Disequilibrium

Part 5: Denouement - Scene 7

Fall

It's been a while since I spoke the whole truth and nothing but the truth, and I had almost forgotten how much of a shitty feeling follows soon after it. It wasn't until I came back to my cell that day after telling Williams almost everything that I realised my mistake. And I sat there, in the silence, kicking and beating myself over it until my mind couldn't take it anymore.

But it was done. I couldn't take it back—I knew it. And besides, I should've gotten used to fucking up by then.

It didn't take long for them to move me with the others after that. It came without explanation, too; an officer came in and told me to get my stuff and get moving, and along with the things I already had he gave me a new blanket, bed sheets, and a pillow. He led me past several hallways until we reached an area that had rows and rows of cells, each facing the other. We went past one after the other until he stopped, unlocked a certain door, and led me in.

When I think back to it, some unspeakable anger boiled right at the pit of my stomach when I first saw the room, but now it's not so bad. The grey cement walls are the easiest to get used to, followed by the hard spring mattress that stinks of something I can't put my finger on, and the single barred window that's mounted on the steel door.

My roommates come last. They're okay people, I guess, though intimidating at first. There's Antonio, the oldest, though some call him Ant as a joke since he's this big hulking guy. He's the one that spoke to me first, saying, listen, kid, you don't say nothin' to nobody if they never asked, and if you see something, keep it to yourself. If you've got any complaints, keep 'em to yourself. And don't touch my stuff.

There's also Alain, the guy who came all the way from Quebec for God knows what reason. He's around my age, I think, though he never talks about himself or what got him there. In fact, none of us do.

Last is Julien. He's a thuggish looking character with tattoos on his arms and face and silver plated teeth at the back of his mouth. He looks at everyone with contempt and rolls with the harder looking guys, so I always make sure I'm far from him.

It isn't until now I realise all those things they talked about in the movies, all those rules they make up about penitentiaries are just loads of crap. Utter bullshit. The only way to live and be free of trouble is to be blind and dull, just like Ant said. If you play by the rules, it'll help in the long run. It didn't take long to figure that out.

"See, the art of loving a woman isn't in what you say to her, but how you say it," Ant drones on. We're all sitting in the room on our respectable bunks, staring at the ceiling or the walls or anything that's not each other. "Women have this weird thing in their heads, you see. They can detect strange stuff. So not only do you have to be careful with what you say, but how you say it."

"You on some shit we don't know about?" Alain asks laughing, but Ant doesn't even crack a smile. Instead, he glares.

"Christ, why am I even wasting time talking to dumb fucks like you anyway? I talk and talk and nobody listens. By the time my trial is over, I'll be home free, and you guys will still sit here rotting and wish you took something from me."

"Sticks here's the closest to getting out than all of us," Alain says, glancing at me for less than a second. "When's your trial? In, like, a few days?"

"Something like that," I say, smiling a little at the tinge of jealousy in his voice. He's been here for a little over a year.

That's usually how our conversations would go: something that could be meaningful followed by tight silence or quiet humming. Right now it's humming, coming from Julian's bunk, and we all listen to that for a while until the door unlocks with a soft click and an officer comes through.