Page 43 of Close to Falling

***

I step out of the small transfer van and wince from the harsh sunlight. They move me from holding room to holding room. My clothes are stripped, and I go from wearing orange to blue. I’m no longer a visitor at the county jail. I’m a prisoner now, and once I’m given my blanket, cup, and shown to my cell, it all sinks in. I fucked up, but this is what I’ve got, and I have to man up and deal with it. You can’t be a pussy in prison or you’ll get treated as one.

***

Time drags in this place. My cellmate has changed more than a few times, and I’m now paired with a man that’s bigger than Lou Ferrigno. He snores loud as shit, and I can’t sleep.

I saw B today. She was struggling, and I could tell she hadn’t used before she came. Love does it out of respect for me, but it kills her. I tried to laugh all of this off, but when she said she wished she could touch me, something in me broke. This isn’t a laughing matter, and I miss the fuck out of her.

***

The days pass by with me working in the wood shop. I get shit pay, but it’s something to help move time, and I kind of like it. Weeks go by, and my thoughts turn against me. I don’t know if I can watch Maddie come and see me like this for six years. I want her to be happy, and she can’t be happy with a deadbeat boyfriend in prison. I step outside and light the smoke I’ve been holding on to. My eyes go around the yard, taking in everything. Looking at murderers and rapists, men who just don’t give a fuck and are in here for life. Gangs are everywhere, and drug deals are going down right in front of everyone’s eyes, but people ignore it, even the guards because half of them are in on it, too. It’s dirty as hell in this place.

“What’s up, man?” I turn and see a guy with more tattoos than skin. I lift my chin and hit my smoke. “You got an extra I can get?” he asks. I open my pack and hold it out for him. He takes one and leans back against the wall with me.

“Name’s Rozz,” he says, lighting his smoke.

“River,” I reply. “Who did your tats?”

“Me mostly,” he replies, looking down at his arms. I look down, too, and see that they are good.

“In here?”

“Yeah, they let me keep my machine in exchange for free tats.”

“You think you can hook me up?” I ask him. He looks over at me and nods.

“What are you in here for?”

“Wrong place, wrong time,” I reply. He laughs.

“Ain’t that everyone’s story in this bitch?”

“Nah, some of these fuckers had serious intentions.” I chuckle. “What about you?”

“My girl decided she wanted another man’s dick. I decided I didn’t want her to live anymore, so I cut her throat while she was sleeping.” I lift my brow and inhale my cigarette. He laughs. “I’m fucking with you, dude.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything if you weren’t.” I kinda laugh.

“I got into some bad shit as a kid and couldn’t stay out of trouble. Selling drugs and stealing,” he says. “You get caught doing the same bullshit over and over, you finally end up in this place.” He blows smoke from his mouth. “I’ve got to get straight, though. I’ve got a kid on the way.”

“Congrats.”

“’Preciate it. Let me know when you want to get started on those tats,” Rozz says. “And thanks for the smoke.”

“Sure thing.” I nod.

***

I’m sitting in the visitation room waiting for Landon. Wringing my hands and looking down at my healing tats, my eyes go to the door when people start to walk in. When I see the beach boy, I stand up and walk over to him.

“What’s up, brother?” I say as I take his hand in mine.

“Damn, dude, you’re getting swole,” he replies, gripping my hand before he pats my back.

“The fuck else am I going to do in this place?” I ask, smiling and taking a seat.

“Someone’s doing your arms?” he asks, looking down at my new tattoos.

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