10:00 p.m. Lights out. I close my eyes, turn away from the light spilling in through the bars, and try to empty my mind of thought.
The bunk above me shifts, the springs squealing as Jenkins moves around. “Hey, Powder.”
I open my eyes. “Yeah, Jenks?”
“I can’t sleep, man.”
I sigh. We’ve only been in our bunks for three minutes. “Just give it time, man.”
“No, like, I can’t sleep. I was awake all last night, too. I just… I can’t sleep, you know?”
“So tell the doc.”
“I did. He said I’m just nervous about next week. Told me to get over it.”
The doc’s a smart person, I think. Still, I’d be excited too, if I was as close as Jenks to changing out of these drab prison jumpsuits.
“A week’s nothing, man. You’ve been here, what, four years? A week’ll go by in a blink.”
“Yeah.” The springs squeal again as he turns. “Still wish I could sleep, though. Then it’d go by even faster.”
The thud of booted footsteps in the walkway silences us. I hold my breath as the night guard walks past. When the footfalls dwindle into the distance, I breathe again.
In time, I sleep. Perhaps Jenks does as well.
I hunch over my breakfast. Jenks sits across from me. He’s clenching his spoon in his fist so hard his knuckles turn white.
Don’t look. Don’t look. It’s the mantra of the prisoner. A few tables away, the guards are working over some poor slob whose ass was sticking out too far into the aisle. I think it’s Jacobs, but if I turn my head to see for sure, the guards will be on us next.
I stare at my steamed rice. If I don’t look, I can’t hear the meaty thud of batons on flesh. I can’t hear Jacobs – and yes, it is Jacobs – scream and beg for the guards to stop. I can’t hear those things. I can’t.
When the guards are done, we start to eat again. My spoon shakes.
“Panopticon Corrections Corporation values your safety,” the intercom blares. It’s the same recording I’ve heard hundreds of times. “Our revolutionary management model improves outcomes for you and delivers maximum value to our shareholders. Please remember to cooperate with the guards at all times.”
“Fucking fascists,” Jenks whispers. “Fucking fuckers.”
“Quiet,” I whisper. Insubordination is a ‘correctable’ offense.
“Fuck them. I’ve got two days, man.” He looks up at me, and I can see the exhaustion in his eyes. He still hasn’t been sleeping. “You know, I spent five years in a real prison? State of California. It sucked, but not like this. This… we’re just dollars here.”
“Quiet,” I whisper again. Jenks isn’t the only person who’ll get a beating for this.
“Why do they do this?” His head turns fractionally toward the guards. “They think they’re better than us? Why can’t… fuck, why can’t we just get along?”
His voice is filled with defeat. Thank god. Only the defeated are safe, here. We finish our breakfast in silence.
“Prisoner Jenkins, stand forward.”
The door to our cell is open. Jenkins has shed his jumpsuit and stands naked but for his briefs. I give him a light punch on the shoulder.
“Good luck out there, man. Be nice, huh?”
“You know it, man.” He gives me a quick smile, then walks out of the cell, carrying his jumpsuit. A half-ring of guards surrounds him.
One guard is standing apart from the others. Slowly, he strips off his uniform, insignia, buttons, belt, pants, boots, until he stands as naked as Jenkins. They stare at each other for a moment, until the chief of watch nods.
“Exchange,” he says.
Piece by piece, Jenkins dons the guard’s uniform, while the guard puts on the jumpsuit. Without a word the former guard walks into my cell.
“Guard Jenkins, you are hereby incorporated as a customer experience technician, first class, for a period of one year,” the chief says. “Welcome to the team.”
Our cell door slides shut, and my new roommate collapses onto the bunk. He covers his face with his hands.
Outside, Jenkins accepts his baton from the chief. His fingers close on it, and he holds it before his face like something magical, like a talisman. His face goes slack with awe. And then he smiles.
It is not a kind smile. A tiger’s smile.
I do not think Jenkins is my friend any longer.