In the morning, it always takes me a while to shake off the images. Today, it’s even longer than usual before I can take a deep breath. I look down at my legs and see I have been pounding them with my fists. They are full of red marks. One spot is going to sport a bruise. I’ll just keep my sweats on during gym class.
A sigh escapes my throat as I sit up. The bed creaks with the shift in my weight. It’s not like I’m heavy like Macaroni, whose room is next to mine. My bed just creaks because it’s old and cheap. I don’t know Macaroni’s real name, but he got his nickname in here because he loves mac and cheese. Unlike Macaroni, I’m average — average height, average weight. Not skinny like Wired, another guy in here. But if I was, I might be able to slide through the slats in my window, right out of this joint.
Before flipping the covers off, I knock on the wall twice. It’s my way of saying hi to Macaroni. I’m not sure why I bother. He’s the only guy lower in the pecking order than I am.
The floor is cold when my feet land on it. I walk across the room and grab my clothes. Today is green day. I switch my pyjama bottoms for a pair of green sweats. I miss my Def Leppard T-shirt, my Canucks ball cap, and my favourite black jeans. Now I wear the same clothes as everyone else. And the same colours, depending on the day.
I flop back down on my bed and wait.
There’s a spider who sits in the corner of my room, above the desk I use for school work. I spot her sitting in her web. My first week in here, I kept breaking her web. I couldn’t stand having her watching me. Judging me. So, every day, I’d knock down her home. And every day, she’d rebuild it. She never gave up.
After a while, I stopped ruining her world and gave her a name. She’s inside, like me. The only things growing on the grounds here are weeds. So that’s what I called her, Weed.
Sometimes I forget and talk to her out loud. One time it got me patted down by the guard. Without thinking, I said something like, “Weed, you’re going to help me get through the day, right?”
Now the spider has become a joke with the other guys.
“Where’s the weed?”
“Did you bring weed with you?”
It’s a bad joke. But my first week in, it made it easier to get to know the guys.
Weed and I are stuck in this room. And we’re both stuck in a day that goes on forever in the exact same way.
I make my bed and then Collins, my correctional officer, comes in to check my room. He gives me the “all clear” for my morning to begin. Now I am allowed to go to the cafeteria. I give Collins a weak smile. It’s 7:00 a.m.
As I walk to breakfast, Collins stays by my side like a bodyguard. Only he’s not here to protect me. It’s the other way around. He’s here to be sure I don’t do anything wrong. He’s really called a peace officer, but we call them COs because that would be their title in regular prison. And while they call this a youth custody centre, it’s being locked up all the same.
I scan the cafeteria as soon as I walk in. Macaroni is by himself at the side table. It’s like his assigned seat. Wired is sitting at one of the long tables near the back. Like everyone else in here, his nickname fits. He’s tapping his foot and drumming his fingers on the table.
As always, the food line is jammed, shoulder to shoulder. Just as I get my plate loaded, a guy knocks my elbow. My tray slips out of my hands. The food slides off and lands in a messy heap on the floor.
“Clean that up!” yells a CO.
The guy who knocked into me is a Diablo, from the gang in here. I grab a grimy cloth, bend down, and clean up the food. Then I go to the back of the line and start all over again.
By the time I get a fresh plate of food, the tables are packed. I shuffle over to where Wired is sitting and park myself across from him. He is shovelling the slop from his plate into his mouth like it’s the best stuff on earth. Between mouthfuls he says, “Did you hear that Strummer got caught again? He’s off to the big joint. There’s no way he’s coming back to juvie. Isn’t he like, twenty-one?”
“Yup.” My throat tightens. “I was a wreck when I first got here. Strummer helped me to chill. Remember how he used to borrow a guitar from the staff and jam? He did a wicked rendition of the riffs for ‘Hotel California.’”
“Yeah,” says Wired. He sings a few bars. “And just like in the song, we checked out the minute we got here, but none of us can leave.”
I nod my head. I was right to worry about how Strummer would make it on the outside. If Strummer can’t make it, how the hell am I going to survive when I get out?
“How long was he in here?” Wired runs a piece of toast through the yolk on his plate.
“Six years. He talked about how out there, you have to face all your demons. Everything that put you in here is still out there. Maybe Strummer just couldn’t cut it. Freedom. Choices. So much time to fill.” I shudder just thinking about it.
“Wasn’t he the one who named you Strider, instead of Kevin?”
“Yeah. We’re both into The Lord of the Rings. Strummer thought the description of Strider fit me. But I’m not anything like Strider. I’m not fierce or loyal, and I’m definitely not good with a sword!”
Wired shakes his head. “Well, Strummer messed up. When I get out, I plan on getting it right. I’m staying out. I hate this place.”
I lay into him. “But you did shit that got you in here.”
“You mean I got caught doing it.”
“What’s the difference?”
Wired laughs. It’s no use talking to him about this stuff. He works the system. And he makes the system work for him. If he gets out, he’ll be sure not to get caught next time.
I push the food around on my plate. Nothing makes it look appealing.
Wired chomps on his last piece of toast. Then he reaches across the table with his plastic fork and starts in on my food. “So I’m still in loads of crap here,” he says. “That stunt I pulled last week got me in deep. I lost all my privileges.”
“Except for meals. You still have those,” I snort. He’s just about cleared my plate. I grab the last piece of toast and shove it in my mouth.
“Yeah, but now I have to figure out another way to get the goods inside.”
Wired gets smokes and booze for anyone who is willing to pay. Sometimes he gets harder stuff too.
“Screw up and you’ll be in secure custody again,” I remind him.
“I’ve got a handle on things. But I need to borrow some cash. Lend me fifty bucks to get through the week.”
“What, you think I’m loaded? Your dad gives you extra money for the canteen each month. It’s not my fault you screwed up and lost access to it.”
“So what are you saving all your money for, anyway?” he snarls.
“None of your business.”
“Whatever! Hand over a little now. You’ll get more back in the long run.”
“Damn it, Wired! What part of NO did you miss?” I slam my tray down.
Wired stands and pushes his tray toward the centre of the table. “Sometimes you can be a real asshole, Strider.” He shoves a chair as he leaves the room.
In the year Wired has been in, I have discovered that he doesn’t like to hear the word no. Out there he was used to getting his way. As I place both our trays on the counter, I feel eyes on me. I turn my head and see that some members of the Diablos just witnessed our interaction. I put my head down and clear out of the cafeteria.