Short Story: Jail / by Heather Taylor

Photo by Sarah Taylor; Story by Heather Taylor

Photo by Sarah Taylor; Story by Heather Taylor

6 months I’m supposed to be in here. Six months is nothing right. So I’m planning to sit here, tidy-like, neat in my cell, do my time, and what’s here? This fucking face. This face that’s there just staring at me. First day here, right? First day here and I’m seeing this little etch-a-sketch stencilling and I think, hey a little company. Some guy was going loco and he’s like this big Star Trek fan or something. Not an original but one of the new ones. Who else would put Warf on this wall here? Not that I’m a big fan or nothing just my mom watched. Like it’s like she can witness the future way past what she’d live to see. I think it’s kinda creepy but I’m just happy she’s not one of those trekkie trekkers – what ever they call themselves these days, right?

Anyway so I thought, I’d ask around like. Not prying or anything cause you don’t pry too much into somebodies business. I’m not some sucker fresh meat baby or something. I’m the Real McCoy like off those old movies and shit. But anyway, I ask, if anyone knew the kid who’s in this cell before. I’m thinking he must be this geeky little thing that got mixed up in some shit but didn’t mean it and liked Banksy or something. Wanted to be a right little artist, right? I’m thinking he could be like a little brother. Maybe he’s out there and he can write to me and visit sometime cause my mom only gets mad when she comes in and she won’t let my brother see me in here like this. It’s not right she says – like I’m going to corrupt him through the bars or something. I’m not contagious. Plus she don’t know what he’s like anyway. A good little kid our Mikey – even gives me shit for smoking. Saying that, he’d better stay like that, keep out of my stash while I’m in here.

So I’m asking around and they tell me this guy, Pete, this guy Pete was in my cell before but no one’s saying much right? So I’m thinking he must’ve been this quiet thing. Not talking or nothing. But still – come’on someone’s gotta have some shit on the guy but no one’s saying nothing. And everyday I’m seeing this sketch like, I’m thinking about my brother and so I get a little crazy about it and so I go to the big man, the one you don’t go to but they find you? But I just don’t care anymore so I go up there and say – Jesus man what’s with the guy in my cell, the one before me. You lot can’t bear Star trek geeks or something?

And I’m just itching for a fight. I don’t know why, but those eyes just had bore in my head, those Klingon eyes and I had to know. And so he looks me up and down and gives me a smile and says, you remind me of him. And I’m thinking, is this a good or bad thing. And he tells me this Pete, this Pete is some pedo weirdo and I’m thinking fuck – fuck I thought he’d be like a fucking little brother when all he’d be thinking about is fucking my brother and it fucking makes me sick. And they’re just standing there looking at me and I’m thinking they think I’m like this Pete guy and that’s sick. I’m not fucking like that. And then, I don’t even notice it but my fist rounds to the right and then a left and all I remember is someone dragging me and there’s blood and I can’t tell which is mine. So they plunk me back in the cell cause the big man’s in solitairy. I guess they thought he could hurt me more but now all I’m wishing is to be in that tiny cell, cramped in quiet like cause these eyes. Those crazy klingon eyes. Staring at me. 2 more years they’ll be staring at me now. Another 2 years cause of him.