirming a bit, Renie decided to drop the topic by simply saying, “Ok, ain’t no thing, just askin’” Instead, Renie inquired about the fellow a few cells down, “What’s with the guy down the tier who called me Buttercup? Know anything?”

Standing up and peering out of the cell door’s small elongated window, Tony answered, “He’s a perv, that’s the name we gave him too. He ain’t nothin’ to be afraid of, just start by usin’ some soft candy and if that don’t work move on to givin’ him some of that hard candy.”

“Candy?”

Tony smiled for the first time as he turned away from the window to face his celly, “You must be new to all this.”

“Sort of,” the nervous newbie replied, “At least in a real prison I am. But not to trouble.” Renie really never caused much trouble during his brief life, but he knew the importance of image and its role in places of confinement.

Tony explained the soft and hard warning system to Renie and suggested that on his next encounter he just stare at the boy known as Perv. “That should back him down. If not, a good dose of hard candy will do it.”

Tony related the story behind Perv and his taste for young children out on the streets. Abused as a boy himself, Perv, aka Roland Cords, had continued his family’s tradition whenever and wherever he found opportunity knocking.

“Yard call,” blared over the intercom and the two cellmates exited their cell once the door opened fully, Renie with orange jumpsuit in hand. Inmates are not allowed to exit until doors are fully opened. Disrupting the door’s movement is a written infraction offence.

“Inmate Stone, report to the housing floor officer,” Control announced.

Renie needed to meet his counselor to go over his program. Program is a fancy bureaucratic word for an inmate’s standard routine while in prison, though parts of an inmate’s program may change over time, the core issue of rehabilitation and socially acceptable advancement remains untouched by staff or prisoner.

“See ya later, Ren,” Tony said to his celly as he departed for the yard.

“Yeah, later.”

Another voice said, “Bye, Buttercup.”

Renie gave the Perv a long hard stare, followed by a sly smile before he turned away and handed his old orange duds to Officer Johnson. The C/O gave him his ID card, “S2-53373,” Renie read the card. “Now I’m officially just another number.”

“You’re going to see your counselor.” Officer Johnson instructed Renie where to report and who to report to in the counseling center. “Miss Andrea Stevens is your counselor’s name, but you must only refer to her as Miss Stevens, or Counselor Stevens, got that, kid?”

“Yes, sir.”

After writing a pass for Inmate Stone the C/O said, “Off you go.” Control let Renie out through the sally port.

Renie looked forward to going over his program with his counselor. It was a way to gain order and direction in his new life, a life that was as foreign to him as an Eskimo is to a tropical island.

It was two hours later before Miss Stevens finally said, “Well, Mr. Stone,” Renie liked being called Mister, “We are about done here. See the correctional officer out front for a pass back to your unit.”

“Thanks, ma’am.”

“And enjoy your work assignment. Remember to get up quickly when your unit announces work call in the morning.”

“I will.”

Renie’s assignment, one most inmates would kill to get, was working on the construction crew. The prison was constructing two more units; an Ad-Seg, meaning Administrative Segregation, and an infirmary. The chance to learn new skills made Renie feel very excited. He knew he had to play down his emotions in front of the other inmates or take the risk of eating some of that hard candy his celly referred to earlier.

Walking slowly back to his unit gave Renie time for some personal reflection. He thought about his life and wondered what was in store for him now.

Whirlwinds of relief and insecurity spun Renie’s mind around and around. “It’s Thursday,” he mumbled softly to calm himself, “Tomorrow is my first day of work and then the weekend. That’s great.”

Renie spent the rest of the morning in his cell. Lunch in the cafeteria went ok, but he felt tense the entire time. He’d hoped he hadn’t telegraphed that feeling for anyone to see; weakness was not the type of thing he wished to display. He sat with his cellmate until the youth had to report back for his Thursday afternoon work shift, after that Renie sat alone.

He could feel the stares of his criminal peers, but made no eye contact with anyone when he stood to leave. Upon his return to J-Wing the housing officer informed Renie that he had a letter. Somebody actually wrote me, wow.

Next Chapter...

Chapter Five: Razor Cuts