Press Ya' Bunk: A Debut Novel

Chapter 1

Twilight Zone

As I turn off the alarm clock, I’m overly energetic. I jump out of bed and rush to the bathroom, stopping briefly in front of the mirror. I glance over my 5-foot-7 body. Damn! My ass is getting too big. Still nice and round, though. Gotta get in the gym!

I turn on the radio and hear oldies but goodies blasting from the speakers. Just right! I’m brushing my teeth and swaying to the music. I start singing and splash some Colgate toothpaste onto one of the three-fold mirrors. Oh well. Nothing and no one can bother me today. I’m starting a new job, in a new field, with a brand new salary. Life couldn’t be sweeter.

I come out of the bathroom and hold my uniform up to the full-length mirror. Oh yes! Dark blue will fit me well, trims down my ass a full inch—maybe even two. I caress the uniform as I wrap it strategically around my body. I cuff my pockets into my hands, not quite covering the 32D round breast which lies beneath. I start tingling in between my legs. Then I feel profound warmth. I love to feel important, and this new job is going to satisfy my hunger. I’m almost at a full orgasm when I realize that time is not in my hands. I head towards the bathroom, quickly drop my pants, grab a feminine wipe and clean myself. I grab a panty-liner from its box. I might need extra coverage today. Then I pin my light brown micro-mini braids up into a bun to avoid the length touching my collar.

I finish dressing and head towards the kitchen. I warm a bagel in the toaster oven and top it off with a new strawberry cream cheese. I gulp down a glass of cranberry juice and grab my keys off the nightstand. I take one last look around my apartment. Next time I walk through this threshold, I’ll be a changed woman. I smile and slam the door.

I ignore the man that cuts me off and almost makes me slam into him, especially since it’s pouring down rain. I ignore the woman that fails to put on her signal and suddenly slams on her brakes to go down Falls Street. I even ignore the man that flings out a cup of coffee that splatters across the right side of my front windshield. I’m feeling good! No one can break my high! I turn the radio up, blasting my Whitney Houston. God! I hope she get it together ‘cause she can blow!

I start coming around the corner and the building is in sight. The building is huge! I suddenly feel a lump in my throat and my chest tightens. I take a deep breath. I completely turn the corner and notice that the building bricks are falling and chipped on the left-hand side. I notice that the red brick doesn’t seem to look as bright as before. There appears to be a gray cloud hovering over the center of the building’s entrance. I slow down my vehicle and ease into a parking space.

I’m breathing heavy again—real heavy. I’m ready to hyperventilate. Deep, long breaths! Deep, long breaths! Slowly exhale. It must be first day jitters. This is the job of my dreams, right? Nothing to fear; I’m about to make a difference. I’m about to change the world! I place my forehead upon the steering wheel and continue to take in several deep, long breaths.

There’s a pounding in my head, and it gets louder and louder.

Hey, are you okay?

I look up, rolling down the window of my burgundy Honda Civic. I’m fine, just meditating for a moment.

I take it this is your first day, the tall, muscular, chocolate-covered man says, stating more than asking.

Yes it is.

Well, our Sergeants are real strict on tardiness. I think its best that you grab your belongings and follow me.

Thank God I have tinted windows or he would’ve seen everything. I reach into the passenger seat and grab my black training manual and my navy blue lunch bag. Tall and muscular opens my door. I nod in appreciation and step out of the car. My black, spit-shined boots pound upon the pavement. My feet seem to weigh like cement. He closes the door behind me and I slowly follow after him. He turns to his side and looks at me in his peripheral vision. He’s definitely checking me out. Can’t say that I mind, but I need to stay focused. Oh, God, please don’t let them all look like this! I need to be the best! This job could be dangerous in more ways than one.

He holds open the thick, metal-glass door. He places his belongings on a light-colored wood table and stretches out his arms. A middle-aged woman, with her hair swept into an old-fashion bun, takes an orange object and runs up and down his body. I mimic his actions. She checks his belongings, smiles at me and then clears me to pass.

Tall and muscular extends his arm, By the way, I’m Corporal T. Johnson.

Glad to meet you. I’m K. Ashford. Momentarily I pause and contemplate. I assume that would be Private…K. Ashford.

That would be correct. Don’t worry—you’ll get all that information in another handbook. And, believe me, you better study!

We enter the line-up room, Cpl. T. Johnson nods and head towards the back of the room. I find the closest chair and have a seat. The room is absolutely too bright, at least for this early in the morning. There are no windows and only one door. There must be a hundred officers and everyone seems to be focused on me. The room appears to be crowded; we could definitely use more space. I concentrate on my breathing, but I also try to focus on my training manual. I’m having no such luck. On the front board there’s a huge layout of the inside and the outside of the jail. I’m pretending to be studying this as well. But, I’m really looking at these two middle-aged women staring at me. They don’t seem nasty, but I think they are sizing me up. I turn and glance at them. They smile and nod. I return the acknowledgement. And that’s when I notice them, three females in their mid-twenties glaring at me, sucking their teeth and rolling their eyes; for what I have absolutely no idea. I’m assuming that all new people get treated this way. Or should I say I’m hoping and praying that everyone gets this awful glare. I try to nod at them. Did she just mouth fuck her towards me? Nah, I’m tripping. And almost as if they were one, they shift their bodies, noses in the air. Well I hope they’re not the welcoming committee.

I glance towards the back of the room and notice a group of three or four men are also staring at me. Not the ordinary I wonder who you are stare, but the I could eat you alive stare. I guess I’m new meat. But this is one meal that they will never sample. I will not be tomorrow’s appetizer. They smile at me. I give them a fake-ass smile and quickly face the front board. I’m starting to sweat. I pull out a handkerchief and pat my upper lip and forehead.

Then someone else catches my eye. I notice an elderly white man with salt-n-pepper hair, approximately sixty years old. Damn, Pops! Isn’t it time to retire? He also nods his head at me. I return the gesture.

Suddenly four men charge into the room. Everyone rises to their feet. I jump up and place my hands by my side, mimicking everyone around me. One of the men, gracefully tanned, looks at me and waves me to my seat. I quickly cradle the chair. The pale fat man sits at the corner table, while the other three men walk sternly around the room.

The pale fat officer, who I assume is a Sergeant, is staring at me. I can’t read him. He’s not smiling, not frowning but he’s definitely sizing me up. Two minutes go by, and his stare is starting to make me sweat. I feel sweat forming in between my breasts. I’m drowning! Stop staring! Our eyes keep meeting, but I’m quickly defeated and have to find something to focus on. Again, I’m staring at the map of the Diggs County Detention Center, better known as DCDC. This time I focus in, and I’m wondering how the hell I’m going to learn my way around three levels and a lot of ramps and stairs.

The tanned officer walks past me. Momentarily he stops in front of me, never looking me in the eye, never speaking. Then he sits at the table and starts reading off a list of incidents that occurred in the jail throughout the week. I vaguely understand half of what he’s saying. His words are muffled and distorted, as if he was an adult from the Charlie Brown cartoon.

Private Ashford. Private Ashford, he’s speaking English again.

I’m woken from my trance, Sorry sir. That’s me.

Glad you could be with us. You will be teaming up with Corporal P. Slogan, he points towards a heavy-set white man, who slightly raises his hand.

I nod my head. Why couldn’t I get a female? I have done my research and heard several war stories about the treatment of females at the beginning of their line-of-duty. Not that this man couldn’t teach me anything, but I don’t think he has the angle on the female’s point-of-view.

I think the tanned man was reading my mind.

He will be your training officer for your first two weeks and Corporal M. Farrell will have you for your last two.

Corporal M. Farrell is smiling at me. I’m surprised I didn’t notice her before. She’s absolutely gorgeous, and with hardly any make-up—all I can see is some light brown lip-gloss. She’s sitting down, but I can tell she has some height on her. She has jet-black wavy hair that’s loosely pinned up just above her collar. Her eyes are hazel brown—I swear they’re sparkling. Her skin is cocoa smooth, with absolutely no blemishes. I take it she’s thirty, thirty-two tops. She smiles at me, a radiant smile. I smile back. I’m totally relieved, well, partially, for the next two weeks.

The Sergeant disperses the line-up. Corporal Slogan is walking towards me. I start to stand up. For some reason I look to my left and that pale, fat Sergeant is staring at me again. The other Sergeants are talking amongst themselves, but he’s transfixed on me. This guy is really making me nervous. Maybe I should just go over there and introduce myself, but he already knows my name, so I simply wouldn’t know what else to share.

Ready to go, Private?

Definitely!

We start heading up the hallway with other officers. Corporal Slogan is engaged in a conversation with an elderly, heavyset white woman. I remain quiet, although I am curious about the inmate they are referring to. I’m not quite sure as to what disciplinary segregation details, but it must be serious if this guy has to move throughout the jail with at least two officers at all times. On top of that, make them two male officers.

The heavyset woman branches off and we are walking up a long corridor. I don’t recall walking up this corridor during my tour. My thoughts are disturbed. Corporal Slogan is now staring. I guess the name of the game is intimidation. I was warned that this would happen, but the depths were not quite this detailed.

I notice that Lieutenant James has you a little rattled.

Excuse me?

Lieutenant James, the overweight man in line-up…you know, in the front of the room…gold badge, drilling you.

Oh, him. He’s a Lieutenant…does he always stare at new officers?

Yep! Especially the females.

I gasp.

"Don’t worry, not in any sexual way. He has a lot of law enforcement in his family. His sister was injured pretty badly in a jail riot about three years ago. He never particularly cared for woman in this field, but now he’s totally against it. Don’t get discouraged—he’s a fair man. But be on your feet because he’s going to be watching you like a hawk for at least two or three months.

I gasp again.

Corporal Slogan laughs as we come to a gray, metal door.

Looking back, I say, That hallway seemed to last forever.

He pushes a buzzer, and then states his rank and name; the door is ajar. He starts to open the door, but glances back at me.

I don’t know how much you know about this place, but we are about to enter the worst part of the facility. If you learn this side, you can work anywhere, he pauses. You can’t be more than twenty-one, twenty-two…

Twenty-one, I boast.

Well you are about to see and hear some things that you have probably never encountered. First and foremost, remain calm at all times. Stay alert and listen to everything that I tell you. I hope you got tough skin. And by the way, put your sweater on.

I’m intensely listening to him. I’m lingering on to his every word. I set down my lunch bag and put on my sweater. It’s chilly in here anyway. But what’s up with this?

He reads my mind, No disrespect, but you have a nice figure. You’re going to attract attention regardless, due to the fact that you’re new…and a female. But if I can divert any of it, trust me. I will! Most inmates respect me—that’s why I get all the female officers first, but some are still going to yell out derogatory comments. Ignore them. I will check them, at least for the next couple of days. Then you…will have to learn to handle yourself. For now, concentrate on learning your way around instead of verbally defending yourself. Remember that you can not and will not win all battles. Take nothing personal from inmates…or officers. Leave home…at home. And when you walk out this building, leave this bullshit here.

I wipe my sweaty palms across my pants leg. I swallow long and hard. I feel like a pit of a plum is caught in my throat. I feel like I have an Adam’s apple. I feel like I’m about to regurgitate.

Don’t get scared now, kid-do. It’s just another job. Besides, most females go through verbal abuse, not physical.

Perfect, I whisper.

He holds open the door and I walk through. I gasp. I definitely wasn’t brought to this side of the jail during the tour.

He laughs.

I turn around.

What?

They usually don’t bring new recruits to this side of the jail…especially females.

I shake my head, Great! But I can definitely see why

He laughs again. "Private Ashford…welcome to the Twilight Zone.

Chapter 2

Gawking

Corporal Jones, this is Private Ashford.

First day? the bleached blonde asks me.

First day.

She slightly pats me on the back; You’ll do fine. Welcome to Diggs County, one of the finest jails on the east coast. then she turns toward Corporal Slogan.

Here’s the rundown…

I have no idea of what she’s talking about, but I look sternly at her. I’m pretending to be fully aware of my surroundings. I’m pretending to be absorbing her every word. I’m pretending to act like I’m ready.

But I’m not.

She’s still speaking in code; "In A1 you have a total of forty, but only thirty-eight bodies: one at court, one at outside medical. You’re in luck. A2 is empty. The ceiling is leaking so they moved the inmates until tomorrow. Today was sweet. Here’s the name of your tier workers. Watch inmate Peters—he’s been looking all depressed throughout the day… he’s usually full of practical jokes. The third toilet is leaking in A1. A slip was submitted to maintenance…and that’s all.

That’s all! What more could she possibly say? She just gave him three paragraphs on information in one breathe. Aa complete life story. I consumed half of what she said, and I still haven’t absorbed. I’m not focused. I’m not even really in the room. My mind has wondered. I’m thinking back to when I sat behind a desk and answered phones calls— any kind of phone calls: screaming, yelling, curse words. I think I’d rather be getting cursed out. I thought that job was stressful. Stress has taken on a new level.

Why can’t I focus? It’s not because Corporal Slogan was blunt and to the point. It’s not because Corporal Slogan made me wear a sweater. It’s not even because he told me I would be called derogatory names. It’s because there are two inmates in the hallway and they are staring at me. Staring is not a strong-enough word. Glaring at me would not be strong enough. They are gawking at me so badly that my palms begin to sweat vigorously. They are gawking at me so badly that my stomach is churning and I’m ten seconds from regurgitating on the jail’s floor. They are gawking at me so intensely that I can feel my clothes being torn from my body. I’m naked. They are touching me. They are fondling me…they are ready to rape me! I’m screaming, but no one hears. The blonde and Corporal Slogan are still conversing. One of the inmates is caressing my breast; the other inmate is ready to cut off my underwear. Stop it! Stop it! "Help! HELP!"

Private. Private…Private!

I turn towards the blonde and she’s smirking at me, It’s going to be okay. Stay focused!

She leaves us. Corporal Slogan is looking at me. I can feel that he wants to say something, but can’t find the right words. He wants to be gentle but to the point. He sees me constantly wiping my sweaty palms on the outer thigh area of my dark blue pants. He watches me pull out my handkerchief and pat at my upper lip and then my forehead. He must see that I’m about to faint, because he quickly pulls a chair up to the desk right in time for me to keel into it. He walks over to the two inmates and takes them around a corner. He comes back…alone, relieving ninety percent of my anxiety.

Have you ever been around criminals before, he asks raising his right eyebrow?

Besides family…nope.

Well, get use to it, he stares into my eyes. You grew up in the boon-docks, didn’t you?

"I wouldn’t go that far, but if you mean around order, yes. I barely went into the city, let alone want to live in one."

I can tell, he looks down the hall. And they will, too. Put on your game face. We have to make a security round.

I stand up, not wanting to, trying to find that game face that he’s talking about. I hesitantly take two steps toward him. He’s not moving.

He turns his head to the side, facing me; We’ll take notes later. We have to walk around the catwalk every thirty minutes. The catwalk is designed like a horseshoe: we go in one door, look around, and come out of the other. We are on A-wing. We’re in charge of two units: A1 and A2—each can hold up to forty inmates. This is minimum security. Most inmates here have committed small crimes; they may get anywhere from six months to two years. Most of these guys have a mean bark, but no bite. You ready?

Ready is a strong word. How about…I’m willing.

Works for me. Let’s go.

We enter A2 and first the unit is empty. I’m looking, but I’m not really seeing. Corporal Slogan is laying down the outline of each unit and I’m trying to concentrate on him. We exit the unit and we get closer to the entrance of A1. The first thing I notice is the doors: they’re thick and gray—not metal, but close enough. The wall is colorful—too colorful. Somebody’s been doing some redecorating and the new image isn’t working well at all. I see thick glass in between the two doors. I hear a television on full blast. Corporal Slogan turns the corner and several inmates greet him. Then…I turn the corner. All attention is diverted. The television doesn’t sound that loud anymore. All I hear is inmates’ voices and see eyes trying to pierce my very soul.

Hey, whassup, sexy mama! one inmate yells.

Fellas, you got a fresh one comin’ at you, another yells, looking towards the back."

Calm down, guys! This isn’t the last female you’re going to see in life, Corporal Slogan reminds them.

Maybe not, but she fine as a mutherfucker, someone to my left yells.

Alright, guys…later…let me give her the first walk-through.

And just like that the comments stop. He was right. They do respect him. They respect him a lot. Why I’m not sure, but I hope I can get that same edge.

We continue to walk around the catwalk, and all eyes are fixated on me. No one else utters a word. No words were needed. I know how they feel. I know what they’re thinking. And, they can probably read my mind too. I’m itching! I’m itching right in the middle of my back. For me itching always means one of two things: I’m sleepy or I’m extremely nervous. I guess the latter would be obvious. As we continue to walk around Corporal Slogan points out several things. I hear everything that he’s saying. Again, I’m not too sure that I’m absorbing. But I’ll wait until we get back to the desk.

Steel bars separate me from close encounters. Steel bars separate me from being fondled. However, steel bars do not separate me from the stares, the winks, or the ravenous look in their eyes. The walls are not so colorful in the actual dormitory. Instead they’re dull, mustard yellow. There are two small showers in the corner, both with dirty, ripped, yellow curtains. And I don’t want to imagine what the inside looks like. There are three small sections where toilets are placed. There’s a small wall in front of the toilets. I can still see things that I would prefer not to see. Then there are small bunk beds lined along the back of the room. Each bed holds a black or green ripped and worn-out mattress, not to mention the thin pillows and the wool gray blankets. I don’t know if I can even call them blankets—more like thick sheets. The ceiling lights are flicking. It’s irritating like hell. Homemade clotheslines are hanging from the bars to the edges of the bunk beds; underwear is floating from the lines; on some, you can still clearly see the leftover feces stains. Blue inmate uniforms are also hanging on clotheslines. Everything’s cramped together. And it stinks in here. Smells like feet and ass.

We turn the corner and an inmate winks at me. I stare at him, and then roll my eyes. He smiles. I can see the light shining from the other door. I want to walk faster, but Corporal Slogan is moving slowly in front of me, still pointing out things and explaining them. I remain clueless. I’m too busy watching them and they’re too busy watching me. They’re swallowing my body. They’re gulping my air. They’re envisioning me naked. I’m envisioning smacking