Hard Time by Anthony Papa Anne Mini Shaun Attwood

youngster, a cool little dude. And Troll spends a lot at the store every week. He’s a rich kid from Cali. Anyway, man, you’re trying to settle in, so I’ll leave you alone. If you need anything just come down to D14.’
    ‘Thanks, Billy,’ I said, comforted by what he’d said about Troll and Schwartz.
    I had to wait almost an hour in the day room before a phone became available to call Claudia.
    ‘I’m glad you called again,’ Claudia said. ‘It sounded so crazy in there last time.’
    ‘I’m much better. They moved me,’ I said. ‘I met someone I know, and it’s much safer where I am now. How about you?’
    ‘Not good,’ she said, starting to cry.
    ‘What’s the matter?’
    ‘What do you think’s the matter? You’ve been arrested!’
    ‘Look, I’m all right. You’ve got to be strong. We’ve both got to be strong.’
    ‘I feel so scared for you in the jail, especially after that last call.’
    ‘I’m OK. What happened didn’t affect me.’ Again, I saw the image of David on a stretcher, his head leaking fluid. ‘How’re you?’
    ‘I can’t sleep properly since they knocked our door down. One night, I was laying in my mom’s bed with Floppy and – remember how I used to bother you to hold your hand while we were sleeping? – I did that to my mom. At first she thought it was OK ’cause she was half asleep, but then later on I held her hand so tight she jumped up and threw my arm away.’
    I laughed. ‘That’s—’
    ‘It really scared her. I don’t know exactly what she said, but it was something along the lines of, “What the fuck are you doing? You’re weird! Stop snuggling me!”’
    Imagining her short, tough, beer-loving mum saying such things, I laughed hard, and Claudia joined in. ‘What time are you coming to visit tomorrow?’
    ‘I’m gonna try and get there for 9 a.m. ’cause that’s when they open.’
    ‘How’d you find all this out?’
    ‘I called the phone number and went through all the different prompts, where you press different numbers. It gave the visitation schedule and all that stuff. What do you think I should wear?’
    ‘Anything. I just need to see you.’
    ‘I can’t wear sexy clothes.’
    We both laughed.
    ‘It doesn’t matter. I just need to see you. And please find out how to put money on my books before I starve to death.’
    ‘Are we going to be able to hug each other, hold hands, kiss each other?’
    ‘I don’t know. I’ll have to ask my cellmates. I hope so. I really need to hug and kiss you right now.’
    After calling Claudia, I lay on my bunk, my mind bobbing around on the swirl of events. Staring at the ceiling a few inches from my head, I wondered how much of the brown splatter was blood and whose blood would be up there next. Every now and then I slapped away a mosquito with its landing gear out. Then the voices started again, rising from the chatter downstairs, insisting I get smashed. Other voices joined in, led by Billy’s, defending me. Concluding it was a rerun of yesterday when I’d charged onto the balcony for no reason, I took no action. But I continued to hear voices, one minute getting frightened and convinced they were real, and the next, telling myself I was going crazy and shrugging them off.
    Troll entered with a baby-faced Mexican American. ‘Here’s our other celly, Schwartz.’
    Glad of Schwartz’s warm eyes and smile, I leaned onto my side and dangled my fist for him to bump.
    ‘Viddy well, little brother. Viddy well,’ Schwartz said, imitating a working-class English accent. ‘I heard you’re from England.’
    ‘That’s a great Clockwork Orange impression,’ I said, looking down at him from near the ceiling.
    ‘We were all feeling a bit shagged and fagged and fashed, it being a night of no small expenditure.’
    ‘That’s the best I’ve ever heard an American do it,’ I said. ‘How the bloody hell did you learn all that?’
    Schwartz sat on the stool. Troll took the bottom bunk, so I was