things were unraveling too quickly to do more than deal with the moment,
but whenever he had a premonition of his tomorrows, it was bleak. He
wasn’t going home, no matter what; home had no place, even in a dream. An
eleven-year-old could see that much.
He lay down on the bare mattress, sighing,
his hands tucked between his legs, and emotional exhaustion put him to sleep
very quickly.
Not for long, however.
The electricity of fright flew through him as
he jerked up suddenly. A rhythmic, crashing sound had awakened him—so
loud and so close that he thought it was inside the cell itself. Then he heard
Chester’s screaming voice and realized the freckled black youth was
making an uproar . Alex went to the gate and saw
Chester crouching down in the shadows, with both hands on the bars, rattling
them against the steel doorframe.
Chester paused when Alex appeared.
“Motherfucker never brought no blankets. Ah tol’
him nobody’s gonna sleep. I’ll wake this whole motherfucker up. C’mon and help.”
Alex fell to, making it a duet of din. From
the second floor, where the girls’ hospital ward was located, came
answering voices screaming in foul language, but whether in opprobrium or
support couldn’t be understood.
The light in the alcove went on, and then the
door opened. At the light Chester had stopped, but Alex kept on until the door
started moving. He still had both hands on the bars when a fat man stepped in.
His physique made his trousers sag below his belly, and the heavy keyring
hanging on his belt increased this tendency, so that the pants staying up
seemed to defy gravity. Remaining in the doorway was the man who had slammed
and locked the door.
“What’s wrong here?” the
fat man asked. He had a flashlight and waved the beam to look over the two
boys. “Somebody got a problem?”
“We need some blankets,” Alex
said. “It’s cold in here.”
“You haven’t got any
blankets?”
“No!” Chester yelped. “We
ain’t got shit.”
“I told them I’d bring a blanket
apiece,” the second man said.
“That was two hours ago,” Chester
said.
“This isn’t a hotel, and
I’m not a maid. I’ve got other things to do… like
count.”
“You’re just countin’
now,” Chester said. “Bringin’ a couple blankets
wouldn’t take a hot minute.”
The fat man had been nibbling at a
fingernail. “You didn’t have to wake up the whole institution.
You’d have gotten a blanket in due time.” As if to emphasize his
words, from upstairs came another burst of screaming and obscenity.
“Listen to that,” he said angrily.
“If he’d brought us some
blankets—” Alex began.
“You don’t run a goddamn thing
here, kid,” the fat man said. “And raising all this hell sure
isn’t the way to get anything.”
“It got you down here,” Chester
piped in. “Ah know we wasn’t gonna see you till morning… what
you bet?”
“You’re not going to get any
blankets—not tonight—and if you keep making noise we’ll take
the mattress.”
“Why don’t you come in and whip
us?” Chester asked.
“Believe me, I’d like to, but
little turds like you aren’t worth my job. It’s probably what you
little punks need.”
“It’s what your mother
needs,” Chester yelped, then stuttered in search
of other curses without finding them.
“Keep your shit up and I’ll come
in there,” said the man in the doorway. “Lemme hear those gates
again. You punks think you can get away with it because you’re
kids.”
The haughty contempt enraged Alex out of
proportion to the threat. They acted as if he was nothing and they could do
whatever they wanted. It was only a blanket apiece—that was all. He began
to tremble, and his breathing became audible.
The fat man heard the gasps and turned the
flashlight on him. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” The
question dripped challenge.
Alex cried out and leaped at the bars, trying
to claw the man’s face, missing and then spitting on him.
but whenever he had a premonition of his tomorrows, it was bleak. He
wasn’t going home, no matter what; home had no place, even in a dream. An
eleven-year-old could see that much.
He lay down on the bare mattress, sighing,
his hands tucked between his legs, and emotional exhaustion put him to sleep
very quickly.
Not for long, however.
The electricity of fright flew through him as
he jerked up suddenly. A rhythmic, crashing sound had awakened him—so
loud and so close that he thought it was inside the cell itself. Then he heard
Chester’s screaming voice and realized the freckled black youth was
making an uproar . Alex went to the gate and saw
Chester crouching down in the shadows, with both hands on the bars, rattling
them against the steel doorframe.
Chester paused when Alex appeared.
“Motherfucker never brought no blankets. Ah tol’
him nobody’s gonna sleep. I’ll wake this whole motherfucker up. C’mon and help.”
Alex fell to, making it a duet of din. From
the second floor, where the girls’ hospital ward was located, came
answering voices screaming in foul language, but whether in opprobrium or
support couldn’t be understood.
The light in the alcove went on, and then the
door opened. At the light Chester had stopped, but Alex kept on until the door
started moving. He still had both hands on the bars when a fat man stepped in.
His physique made his trousers sag below his belly, and the heavy keyring
hanging on his belt increased this tendency, so that the pants staying up
seemed to defy gravity. Remaining in the doorway was the man who had slammed
and locked the door.
“What’s wrong here?” the
fat man asked. He had a flashlight and waved the beam to look over the two
boys. “Somebody got a problem?”
“We need some blankets,” Alex
said. “It’s cold in here.”
“You haven’t got any
blankets?”
“No!” Chester yelped. “We
ain’t got shit.”
“I told them I’d bring a blanket
apiece,” the second man said.
“That was two hours ago,” Chester
said.
“This isn’t a hotel, and
I’m not a maid. I’ve got other things to do… like
count.”
“You’re just countin’
now,” Chester said. “Bringin’ a couple blankets
wouldn’t take a hot minute.”
The fat man had been nibbling at a
fingernail. “You didn’t have to wake up the whole institution.
You’d have gotten a blanket in due time.” As if to emphasize his
words, from upstairs came another burst of screaming and obscenity.
“Listen to that,” he said angrily.
“If he’d brought us some
blankets—” Alex began.
“You don’t run a goddamn thing
here, kid,” the fat man said. “And raising all this hell sure
isn’t the way to get anything.”
“It got you down here,” Chester
piped in. “Ah know we wasn’t gonna see you till morning… what
you bet?”
“You’re not going to get any
blankets—not tonight—and if you keep making noise we’ll take
the mattress.”
“Why don’t you come in and whip
us?” Chester asked.
“Believe me, I’d like to, but
little turds like you aren’t worth my job. It’s probably what you
little punks need.”
“It’s what your mother
needs,” Chester yelped, then stuttered in search
of other curses without finding them.
“Keep your shit up and I’ll come
in there,” said the man in the doorway. “Lemme hear those gates
again. You punks think you can get away with it because you’re
kids.”
The haughty contempt enraged Alex out of
proportion to the threat. They acted as if he was nothing and they could do
whatever they wanted. It was only a blanket apiece—that was all. He began
to tremble, and his breathing became audible.
The fat man heard the gasps and turned the
flashlight on him. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” The
question dripped challenge.
Alex cried out and leaped at the bars, trying
to claw the man’s face, missing and then spitting on him.
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