Authors: C. A. Huggins
Shooting Stars (29 page)
M
ovies like
Shawshank Redemption
and
American History X
don’t put prisons in a good light. Even the TV show
Oz
has had me on the straight and narrow as a result of pure fear. The only time I thought about being in a prison was right after those agents in the van dropped me off. I didn’t know why or how, but that’s the first time I was presented with the notion I might end up locked up. I immediately began to think of all of the images I associate with jail, like chain gangs, homemade shivs to the neck, bench-pressing in the yard, Aryans, ass rape, and aggressive tattoos. None of those things sound appealing. That’s why I was a bit reluctant to go visit Jake, but my therapist (whom I started seeing again) coerced me, as it was something I needed to do. My only goal was to get some closure, and my sub-goal was not to inadvertently see a man get raped in the ass . . . unless it was Jake. Now, honestly I must admit, if he was getting raped in the ass, a small part of me would feel good about that. He does kinda deserves it.
In the visitors’ room, you see prisoners in their orange jumpsuits with their friends and family, separated by glass like in the movies. I wonder when the black-and-white-striped suit gave way to the orange jumpsuits. Anyway, everyone is pretty close together. So it makes it hard to have a private conversation. I was relieved the meeting room wasn’t us sitting at tables like a cafeteria and we have this glass in between us. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had a shank hidden and tried to jab me in the kidneys if given the opportunity. He looks sad and unshaven, which is a stark contrast from my dapper friend. I was expecting the first words out of his mouth to be those of a beaten-down man pleading for me to send him help.
“You making out okay?” I say into the handset.
He gets really close to the glass, with the phone in his hand. “Look around, motherfucker. I’m in prison.” Then, he laughs. “Sorry, man, I had to do that. It’s federal prison. This is like a cool country club, but with jumpsuits.”
“That’s good. I guess. But you look different.”
“I worked on this unshaven face for a few days. Only because I knew you were coming. Wanted to make you feel bad. But this place is better than just good. I’m learning all types of good tips too. It’s like going to white-collar-crime college. Making connections left and right.”
“Rehabilitation at its finest,” I say.
He laughs. “I should thank you.”
I laugh too. “You should.”
“But it’s still fucking prison. I gotta shit in front of another man, listen to him beat off at night, shit like that. And most importantly, no pussy.”
“So I should say sorry?” I say.
“Kinda.”
“You tried to frame me, send me to jail, and kill me.”
“Okay, call us even then,” he says.
He really thinks I owe him an apology, but that’s typical Jake. “You look like shit.”
“I gotta keep up my appearance. Look tough and they’ll think you are. Works pretty well. If I would’ve went to a state pen, I’d be a bitch for sure. But here, I’m a boss.”
“Funny how that works out. Floyd?” I say.
“He’s doing okay for himself. He’s kinda like a legend. Walking around talking about all the bullets he took. Thinks he’s 50 Cent. He linked up with the Aryans his first week here.”
“I always knew he was a racist.”
“Yeah, you did call that one. I heard Chloe is running the show at STD.”
I pause for a second.
“Told you. I got ears and eyes everywhere,” he says. “Being here is like having my finger right on the pulse of the business world.”
“Well, STD has never been more successful. That’s what they tell me anyway.”
He looks like he’s bored and unsatisfied with the direction of our conversation.
“Did you bring those cigarettes?” he says.
“Why’d you do me like that?”
“It’s just cigs. Not a big deal.”
“You used me,” I say.
“Oh . . . I don’t know. You know how it is. It was easy. Either me or someone else was always telling you what to do,” he says. Then, he shrugs his shoulders. “Who knew you’d stick up for yourself and start making your own decisions. And look at you now. You proved me wrong. You’re your own boss. Got that comic strip jumping off. I still owe your artist for that sleeper hold he put on me. I still don’t have a full range of motion in my neck. But anyway, you go national yet?”
Before I can answer, he says, “Yep. Told you I know everything. That comic is big in here. Inmates won’t even wipe their ass with it when they’re out of toilet paper.”
I don’t know whether to be disgusted at that compliment or to smile. I smile; I’m not used to getting compliments for something I love doing. “And you used to make fun of me for keeping a journal. Them shits are a treasure-trove of good stories.”
“The way you depict me in the strip even adds to my celebrity,” he says. “Even had an inmate offer to suck my dick cuz, you keep writing that I fuck so many hoes.”
“Lucky you.”
Two inmates start fighting in the background. It causes a big commotion and everyone looks as the guards try to subdue them.
Jake turns back around to the glass. “Hey, Kev, can you do me a favor? . . . Kev?”
I’m gone. He sits there for a few seconds, thinking I might come back. And when he realizes I’m gone, he gets up. But before he leaves, he puts a booger on the glass partition.
I
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C
.A
. Huggins is the author of the the acclaimed novel
Labor Pains
. He is a graduate of The College of New Jersey with a degree in English literature. C.A. currently resides in San Diego, CA. Get in touch with him and let him know what you thought of his work.
