| Insomniac Corner (page 2) - Writings by Jessica Avery | ||||||||||||||||||||
| SHAME | A Senior's Note to the Freshman Class | |||||||||||||||||||
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I watch and I wait for the feeling to pass, knowing sooner or later, be it in my dreams or awake, it will slide away, unnoticed, and without fanfare. But oh, how it pierces the soul, and ravages the heart's ability to love and be loved. The catcalls of "criminal's Kid" and "poor girl" never really fade to that dark corner of the mind, they stay alive, eating and eating until there is nothing left but a hollow heart. The rage boils up, and I attempt to contain it yet again. They see me, and see what they choose to now...bright girl, good looking, with a bright future. And I play the part well, with the coy smile and the shining eyes, laughter at every joke and a smile for every face. They don't see that mask come off in this gloomy one room apartment. They don't see the shame in the eyes of the girl who checks the bed at night, and checks the locks on the door twelve times before deciding she is safe. Those who knew me before have mostly gone, only a few remain. And even they now see before them a woman who has overcome. But at night, when the lights fade and the scratches of mice fill my ears, I can still hear the laughter, still see the hate, and fear on the faces of the parents. "No, she's not like us honey, she's from THAT side of town". "Are you kidding? She's the kid of the convict". Their voices are as clear to me now, as they were then. I sit and wish for a nice house, wish for all of the memories and pain and shame to be taken from me. But somewhere I know it isn't possible. That's the worst I think, knowing that it really doesn't matter how much I have, or where I am. The night will still be filled with hate and fear. So I sit, and wait for the storm raging in my heart to pass, wait for the feelings of hopelessness and despair to fade. The child inside screams to me that it's not fair, that I deserve better than this, that life should be more than hurt and triple locks, more than paycheck to paycheck, more than eating disorders and convicted felons for parents. My head asks if I really think I deserve better. And my heart answers no. So I slip another sleeping pill, in the hopes of blissful sleep, knowing the nightmares will come, knowing I will awaken with tears on my face, and a cry, forever buried, locked in my throat. |
I sit and listen to the sounds that echo through these halls, the mumbling baritone of students bitching about their classes, their footsteps heavy and fast on these cold, polished, black marble floors as they rush off to one place or another. A freshman walks up to me, and asks shyly if I know where a certain building is. She does not look me in the eye, but instead stares at my soft brown loafers. I smile gently, remembering the fear and confusion, the self-doubt and inadequacy of freshman life. I long for the newness of it all. I'm nice to her, after all, she doesn't know. You know, it's funny. I sit and study in this perfect little alcove, with the window on the north wall overlooking the elegant quad, with its rustic, stone fountain in the center, and the metal sculptures. The walls in this room have two gold-framed paintings, and quaint, dark sable wooden benches line the three sides. Another senior I know sits across from me, glancing up to smile or ask a question now and then, his face, flawless and familiar. I can remember stumbling onto this quiet, secluded spot as a sophomore. The picture of the ocean fascinated me, the mountain painting inspired me, the view out that window became a symbol of all my hops and dreams. You see, I had yet to see those places, had yet to do all of the things I had wanted to do in my life. And I didn't dare enter the alcove at that point; I knew I would be obvious in the company of the more mature, more talented people I saw there. Now, I sit and look at that vast ocean, remembering the sound of its quiet serenade outside of the condo in Wilmington, NC. I still recall the smell of salt and moisture as Chris kissed me on the balcony. I look at those majestic mountains, and long for one more look at the fog over Jackson Hole WY from the top of Teaton Pass. I can still feel the cold air on my face, still hear the sounds of Curtis telling me he loved me. I look out the window, and smile as I recall the water balloon fights on that quad, the frat party dares, the kisses stolen by the fountain under the soft Nebraska moonlight. And as I watch the faces of the kids that walk by, and see the longing in their eyes as they look towards this room, I have to grin. Oh God, if only you knew. I overhear the newbies as I sit here, and I laugh as my silent companion smiles. "All the cool classes are upper level" we hear a kid say as he passes. Yea, I remember thinking that too?.the funny thing is, they are not so cool once you are in them and chances are you will bust your ass for a B just to keep your scholarship. This morning, a freshman in the class I teach said to me "God, I hope I can do as well as you". I almost screamed and ran from the room. But instead, I smiled and simply said, "Be careful what you wish for". Because the fact is, this is not about doing it all or seeing it all. Its work, and pressure, and pain and pleasure all wrapped up into four or five years. And what do you end up with? A piece of paper, the loss of innocence, and, if you are one of the lucky few, a chance to save the world one person at a time. You hear a lot of seniors say "if I only knew then what I know now..", but I'll tell you a secret. There is not one second we actually feel that way. Oh sure, when you first walk onto this campus, and you see the granite fronts on the buildings, the motto's etched in stone, the pristine marble floors, and the ivy covered walls, you pray some of it rubs off on you. You hope that some of the integrity and knowledge of this institution creeps into your soul. But as you grow here, and as you change, you begin to realize something: all this campus has to offer in a place to learn. It's a bunch of buildings, decorated and designed to look pristine, and all of them hold the same thing: a chance to prove the integrity and knowledge you seek lies within you, not within these walls. So take a little advice from a senior: You have a talent. Find it, use it, and love it, it may be the only card you have left to play in the end. When the last thing you want to do is smile, be sure it is the first action you take, or you may forget how. Love all, but trust few, a broken heart is nothing compared to the one that cannot trust. Oh, and one last thing. Come on into the alcove, and take a look out that window, trust me, the view really doesn't change. | |||||||||||||||||||
| Straight Flush | ||||||||||||||||||||
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"Good god, Jack, that's the fifth pat hand in a row! You cheatin' us?" Pony said as Jack laid down four queens with a smirk. "Yea Jack, you better not be screwin' around with me," Pup said threateningly. "Oh for Christ's sake guys, I'm just having a lucky day! Is that still allowed, or is it against the rules?" Jack questioned innocently, that sly smirk never leaving his face. We were all sitting around a dirty green picnic table, on equally dirty green chairs, all of which were bolted to the cement. We were having our daily game of poker in the yard. It was about 6:30 by my watch, and there didn't seem to be anything else to do. Besides, playing cards kept us all out of too much trouble. Jack had just gotten out of the dungeon a few days back, and he needed to keep it straight for a while. He had gotten busted for setting another lifer's cell on fire in retaliation for the guy stealing Jack's smokes. The situation wouldn't have been that bad, except the guy was in the cell at the time. Since Jack was already serving life without parole, they couldn't do much to him. He was in solitary about twice a month, and they just kept adding time to his sentence. His last little stunt had put him down for extra 5 years, and three weeks in solitary. Jack was Manney's right hand man, which was a good position in the state pen, especially if you were never going to get out anyway. Manney had quite a bit of power, and knew just how to get what he wanted. He had about 15 guys who made sure no one got too close, and he had the ear of the Man. I guess he was like the head of what we called the mob, and Jack was the vice. "Hey Red, how's that single cell workin' for you? Gettin' along okay?" Jack asked. "I heard you ran into Manney last week." he said, and grinned. "Yea, what the hell is that about?" Pony asked as a basketball came rolling towards us. I got up to get it and heaved it back to the court. "Well, I was in the cafeteria and Manney came up." I said as I sat back down, the wooden chair creaking alarmingly. "He said he wanted my cell. Well, you guy's know I've been puttin' in for a transfer since I got here, but they kept turning me down. So I told Manney I wanted him to have my cell, but they wouldn't move me. He grinned and asked me where I wanted to be, and I told him I wanted a single cell in the west wing. That night, two of the guards came in and moved me to my new cell." I said, glancing at Jack for a response. I didn't say anything to them, but I'm not about to pretend that didn't scare the hell out of me. They had refused to move me for eight months, and yet, the same day he wanted my cell, I got moved. I mean, I knew Manney had the ear of the Man, but I didn't know he could get it to bend and listen whenever he wanted to. "Yea, that's about how I heard it from him, too." Jack finally said, after gazing at me for a few seconds. "He kinda likes you Red. That's a good deal." He said quietly and winked, his long eyelashes grazing his cheek. Jack was a pretty big guy, with a huge build he got to work on everyday, so you can only imagine how much big his muscles had gotten in the fifteen years he'd been in. His hair was the color of dead leaves in the fall, and his narrow, cruel eyes were the darkest I had ever seen. There was a big angry looking scar across his right cheek. He had gotten it a couple of years back when he stabbed a guard in the throat, and some other con had decided to jump in and save the man by slicing Jack wide open. I'm sure the other con probably meant to get time knocked off for helping, but he must have forgotten that metal sanded down into a knife really isn't looked at as a good thing in here. He got some time added instead, as did Jack. As you can tell, some of the guys in here aren't really bright. Tommy, or Pup as we called him, was one of the other guys we played cards with. Pup was a pretty decent guy, quiet and polite, never in trouble. He was in for tax evasion or some stupid business bullshit, but he wasn't a whimp or anything. He was a pretty well built guy, not huge, but threatening enough if you pissed him off. His hair was black, and really curly. His skin color was a dark brown. I don't think he was black, but I'm sure he wasn't white, either. I never thought to ask. "Come on, Pony, lay your cards down, you know you can't beat a straight!" Pup hollered, his face getting red. Pony (his real name was Emilio) was a Hispanic guy, who had the saddest story of us all. He had gotten high on coke one night, and blacked out. When he woke up the next morning he was at the base of a tree in some park. He was soaked with blood, and when he looked next to him, someone's head was sitting there. Witnesses said he was kicking that head down the street at one point like a football. Pony didn't even know the guy. He had gotten off with a life sentence, parole in 60 years. I felt kinda bad for him, really, he hadn't been in any trouble before or since. Pony was the smallest of the four of us. He stood only a little over five feet, and didn't weigh much, which meant he got hassled a lot. The lifers were always trying to get him busted for something. They hated the fact he had gotten a possibility for parole. He did pretty well though, and Jack kind of took care of him. The other problem Pony had was his good looks. He had a finely drawn, sensitive face, and his expression always managed to be thoughtful and dangerous at the same time. His eyes were the color of a pond after a rainstorm, and they shined with laughter usually, but blazed like a flaming inferno when he got angry. His looks made him a prime candidate for rape or slavery, but I think Jack had made some sort of arrangement along those lines, so people left Pony alone most of the time. "Well, Red, you gonna sit there all day, or are you gonna play?" Jack sneered, tipping his chair back to stretch his long legs. I hated that damn nickname, but it stuck for obvious reasons. My hair is a blazing red, and it's really hard not to get noticed that way, which is not good in prison. I caught a lot of shit from a lot of people in there, but I kept my mouth shut pretty well. I learned over the years that the best way to keep the mob off your back was to stick up for yourself every once in a while, and shut up most of the time. They kind of respected that occasional stand, but if you did it too often, you got hurt. That's how Jack and I had gotten to be friends. He had come up to me one day in the yard, and asked how much I wanted for my watch. I told him it wasn't for sale and he moved on. The next day, he came up to me again, and I knew I was going to have to put up a fight which I hated to do. Jack was, after all, the right hand man, and I was just a lowly prisoner, in for assault. I wasn't even a lifer. "I'm gonna get that watch, Red, one way or the other, so how much you want for it?" Jack asked slowly. Now, Jacks voice is a deep, growling kind of voice, like a really pissed off dog. I was scared half out of my mind, but I wasn't giving up that watch, no matter what the consequences. "You know," I said, glancing down at the object in question, "I got this watch from my kids for Father's Day a couple of years ago. I think you've seen them." I glanced across the yard, picturing them in my head. "Cute little boy, about 8, blonde hair like his mom, blue eyes. My little baby girl, just a tiny thing, really, about 6, red hair like me, green-eyed princess. Now that may not mean a goddamn thing to you, Jack, but it means more to me than anything in this world." I looked at him then, staring directly into his black eyes. "You're not getting this watch Jack, unless you plan to kill me for it." I finished quietly. I was more afraid at that point than I had ever been in my life, and I honestly thought I was going to be killed right then and there. "Oh hell, it's a digital anyway." Jack said roughly, and walked off. The next day, he came up and invited me to play cards. We had never had a problem since, and I have never been in trouble with the mob. "So, Pony, what happened the other day in the yard? I was getting my knee looked at, and I missed it. Rumor has it you were standing right there." Jack said as he took two cards and lit a smoke, cupping the match so the gentle breeze wouldn't blow it out. The game paused, and we all looked at Jack. His eyes were bright and piercing, and they didn't move from Pony's face. We could hear a train in the distance, and I think if someone had dropped something near us, we would have had heart attacks. Jack's question seemed innocent enough, but we all know by the tone in his voice who was really asking. Jack was simply the messenger: Manney was the one who wanted to know. "Well, me and Texas were standin' by the basketball court, waitin' to see if you were gonna get out in time to play a game with us. The tall black dude Manney's got working for him was arguing with a guard on the other side." Pony said, as he laid down a straight flush with a grin. "I don't know what it was about, but the black dude pulled out a knife, not a metal piece, but an actual switchblade, and started stabbin' the guard. By the time the rest of us figured out what the deal was, the guard was covered in blood, and the black dude was swearing at him, saying something about knowing better than to fuck with Manney. The guards hauled your man off." Pony's eyes had gotten huge during his telling of the tale, and his tongue scraped roughly across his dry lips. Pup was sitting on the edge of his chair, biting his lower lip hard enough to make it bleed as he watched for Jack's response. Jack, however, simply sat there, that complacent smile never leaving his face, but never quite reaching his eyes either. We could still hear that damn train whistle to the east, and the wind gusted, blowing dirt into our eyes. Jack never even blinked. The card game was frozen. "Yea, I know that Pony, what I'm asking is who helped the guard in after the fight?" Jack asked, his eyes getting darker, like the sky as a summer storm moves in. His voice was low, almost a whisper. I knew Pony well enough to know he was in a bad position. Jack was his guard, and his friend, and his keeper. But we also all knew that if Pony fingered someone, that someone would most likely be dead by nightfall. We waited in silence. The tension in the air was like static electricity, thick enough to feel against our suddenly cold skin. "Come on, Pony, just tell him!" I heard Pup plead. Pony looked at Jack pleadingly, his eyes huge and scared and sad, but it didn't do any good. Jack just sat there, staring back. He was going to find out a name, one way or the other, and Pony knew it. "I don't know his name, Jack, honest I don't. He's the guy that works in the library, that really tall white guy, blonde hair, kinda skinny." His voice cracked, and he looked down at his hands. "They wouldn't let him back in after he helped the guard either. Just sent him back out here, like they didn't know what was gonna happen. Honest, Jack, that's all I know, I swear to God." He finished, glancing back up into Jack's eyes. I watched him search Jacks face for some sign that the storm had passed. After a minute, it did. "All right, Pony, that's all I need to know, kid." Jack said gently, patting him on the arm a little. "Now are we gonna play or what?" Jack grinned as though nothing had happened, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his broad chest. Pups hands shook a little as he dealt the next hand. We all realized how close Pony had just come to really screwing up. Next time, he might wait just a little too long to answer. "Yea, that whole thing was a bad deal. I mean," I went on after Jack's face looked up quickly, "I hate being in lock up for stuff I didn't do. All those guards pointing guns at me when they bring dinner to the cell, being stuck inside all day, not being able to work at all, losing money, not even being able to take a shower. It kinda creeps me out." "Yea, well, at least you got a single cell, Red. I've gotta deal with an idiot cellmate, so I'm stuck listening to Loony Larry mumble all day." Pup said with disgust, his face screwed up into a grimace of pity and hatred. Loony Larry was another sad story. When he came in, he was a smart business guy, in for embezzlement and fraud. He didn't have much common sense though, because one day in the showers, he had smarted off to Manney. That night, someone had come along, and hit him repeatedly in the temple with a sock full of lead. They said you could see his brains through the hole. Since then, he had been Loony Larry. "Hey Red, how did that other problem turn out?" Pup asked. "Well, Pony and I went over a bought some of those little cookie things they got for snacks. We finally decided the only way to get that piece of shit to stop stealing our stuff was to either make him really sick and get him transferred, or to kill him. So we had an idea. One of the guys on our wing is an insomniac, and they give him Valium every night. We paid the guy $20, and he tongued the pills for a week. We laced those cookies with enough Valium to knock out a horse, and sure enough, they got ripped off. Later on, they found the dude in his cell unconscious. They assumed he stole the Valium to try and kill himself, so he's in the watch unit." I said quietly. I wasn't really proud of what we'd done, but I was tired of getting stuff ripped off all the time, and the guards sure didn't care. I worked in the library for ten bucks a day, and sent all of that to my kids, so what little I did have left I liked to keep. Pony was looking at me with a surprised, half-scared look. He wasn't used to me sounding like a criminal, or acting like one for that matter. I smiled at him gently, and he relaxed a little. I'm not a bad guy, but when it comes to prison, you have to do what you can to stay alive and try to stay sane. "Hey, did you guys see old man Eli this morning? I thought he got out a couple of months ago." Pup questioned. "He did. The poor dude got out, and about two days later came back, banging on the door for them to let him back in. When they explained to him that they couldn't, I guess he tried to get along for a while, but he finally just robbed a grocery store at gunpoint and waited for the cops to come get him. I talked to him this morning, and the poor guy just couldn't handle it outside. God, he's been in prison since he was like 18, and now he's what, 70? Guy kills his parents for abusing him for 18 years and goes to prison for it. Looks like he'll be here till he dies too." Jack said, and the sympathy in his voice was genuine. We all knew Jack had killed his whole family pretty early in life, and never wanted to get out of prison. In here, he was a big man, a respected man, he was a somebody. Out there, he was nothing but a pathetic ex con, no one to hire or give a house to, no one to marry or have a family with. He had one child from a girl he had knocked up right before he came to prison, and he sent about $100 a month to her. He hadn't ever seen the kid, nor had the mother come to see him. The sad part about Jack's case was that he had a pretty good reason for killing his family, if such a thing exists. They had been pretty sick people. His mother and father had beat him with chains, made him eat chicken feed by eating it off the ground, and laughed as they watched. He was tied in basements, set in scalding hot water, burned with cigarettes, and given spontaneous enemas while his parents took pictures to show their friends. To top it off, his sister liked to watch, and help out with the details. When he had tried to tell someone, they blew him off. As he got older, he kept trying to get help, but no one listened. He finally just went nuts one night, and shot them all in the head as they slept. He left the dog alone though, and freed the chickens. Pup had just won the last hand when the buzzed sounded for us to go in. We paid our bets in cigarettes and walked past the iron bars and steel doors into the prison, then split up to go to our cells. Pup and I walked to the west end, Jack and Pony to the east. I got to my cell, furnished with a hard cot, a dirty sheet, a thin army blanket, and some of my drawings on the walls. I read for a little while, some western I picked up in the library. Later in the evening, I went to dinner, eating some bland tasting meat that resembled leather and some hard bread. I took my shower with the rest of my wing, washing with crappy soap, feeling the eternal humiliation of having to shower with thirty other guys. Lights out came, and I went to sleep. After breakfast the next morning, I went to work as always. I suddenly realized I had left my watch in the cell, the one my kid's had gotten me. I bribed a guard to take me back up to get it, using the book I had also forgotten as an excuse. As we walked up, I started thinking about how much I wanted to see their precious little faces. It seemed like an eternity since I had seen them, and I missed them horribly. There was a constant, deep ache in my heart that I could never seem to get rid of, and it got worse right after they left on visiting day. I could just see my little boy, his blue eyes lighting up when he saw me, his light blonde hair blowing back as he ran to greet me. I could see my little angel, small as her mother, with my hair, blazing like fire. Her big emerald green eyes would look up slowly, and her smile would light up her entire face, making her look like the worlds most adorable porcelain doll. Her skin was like her mother's, peachy and healthy looking, and she radiated an innocence you could feel. I had known it was wrong when I stabbed the guy in the store that day so long ago, but he had grabbed my little girl, my baby, my four-year-old angel. He grabbed her small body, and I felt her little hand scrambling to hang on to me, heard her small voice scream out for me. He touched her in a way no one should ever touch a child, and I felt the anger rise up in me, the disgust, but most of all, I felt the fear. I watched that little face, terrified beyond comprehension, look up and saw those beautiful green eyes fill with tears, saw her begging me, her daddy, to help her, and I wanted to bawl. That was my baby he had hurt, the pride of my life, one of the only points of joy I had. I reached up and tried to get him to let go, but he just grinned and continued to fondle her. I held him with one hand, and reached for the hunting knife strapped to my belt. I stabbed him once, in the chest, and walked away with my little girl in my arms, felt her shake in fear against me, felt her hot tears soak through my work shirt, felt her little hands clasp around my neck. I had gone home, told my wife what had happened, and turned myself in. I was still smiling at the mental image of my children when I got to my cell. I grabbed the book off the bed, and reached for the little table to the right, where I always placed my watch carefully and lovingly at the end of the day. The watch was gone. I had a sudden vision of my beautiful daughter's face, and my little boy's innocent voice asking, "Where's the watch, Daddy?" I fell to my knees onto the dirty, cold cement floor of my lonely cell, and cried. | ||||||||||||||||||||
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