Life at Hard Labor chapters 54-56

Author: Fumpa
Title: Life at Hard Labor Chapters 54-56
Date: 24 March 2013

Chapter 54

It was a long night, full of dreamless, troubled sleep, and another long day of hard labor. If one thing can be said about swinging a sledgehammer all day in 90 degree heat, it does take your mind off things. The boss had a big plug of dip in his lip, and he was breathing right down my neck. It seemed like every time I got a rock down to size, there’d be a gleaming smear of dip spit on the rock the boss man wanted me to break next. After a while, I didn’t even need him to say anything. I just started breaking the rock he’d spit on.

“That’s good boy. Makes my life a little easier,” he said with a smug sarcasm.

“Always glad to help, asshole,” I thought to myself, but only for a few swings. After I got rolling, all I could think about was that hammer.

And for the most part, that’s all I thought about. Year in and year out, it was just going down to the quarry, and swinging a sledge. Simple, stupid, unskilled, and exhausting. I’d look up to the convicts on the drill squad, pounding on drills, and putting in plugs and feathers to break up the more gigantic boulders. I was almost thankful I wasn’t up there with them. It was too much brainwork for me, which isn’t saying a lot. Working on the drill squad wasn’t brain surgery. It was pounding your hammer on a metal pole instead of right on the bare rock. But you had to aim. You had to think. I didn’t want to think. I just wanted to work.

I advised the new convicts to stick close to me, and the other older cons. Us old timers busted our asses harder than normal to make the new guys look better, and hopefully keep the boss’s strap latched on his belt. As the days ground on, Josh was passing out later and later in the day. It took him about 15 days to figure out that this work wasn’t going to kill him. I could tell from that point on that he was resigned to the dirt, and the sweat that was his life, and he was a little less apprehensive of his fellow convicts as well.

About 25 days after I got back from the chain gang, I was surprised to look over and see Josh lifelessly landing his sledge on the rock when the boss blew the whistle for quitting time. He fell over on his side soon after that of course, but me and Miner gave him a good pat on the back as we helped him up. He used what breath he had left to laugh, and smile a bit, before his sweat soaked, dirty head sunk down, and we had to put him in a wheelbarrow. He was finally getting strong enough, and not a day too soon.

Tom on the other hand was starting to keep pace with the old cons. I could tell he was still a bit pissed off and dumbfounded about having to work so much longer than what he thought a man should, but he kept his mouth shut and swung his sledge. This was a guy who had always known his place in life, and always respected his betters. He was a model convict already, but I knew deep down that he didn’t belong in prison with me and the other dumb asses. I had to do everything in my power to keep this kid out of trouble, and on the straight path to the gates.

There was plenty to occupy my mind. Plenty of rocks I mean. Thinking about my day to day routine was a hell of a lot easier for me than thinking about what Craig might be going through, but when your routine is identical every day; your mind can’t help but wander sometimes. As harsh and relentless as the chain gang was, at least it kept your mind on your job. You didn’t have to worry about shit out there, because you were already in the worst situation you could be in. Well, almost the worst. You knew you weren’t on the chain gang permanently. When you were able to stop and think late at night, you knew those leg irons would come off some day even if you didn’t know when.

The chain gang was often the topic of conversation after quitting time. Me, Miner and Buck would compare our experiences. We’d all sweated our asses off in the boiler suits, we’d all been in the cages, and we’d all spent a few nights hitched up. It made the quarry we were working in seem like “the good times.” Buck couldn’t remember ever working on rails his first time on the chain gang, but he did remember a short time when the bosses took the gang off the rocks, and made them fill sandbags and build a makeshift dam by a river side.

“It wasn’t easy man, but it was something different, and that’s all you ever want out there,” Buck told us. “They’d either have you standing up on a pile of sand shoveling the shit into bags, or they’d have you standing down in the water almost up to your waist, building the wall up.” He leaned back and closed his eyes.

“Yeah, doesn’t sound like it’d be too bad, except for walking through the mud in chains,” Miner said as he stared at his boots. I just kept my mouth shut. I didn’t want to think about the chain gang, but I knew I had to. That’s where the man I loved was.

As much as it agonized me to know that Craig was going through all of that alone, it did put things in perspective. I’d lay in my bunk when the day was done, sore as hell from a beating or from lifting a rock that was too heavy, and think to myself “God damn am I glad I’m not in one of those cages.” I’d fall asleep before I could remind myself Craig could have been in one.

Time went slow in the quarry. It seemed like it was always hot, but there were some mornings that would chill you to the bone. We didn’t mind. Cold was something different. Something you didn’t feel every day. Warm or cold, the best day was always the day they let us shower. You could finally get all that sweat and dirt off your body, and cool off a bit.

Buck would always horse around with everyone. He’d sneak up and grab your ass, or try to slide his dick between your crack. One day, Buck decided he’d hold a “hardest” contest. He’d put his hand over your dick, and squeeze it a few times making a lot of curious “Hmm” sounds, as if he were judging livestock at a county fair. He eventually decided that Josh had won the contest, which made Josh laugh a bit, though his face was still red. He was loosening up a lot, and that was good for him. The guards usually put a stop to Buck’s particular brand of humor pretty quickly after they noticed it, but it was always fun while it lasted.

One evening in the showers, I noticed that Tom had gotten really hard after one of Buck’s “size checks.” He smiled and laughed a bit, but looked a little disappointed when it was over. I had no clue about what would have turned Tom on before he came to prison, but the same thing happens to every convict. Eventually, you’re turned on by the other convicts, because that’s all you see, and all you know.

That night, I was a little too tired and sore to do anything more than get my chow down. I went over to my bunk and saw Tom sitting over the edge of the top bunk above mine. His shirt was still on, but his work boots were hanging from his bedpost.

“Hey,” I said to him as I set my ball and chain down on the floor.

Tom looked at it with a sad, nervous expression in his eyes that seemed to say “How the hell does he live with that thing day in and day out.” I would have answered him if I knew how.

“Hey,” he finally said back to me. “Listen, I never thanked you for takin’ the fall for me that one day way back.” He took off his shirt, and set it behind him on his bunk. His chest was lean, but hard and tan from working as hard as he did.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” I replied as I started to take off my boots. “It don’t hurt no more. Besides, you’ve seen your share of straps since then.”

“Yeah.” He rubbed his bare shoulder and laughed to himself. I was glad to see him be able to shrug it all off like that. Some guys let that kind of thing get to them, and they’d wind up in the box because of it. “Still man, you’ve been damn good to me, and all on your own too. I didn’t even have to ask.”

“Kid, when you got nothing, you might as well share it,” I told Tom. “I know for a fact I ain’t getting out of here, and really I don’t got nothing better to do, so of course I’m gonna help you out. You got a chance at life, and the best thing you can do for us old cons is keep your nose clean and walk on out that gate as a free man. And I’m gonna do my damnedest to help out.”

“Thanks man. I never thought I’d meet good men like you in prison,” he said. “My dad always said convicts were a bunch of fuckin morons.”

“We are,” I said cracking a wide, smile, and patting the kid on the thigh. I hit his cock by mistake. It was long, hard, and warm to the touch even through the denim. When he realized that I’d found out about his hard cock, I could see he was worried about how I’d react.

This made me pretty hard myself. I didn‘t know how to react. I hadn’t slept with a man in a long time. I missed Craig like hell, but after so many rocks, so many whips, and so many days, you need to try and find some pleasure in your life, and orgasm was one of the few that convicts could have. I knew Craig well enough to know that he wouldn’t mind me sleeping with Tom any more than he’d mind me jerking off.

“Hey man, if you want to, we can take care of that for ya. Hop on down to my bunk.” I whispered to Tom. His eyes widened, and his hand went straight to his crotch. He didn’t hesitate to slide off his bunk, and down into mine. I lifted my ball and chain, and set it down on the bunk with a thud. Then I lay down next to Tom.

I grabbed his cock through his jeans and rubbed it firmly and slowly. He rubbed my hand a bit, then rubbed my own cock through my jeans. He unzipped his pants and let his meat fly out. It was already oozing with pre-cum. I slid my own cock out, and rubbed my head against his. I took both our cocks in my firm, dirt caked, calloused hand and squeezed them together as we both moved back and forth. With my other arm, I held his shoulders and his firm, toned back.

As I moved my hand down, I could feel his backbone. That made my own cock pulse harder. I rubbed and squeezed one of his butt cheeks, and slid my finger between his crack, just barely poking at his hole. I kept stroking his ass, spending more and more time around his hole, finally pushing two of my large, hard fingers in. He moaned loud. I could feel his cock start to pump, and then I felt a stream of boiling, hot cum spurt out and onto my chest. I kept rubbing our cocks together. They were both hot, dripping, and still pulsing. Finally I started to feel my own cock start to pulse. The blood went out of my skull, I shut my eyes, leaned my head back, and my cock spurted out all over his tan, hard chest.

As we both lied there breathing heavily, my other senses started to come back to me. My whole body was dripping with sweat, which was cooling now that we had finished. I slid my fingers through the cum on my chest, and I could tell that Tom was just as relaxed and satisfied. I can’t remember a time when I felt more relaxed. I felt like I was in a place that I hadn’t been in for a long time. I’d been there before, but it all looked new. I couldn’t feel that creak in my back. My arms weren’t sore, and my feet felt like I hadn’t been on them all day.

As I leaned over to grab an old t-shirt from the head of my bunk so we could wipe up the cum, I heard my ball and chain rattle. That was enough to pull me back to where I was. I was a convict, sentenced to hard labor, and I’d have to get up in a few hours and swing a sledgehammer all day. The wood on the bunks was covered in scratches, scuffs, and graffiti who’s meaning and significance had been long forgotten. The denim on my skin was what the prison called clean. It was worn smooth, and packed with dirt that would never come out, making it a strange, faded mix of brown, grey, and blue. And as I looked around, those were the only colors I could see. The only colors a convict in this place was allowed to see.

Then I looked back at Tom. I handed him the old, dirty t-shirt, and he dragged it idly across his chest. His eyes were shut, and his cock was lying out over his jeans, slowly softening, but not really shrinking. I thought about tomorrow. He’d have to lock that cock of his back behind his jeans, and behind that number on his thigh. He’d have to cram those feet back into those dirty, scuffed up work boots. He’d have to drag himself back down to the quarry, and swing a sledge all day while the sun scorched the back of his sweaty, stubbly head. I couldn’t bare it. Of course I’d have to bear it, and so would he, but Tom didn’t belong in a hell hole like this. I did, because I didn’t know anything else. This kid had a chance, and I had to make sure that he held onto it.

“Hey man, I don’t think I can haul myself up to my bunk. Too tired. Mind if I…” He hesitated.

“No.” I said, and lay back down next to him. I rubbed his shoulders, and shut my eyes. I knew he had to get out, but part of me wanted to hold him there forever. I knew what I had to do for him, and I knew it’d be hard for me to do now. I fell asleep before I could sort my thoughts out.

Chapter 55

I was woken up by the morning bell, and noticed that Tom was still snoring. My arms were still around him, and I tried to shake him awake, but he just moaned, and leaned back into the pillow. I saw Buck and Miner throwing their boots on. The kid had to get up and face the day. I pulled his boots down, and slammed them down right in front of his face. “Wake up man. Gotta get up and work.”

He opened his eyes, and saw his work boots staring him in the face. He let out an annoyed groan, grabbed them, and sat up. He threw them on his feet almost in the same motion. I chuckled to myself, wondering if his dad or someone hadn’t done the same thing to him when he was a free man working on his family farm. We just looked at each other, smiled, and I dragged my ball and chain to the mess hall. He followed behind me.

The day was like any other. And we had many more of them afterward that were identical. We’d get out there and swing a sledge all day, and then go back to the bunkhouse and do whatever we had enough energy to do, which wasn’t usually much.

One morning, Me, Tom, and Mark were on another boulder that the drill team hadn’t broken down properly. The boss yelled up to them and berated them, but didn’t really do anything to them. He was more interested in antagonizing us low level guys breaking down the chaff.

“You got your review comin up pretty quick here don’t you boy?” the second shift boss said to Tom. I had forgotten the night that I’d read his papers for him. The day was a little over a week away. I thought I’d have more time with him. Then I realized that more time with him would mean that he wouldn’t get out. I’d miss him, but I had to make sure he was on the outside of that gate when it closed.

“Yeah boss.” Tom said as he landed his hammer down.

“I’mma be watchin’ you boy.” he said in a tone that I did not like at all.

“Right boss.” Tom said, and started to swing harder.

After the boss had moved on to other targets, I made my way over to Tom. “Hey man, might want to back off a bit. You work that hard, and they won’t want to let you go.” Tom laughed a bit, and waited for me to laugh too. “I’m serious man. If you keep workin that hard, all they’re gonna see when they look at you is dollar signs. Just hang close to me, and let me pick up most of the slack. Then they’re gonna be lookin at me.”

He looked a little disappointed at first. He wanted to show both the bosses and me how strong he was, but he was also the type of guy who knew when to swallow his pride and rely on the experience of people who knew better. He slowed down a bit, but not too much. I didn’t envy him in that position. If you were close to a review, you had to walk a fine line between not working so hard they’d want to keep you, and working hard enough to not piss them off. He had to act mediocre, and that’s not easy when you’re a workhorse like Tom was.

After our work hours were done, Buck, Miner and I sat Tom down and had a little talk with him.

“You’re doin damn good kid, but the bosses are bein real hard asses. I don’t think they like the idea of lettin’ convicts go. They ain’t gonna give you a good word, that’s for sure. But whether you get out or not ain’t up to them. That’s up to the board,” Buck said. “You’re gonna have to make your case to them yourself.”

“What’s that gonna be like?” Tom asked as he set down his water cup.

“Well…” Miner looked for the right way to tell him. “We don’t know. We ain’t never seen no release board. We’re down for good kid.”

I could tell that fact struck Tom’s heart. He looked me straight in the eyes, and I looked straight back. If my face looked like stone, my eyes must have looked like some kind of smoky quartz. Beautiful and translucent, but flawed and hopeless. “It’s like I keep tellin you man, you got a chance. You can get out of this hell hole. Think about it. Showers every day, no more long hours, no more bland fuckin food…”

“No more of you guys,” he interrupted me.

“Now you’re talkin!!” Buck chuckled and patted Tom on the back. He was trying to break the tension and lighten things up, but I could tell that he had the same, bittersweet feelings that we all did.

“I ain’t gonna lie man, this place is pretty damn brutal, and I can think of about 100 places I’d rather be. I can’t think of any other people I’d rather be with though,” he sounded like he’d accepted the fact that he could get out, but he was still a little torn up about leaving us here to toil.

“Listen man, I ain’t got nothing to hope for myself. This shit is my life, and it always will be. If I can’t hope for myself, I gotta hope for you. You’re a good man Tom, and when you get out, you’ll find other good men out there. They can’t lock us all up.” I said, though I sort of wondered if they could.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m gonna miss you guys though. Anyway, that shit’s in a week. I ain’t out of the woods yet. Meanwhile, I’m fuckin tired.” Tom said.

“Yeah.” we all said, and headed for our bunks. Tom got in his own bunk that night. While I thought it was kind of strange, I eventually realized why. He had a lot to think about, and lying with me wasn’t going to make it easier. Still, that meant that I’d have to lie there alone again. It meant that I’d have to think. I fucking hated thinking. Thinking meant that I couldn’t sleep. It almost made me wish I were on the chain gang. You didn’t have to think out there, and you were always tired enough to take the little sleep they gave you.

It hit me like a ton of bricks. I’d been so focused on helping Tom and Josh adjust to a convict’s life that Craig got brushed to a small corner of my mind. He was out there on the chain. While I lay there in my own bunk, with my own comfortable pad, and my own number stamped on it, he might be cramped down in a god damn dog cage, or standing with his hands shackled to a pole all night.

I hovered on the edge of sleep with thoughts like that in my mind. I was just starting to enter an unrelated dream, when I heard Tom hop down onto the floor, and walk over to the can. I lay there, listening to his piss echo as it hit the bottom; watching his shadow sway back and forth as he stood there. I really wanted to hold him. I just wanted to lay there with someone, anyone in my arms so I wouldn’t have to think.

When he’d finished, he walked over to my bunk, and sat on the edge. I moved over, and he lay down next to me.

“Matt, are you gonna be alright?” he spoke softly. I knew what he was trying to say. Was I going to be alright without him? I’d told him about Craig before, and about what he meant to me, but not much about the chain gang. No reason to scare the kid needlessly. Still, I know why he asked. He was just genuinely concerned for me. He couldn’t do a damn thing to help me of course, but that wasn’t his fault.

“Don’t worry about me kid,” I whispered. “I’ve been through a lot.”

We didn’t say another word. He just slept there, breathing peacefully next to me, and soon the rhythm of his breath put me into a deep, calm, dreamless sleep.

The days that followed were long, and anxious. It seemed like no matter how hard I tried to shield Tom, the bosses wouldn’t let up on him. Boss Thompson, who was our second shift boss at the time, was a real prick. He was the type of boss who liked to make you talk. He’d pretend to invite you to weekend picnics, hoping that in your fatigue, you’d fall for it. It rarely happened, but he still loved to hear you say “sorry boss, I gotta work this weekend.”

Knowing that Tom was close to a release hearing, they’d put him on the largest, hardest boulders. We didn’t know if they were testing him, or trying to make him fuck up so they could keep him. Most of the time, they’d have Tom working alone. This meant that I couldn’t get between him and the bosses and take the brunt of their abuse. Even though Tom was getting singled out like that, there weren’t any major incidents until the day of his review. It was close to the end of our work hours and Tom was loading some rocks into a wheel barrow.

“You’re lookin pretty good for release today 67. Bet you’re feelin pretty nervous.” Boss Thompson said.

“Yes sir boss.” Tom said. He knew well enough when to shut up, and when they wanted him to talk. Though with his review hours away, he wasn’t exactly sure what he should or shouldn’t say.

“You’re gonna have a hell of a time findin’ a job out there boy. Ain’t nobody gonna hire no convict. Sure you don’t wanna stick around?” he asked with a menacingly calm voice.

Tom set a boulder down in the barrow before he answered. “I think I might do alright boss. I know a thing or two about farmin’.”

“That right boy? Maybe we should put you out on the field. You sure as hell got the body for it,” the boss said, watching Tom’s every move intently.

Tom bent down and lifted another rock. “Thanks boss. We’ll see how my review goes.” This was the best thing for Tom to say, and I could tell that Boss Thompson was furious.

“Yeah, we’ll see.” He scoffed, and turned back to the rest of us. He looked like he wanted to smack the first thing he saw.

Me and Mark were still swinging our sledges, trying to get a huge, heavy, grey boulder to a size where we could lift it. It was getting really late, and most of the cons were already loading up their last wheelbarrows of the day. I’ll admit that I had been slacking. I couldn’t keep my mind on the rock where it belonged. I was worried about the bosses messing with Tom, and I didn’t know how to feel about the idea of him leaving. All of that got driven out of my mind when I saw Boss Thompson making his way toward us.

“What the fuck is this shit?! You two assholes ain’t done yet?” the boss shouted.

“Sorry boss,” we both muttered in a low, quiet voice.

“You. Lay the fuck down on your back. You got 5 on the chest.” He unhooked his strap, and pointed it at me. “You two, hold him down,” he said, motioning at Buck and Tom. They both slowly walked over. Buck quietly told Tom to take my feet, and he complied. It would have devastated Tom to see my face in anguish as I took my straps. Buck grabbed my hands and held me down.

“I’m sorry man,” Buck seemed to say with his eyes. I just clenched my eyes shut, and waited for the pain.

WHACK.

My eyes shot open, and I saw Buck’s sweaty, grimy face lit up by the setting sun. The strap flew right across my hard, heaving abs. It didn’t even hurt for a few seconds, but by the time he was gearing up to strike again, it started to sting like a hot rivet.

WHACK.

I groaned as the strap stung my pecs this time. Tom’s hands started to shake in fear.

WHACK.

Buck looked more at Tom than at me. He knew I could take it. Both of them flinched as the strap came down again.

WHACK.

Tom’s hands really started to shake as he held my booted feet. I yelped out in pain, and tried to bite it back.

WHACK.

“GOD!!!” Tom finally called out. Tears were falling from his eyes. We heard the other bosses starting to blow whistles and bark the day’s last orders at the convicts all around us. Work hours were over. I was breathing heavily, heaving in pain from the harsh lashing to my chest. It didn’t last long, but it hurt like hell.

“What the hell you cryin about faggot? You want some of this shit?” Boss Thompson coiled his strap up in his right hand, and patted in his left. He looked at Tom with a fiery contempt. I saw that Mark and Miner had busted their asses to finish up our work for the day. I was immensely thankful for that, but I looked at Tom with fear for him.

“Who you callin’ a faggot?” I croaked out with all the strength I could manage.

“That is fucking it boy. The rest of you motherfuckers get back to camp. Except for you big guy,” the boss pointed at Buck. “You might need to carry this shit stain back.” he then took the strap, and landed it 5 more times, right on my abs. Miner helped Tom to his feet, and led him away. When the rest of them were out of sight, Boss Thompson gave me a good kick in the ribs. I curled up out of reflex. Then he kicked me square in the ass.

“You know what? I was gonna put my word in for denying that little fucker his release. Now I think I’m gonna have more fun kicking a dumb old con like you around.” He gave me one more well aimed kick in the ass, and then a big, brown stream of hot dip spit came out of his mouth and landed on my shoulder.

“Take his ass back to camp,” Boss Thompson ordered Buck. “Only reason he aint spending the night in the box is cause I don’t feel like dragging him up there tonight. Maybe we can fix that later on in the week. It’s gonna be real humid. Get movin!”

“Yeah boss.” Buck said. It was just the three of us, and a few straggling bosses out in the quarry who had just lit up cigarettes. Buck lifted me up, and put my arm around his firm, wide shoulders. I was able to walk just fine, but I decided to let the boss think he’d hurt me more than he had. Not that he didn’t hurt me. My chest was throbbing, and it hurt to breath. You can’t think about crap like that in prison. What I thought about was Tom’s release hearing, and the fact that with the whip marks on my chest, I’d be able to lie on my back that night.

When I staggered into the bunk house, I found Tom, Josh, Miner, and Mark sitting on either side of a table. There was a clean, white piece of paper sitting on the table in front of each of them. Tom looked right up at me, and seemed glad to see me standing.

“Hey Matt. Figured I’d let you do the honors.” Mark said, handing me the papers from the table, along with two more for me and Buck. We sat down with the rest of them. I groaned as I sat down. It was causing the whip marks to crunch together.

“You alright man?” Tom asked. “God damn, I’m sorry.”

“You damn well better be sorry.” I cracked a slick, toothy smile at him, letting him know it was ok. I stacked the papers in my hand, and looked through them. “Here Buck, you can use these to wipe your ass.” I handed him his paper, Marks, Miner’s and my own. Our monthly papers would never say anything new. Buck took them and shoved them aside.

“Alright Josh, here’s yours. I know you can probably read, but I’ll read it for you anyway.” I said.

“Yeah, I can read. I’m too fucking tired though.” He shut his eyes and stretched his arms out, trying to crack his shoulders.

“Alright, I’d better read the whole thing.” I said, tapping the card on the table. It was getting harder and harder for me to read these things. I could see them fine, but I kept feeling like I was too dumb to get the words out. “Convict Number J-066-D, MPL-2159. Convict has served 50 years of an eternal sentence. Convict is up for review: NEVER Current detail: ROCK QUARRY # 21. Years remaining in detail 50. Next detail: CANE FIELD #1. Strikes: 2 Major Strikes: 1 Chain: 0” I finished, handing the card to Josh, who read it again to himself as if out of reflex. He was satisfied that I hadn’t been joking with him, and wondering what the hell the words ‘CANE FIELD’ could mean. I would leave that description to a convict with a little more tact than I had.

“Alright, now for Tom.” Tom’s was the fate everyone in the bunkhouse wanted to hear, even those cons who we weren’t all that familiar with. They’d seen a truck from the review board roll up, and there was only one class A con that hadn’t been rejected yet. That was Tom.

I almost didn’t believe it when I read the card.

Convict Number T-067-A, MPL-2159.
Convict has served 50 years of a minimum 50 year sentence.
Convict is up for review: 5/6.
Current Detail: ROCK QUARRY # 21. Years remaining in detail: 50.
Next Detail: CANE FIELD #1(Pend. Review)
Strikes: 0
Major Strikes: 0
Chain: 0

I’d seen the words ‘Pend. Review” on his card every time I read it for him, and it had never been anything more than “here’s hoping.” What shocked me was the date. It was today. I knew that before I’d even picked up the card of course, but seeing it on paper…

“Man, this is it. You’re up today.” I said, confirming what everyone already knew. I handed him his card, and shook his hand. It was firm, and quick.

“God damn. I don’t know what the hell I’m gonna do now.” He said in a vacant, almost shaking voice.

“You’re gonna walk through that door, and you ain’t gonna walk back through.” Buck said, pointing at a barred door at the end of the bunkhouse. It was the wrong door.

“Yeah, he’s gonna walk right into the commissary and live in a fucking shoebox,” Miner chuckled. “You dumbass.” We all laughed hard.

“Don’t worry man. You’re gonna be alright. Us too. I’m gonna miss you,” I said.

“Me too man,” Tom said.

He extended his hand again, and I shook it. Then I pulled him close, and held him. “Stay strong man.” I said. His eyes looked like they could tear up, but they were clear. I let him go, and giving me one final look, he turned and walked away slowly. I sat down, and kept watching him as he went.

“Take it easy man.” Buck said, patting him on the back.

“Yeah, take it easy. Later man.” Miner, Mark, Josh, and a bunch of other cons gave their farewells, and Mark walked to the gate. I saw his number stamped on his ass, and the A attached to it seemed to make it look lighter than air. Lighter that the letter D on mine anyway.

“T-067-A. Front and center!” a guard said at the barred door to the guard’s office. He unlocked the door. Tom stepped through, and out of site. Then the door clang shut, and locked.

I looked down at the numbered patch on Buck’s jeans. B-068-D. Then down at my own. M-067-D. Further down my leg, there was a shackle, clamped to my leg with a chain, and a heavy iron ball running out from it. There was a dead silence in the whole Bunkhouse. Some convicts were staring off into space; their eyes unmoving. Some stared down at their dirty work boots and the ball and chain attached. Some looked up at the ceiling and saw nothing but wood, cobwebs, and dim bare light bulbs. Most of us however, were looking down at our dirty, tattered, blue denim uniform, and our own number on it. We knew what they meant. There wouldn’t be any reviews for any of us. No way out.

“Yeah,” Miner finally said, and the rest of us were glad someone had the guts to break that hard, empty silence. He kicked his boots over the bench, and dug into his chow. He doled out a little bit into an empty bowl for me. I looked back up at the door, and then down at my chow. As I swallowed the first bite, the whip marks on my chest stung a bit, but the pain was dull and toothless.

We didn’t know for sure whether Tom had earned his release. We wouldn’t know until lights out. They’d send him back before then if they rejected him. I’d never seen a guy I really knew or cared about get out of prison. It was always a rare occasion, but it had never happened to anyone close to me, much less anyone I’d slept with. Needless to say, my uniform felt a lot rougher, my ball and chain felt a lot heavier, and my body ached a lot harder.

“ALRIGHT BOYS. HIT THE RACK!” The guard called into the mess hall, and got out his key.

I picked up my ball and chain, and lugged myself towards my bunk. Every convict moved slowly, and did a lot of looking down at their boots. They were still convicts. They couldn’t all read, but they didn’t need too. Most of them knew enough to mean that the letter D on their uniform meant they were down for the long haul.

I lay down in my bunk alone. There was an empty bunk above mine. The blankets and pillow were gone, and the mattress had been folded up. I pulled my blanket back, sat down, untied, and kicked off my boots. I lugged my ball and chain up into bed with me and I sat up for a minute, looking at the barred door which still hung open, and through which convicts were still walking. Buck sunk down in his bunk next to mine and looked over at me.

“Hey buddy,” he said.

“Hey,” I answered.

“This shit don’t never get easy, does it?” he looked all around the bunkhouse.

“Gets easier, never easy,” I said. Those words were Craig’s.

“God I’m sorry man. I’m dumber than a box of rocks. You’re probably feelin pretty lonley, and I’m sittin here lovin on Miner 2 feet away from you every damn night. I feel about 3 inches tall,” he said looking down at his shackle.

“I don’t know. You snore pretty fuckin loud for a dude who’s 3 inches tall man,” I said as I smiled and leaned back, pulling my blanket over me. It stung my whip marks a bit.

Buck laughed and punched me playfully on the thigh before crawling into his own bunk. He was just as tired as all of us, and just as forlorn. Everyone seemed to have this feeling of being left behind.

“Hey man.” Miner said looking down at me from his bunk. “It’ll be alright. Hear?”

“Yeah. I hope so.” I said. Just as I finished speaking, the door to the bunks slammed shut. Tom wasn’t in there with us.

“LIGHTS OUT!!” The room went dark. Tom was a free man. None of us in that bunkhouse that night would ever experience that feeling again. We’d never know what it was like to have our feet fall where we willed instead of where the boss man said. We’d never know what it was like to possess anything more than a pair of pants and a pair of boots. Our memories of freedom were dim, and there would be no new ones to remind us.

Chapter 56

I stared up at the empty bunk above me. Everyone else was hovering on the edge of sleep. Josh had been looking at his card for a while in the dark, but now I heard snoring coming from him. The pain in my chest had gone down to a dull, heavy ache. My feet were throbbing, and my arms were sore as they were every night, and I wanted to fall asleep, but I couldn’t. I was all alone.

I kept trying to tell myself that Tom’s leaving was a good thing. It was a good thing. But as I lay there, listening to the other cons snore, feeling the shackle on my leg, I couldn’t help but feel dejected. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I didn’t belong. Then my thoughts went back to Craig. In the effort to make sure Tom got out, I had pushed Craig and the chain gang to a forgotten corner of my mind. I almost wished I were back there so I wouldn’t have to think. Then I stretched my arms out, rolled over, and shut my eyes. If I had been on the chain gang, there would have been a guard walking by every hour, banging on the bed rails with his club to ‘count.’ Or worse, I could be in a cramped cage instead of a bunk. I drifted to sleep before I could organize another thought.

The next morning was like any other surprisingly. We all got up, crammed food in our mouths, and walked down to the quarry as the last coldness of the night was steamed away by the bright rising sun. All you really thought about in the morning was how tired you still were, and how you had a full damn day ahead of you. Then when the boss blew the whistle, it was time to stop thinking and start working.

For the first half of that day, that’s what I did. We were a man short, and we still had a quota to meet. Our morning boss was fairly lenient as long as we didn’t slack off. He didn’t care much if we talked, but that morning we were mostly silent, apart from the sound of our hammers on the rock. Everyone probably felt the same as me. They didn’t want to think.

At midday as we stopped for chow, the bosses changed shifts as always. Boss Thompson looked over a clipboard, and spit on the ground, then snapped his neck over at us. He looked straight at me.

“God damn, he don’t look too happy.” Buck said.

“Yeah. He don’t have Tom to fuck with now,” Miner said as he swallowed a swig of water.

“Who is he gonna fuck with now?” Josh asked, as if he guessed that the answer was him.

“Who ever has the most brains, so you’re probably safe boy.” I smiled and punched him lightly in the thigh. I knew better than anyone that boss Thompson had it out for me. The only question was, how hard would he come down on me?

“Alright, back at it! Get to work! Matt, I want you on that one there.” Boss Thompson pointed at a huge grey boulder that the drill crew had been working on before lunch. They were just about to start on it again before they saw the boss pointing at it. I lifted my ball and chain, and walked over to the boulder. I brushed my hands on my jeans, hefted the hammer in my hands, and started pounding on the side of the rock with the drill hole in it.

The drill crew looked worried for me, and looked at the rock in confusion. It was way too big for one man to finish in half a day. Boss Thompson directed the three of them to work on another boulder higher up, and then walked back over to me. He spit out the plug of tobacco he had in his lips, and lit up a cigar. The sweet smell was strange to me. It was almost like some luxurious incense had wafted down from an unseen temple higher up the hill. It mingled with the smell of our sweaty pits and the leftover beans which had just been carted off. It put all the convicts in an uneasy mood.

He stood there, leaning on one knee, puffing the cigar, and watching me toil. “You’re lookin a little distracted today boy. What’s on your mind?” he asked in his usual, mocking tone.

“Not much boss. Just tryin to get this rock broke up for you as quick as I can boss,” I answered him cautiously.

“That’s good boy. You keep right on swinging. In fact, I’m gonna give you a little incentive. If you don’t break that rock all the way down and get it loaded up by the time I finish this cigar, you’re gonna spend a week in the box. Got me boy?” He took a huge puff, and blew it right in my direction. The thing was about 7 inches long, but it couldn’t take him more than an hour to smoke the thing. I wasn’t even sure I could get this rock done by the end of the day.

“What the hell? That’s bullshit. He can’t break that whole fuckin thing down in an hour by himself. ” I heard one of the guys on the drill crew mutter under his breath. I couldn’t have agreed more. It was pretty clear that boss Thompson wanted me in the box, and that I was going one way or another. My emotion took over my reason, and I decided to do something stupid.

I threw my hammer down on the rock. “Boss, I think it’s too big. You might wanna put the drill crew on this one.”

“That’s how you’re gonna be boy? That’s fine with me.” He pulled out his prod, and smacked me right in the gut. I went limp and fell to the ground. All I could see was my hammer lying there, and Mark standing still watching me.

“What the fuck are you starin at? You wanna join him? BACK TO WORK.” I heard the boss shout, but his voice rang in my head with a metallic tone. I felt cuffs snap on my wrists, and then I blacked out.

When I regained my senses, I found that I was still lying on the ground. My hands were still cuffed behind my back, and I saw that I had already been brought to the boxes. All of them were empty, and the doors were hanging open. Boss Thompson was standing between me and the boxes, and was still smoking that same cigar. It was down to a stub now. He flicked it on the ground and it landed close to my face. He walked over, and stomped it out with his shiny black boot, then gave me a good kick in the chest.

“I’m gonna level with you boy. It ain’t that I don’t like you; I just really love my job. I love making sure you little punks spend your days sweating and aching. I’m a lot like that boss on the chain gang. I think you know who I’m talkin about. I’ve kinda thought about taking that blue crap in my arm the way he did so I can personally make you fuckers pay forever. I haven’t made my mind up about that though. But I guess we’re both gonna have time to think about shit ain’t we boy?” He motioned to a guard who was standing by.

The guard walked over to me, and dragged me to my feet. He unlocked my handcuffs, and then pushed me toward the box. “Get in there.” he said. Boss Thompson had his prod in his hand ready to strike at the first sign of disobedience from me.

I slowly walked toward the box. The guard didn’t let go of my arm until I crouched down, and inched my way into the hot, dark, wooden enclosure. I sat down on the floor of the box, dragging my ball and chain in after me. The guard kicked the door shut with his boot, and everything went dark. I heard the metal hasp swing shut, and the heavy padlock click, locking me in. There were four holes, each about two inches in diameter. That was my only light, and my only air.

“You got a month in there boy,” boss Thompson grunted at me as soon as the door shut. A hatch at the top of the box opened, letting in light, followed by a pile of foot sized rocks, and a handheld sledgehammer. “You’ll have the rocks, every fucking day. You don’t break em’ down, you don’t get out. Get to work.” I watched out the holes as he walked away, back down towards the quarry.

I heard the guard “Hey Curt! This asshole’s got the rocks, all fuckin month. Give him water when you give him another load.”

“Right boss,” I heard an unseen trusty say.

I stuck each foot up against the door, grabbed the hammer in one hand, a rock in the other, and started pounding away. Almost immediately, I felt the sweat start to pool on my forehead and in my ass crack. My wrist shook as I kept pounding the rock, taking off a few flakes, then a few crumbles, and then turning the thing into gravel. I was almost thankful that I had these rocks to crack. It meant that I didn’t have to think. Not about Tom, or Craig, or anyone.

Only I did think about someone. I thought about boss Thompson. That stupid (edited). I wished I had slapped that fucking cigar out of his mouth, and threw him to the ground. I could have tried, though I knew I couldn’t last long against a gauntlet of bosses all armed with clubs and prods. Still would have felt good to try. That stupid (edited).

I had to focus on these rocks. The less thinking I did, the better off I’d be. I finished off the last one they’d set in for me, and stuck the sledge handle out of one of the air holes. I saw the dirty jeans of a trusty appear in the holes a little while later. A hatch slid open at the bottom of the door, and he scooped all the rocks out. He then dumped another load of rocks in for me to break up, followed by a small cup of water. I drank it down quickly, and handed the cup back to him. He wasn’t allowed to speak to me, but he knocked on the roof of the box a couple of times. I started working again, and watched his butt through the air holes as he shoveled up the rocks I’d just broken down. My cock started to throb under my jeans. I couldn’t resist rubbing it for a couple seconds.

“I don’t hear no poundin’ boy.” The guard called out. I must have been stroking longer than I thought. I started hammering again, and my cock only got harder. I was still watching the trusty taking his sweet time cleaning up the yard the boxes were in. He bent over and picked up a cigarette butt a guard had left behind, and struck a match. He took a few puffs, and then the whole thing was gone. He threw it to the ground and said “damn.” Then he looked over toward me, shook his head, and went back to work.

I kept on pounding away at the rocks. The light started to get orange. I stuck the handle of my sledge out of an air hole for another load.

“That’s it for today boy.” The guard said. The trusty scooped out my last load, and took the hammer with him. He then slid in a night bucket, and a chunk of bread. That was all the food I’d be getting. I quickly crammed it in my mouth and gummed it down.

I had dreaded this moment. No more rocks to break. Just a whole night of sweating my ass off, and sitting there with my thoughts. The light started to fade to a dull purple, and then went black. All I could think about was boss Thompson and that stupid ass cigar. I got mad. I started to breath heavily, and I kicked the door. It didn’t budge. I leaned back against the back of the box, and slowed my breathing. I shut my eyes, and let the image of that cigar burn into my mind.

In the morning, I woke up when the guard banged the roof of the box with a club. I looked out of one of the air holes, and I could see the rest of the convicts trudging down to the quarry with their hammers on their shoulders. I couldn’t make out any faces, but I did see Buck. He was the biggest fucker in the camp, and it would have been hard to miss him. Then I saw another big guy walking down not far behind him. He couldn’t be new meat. There was no way in hell a guy that big was new. He had to have come from the chain gang. Then I lit up with hope. That could mean Craig was back too.

Soon after the last of them was out of my sight, I got my first load of rocks for the day. The trusty pulled out my night bucket, and handed me in a hammer. I set right to work, moving quicker than normal. I had a month to sit in here, but there was someone new out there. I’d do my time. I’d sweat, I’d work, and I’d groan. My wrist would be sore, my neck would be creaked, but I had something to look forward to; something to think about that wasn’t depressing, though I couldn’t be sure what it was.

I kept working through the day. As I saw the light getting orange again, I slid my sledge handle out for another load.

“God damn, already?” said the voice of an unfamiliar trusty.

“Yeah, they got one of them old timers in there. Fucker works like a fiend. I’ve been shovelin’ so much, I feel like I‘m back in the gen-pop. I’ll be right back.” That was the voice of the trusty from the day before. He walked over to a wheelbarrow, and then walked over to the boxes. He opened the hatch on my box, and gave me a pretty big load of rocks to work with.

“Here man, take this.” He handed me a thick chunk of bread, a cup of water. Then he passed me a smoldering joint. “Quick, take a hit.”

I puffed on the thing, took it down into my lungs, then moved it back into my brain. Then I handed the joint back. “Thanks.” I squeaked without letting the hit of precious weed out of my lungs.

“Don’t mention it. I know how it gets in there. I can’t talk long man. Just do me a favor, and try to slow down will ya?!”

“This should help with that,” I said as I let the hit of weed pour out of my mouth.

The trusty saw the smoke pouring out of the air holes, and he chuckled quietly. “Don’t go getting used to that shit now. The boss man’s off playin cards right now. That won’t happen tomorrow.”

“Thanks anyway man.” I said, and got back to work. The trusty started to shovel up the rocks I’d just broken.

That one hit of weed hovering in the stiff, sweaty air of the box got me pretty stoned. It had been a really long time since I’d had weed. It must have been back in the cane field, or maybe it was the lumber camp. I couldn’t remember. Those were better days. Back when I was with Craig.

When I finished the last load of rocks for the day, I stuck my handle out of the air hole again. A trusty quickly scooped everything out, but his place was soon taken by a boss. The hatch at the top opened again, but instead of my evening ration of bread, it was a big, brown stream of dip spit. It landed right on my leg. It was boss Thompson.

“How you doin’ in there boy? Whoo! You’re stinkin up pretty good. Just thought I’d come on by and make sure they‘re takin good care of you. You look like you could use a little water break boy.” He took out his cock, and started pissing into the hatch. I thrashed and kicked, and tried to move out of the way, but there was nowhere to go. Boss Thompson’s hot, stinking piss streamed down right on my shaven head, and trickled down onto my shoulders, soaking a small part of my jeans. Then he slammed the hatch shut. He walked away laughing.

I sat there a minute. That stupid (edited). All I could see in my mind’s eye was that cigar smoldering a few inches from my face. I had taken off my shirt soon after I’d been thrown in the box the day before. I picked it up, and wiped the piss off my head and shoulders, along with about a gallon of my sweat. That didn’t get rid of the smell of it. I just kept thinking about that cigar. I wanted to slap it out of his mouth. I wanted to stick the damn thing in his eye. I shut my eyes, and soon realized that my own smell was stronger than the smell of his piss.