However much Kell felt he’d just landed in some kind of prison movie, surreal and wobbly, he was glad to see the sun again and to get fresh air on his face after having been cooped up for three days.
He was used to being out in the open, used to being in constant motion, walking down a two-lane blacktop highway, his thumb out, humming tunelessly under his breath, or sitting in the corner of a boxcar that shifted and swayed beneath him while it slid along two metal rails.
On his journeys, there had been no real barriers to fresh air and sunshine. Even if it rained, or snowed, or the wind blew, all of that was preferable to being behind bars.
And yet here he was, behind a chain-link fence with a hundred guys he did not know and who might pose a threat. He’d never been in prison before, but he’d seen movies and TV shows that showed a harsh, unfair world where you might get shivved in the laundry room or raped in the library or forced to get drugs for your fellow inmates on pain of death. And that was typically on the first day, after which, more horrors awaited, and the prisoner might make it out alive but was completely transformed by his stay behind bars.
As for now, Kell intended to make the most of his time in the yard. He’d keep his wits about him for everything else that might come his way. He could brave his way through most of it, but his stomach was churning, both from the horrible breakfast he’d been served in solitary, and in anticipation of his fears coming true.
“Hey,” said a voice from behind him.
Kell turned, squinting into the sun as he looked up at a guy, a head taller than him, shoulders stretching the seams of his denim shirt. He had a buzz cut, his scalp pink between the dark hairs, and behind him were two guys with the same haircut like they were all part of a boy band but didn’t have any instruments.
“Hey,” the guy said again, accompanying the greeting with a smile. “You new? You look new.”
“I’m new,” said Kell, though a split second later he realized he maybe shouldn’t say anything about himself, only it was too late now.
“Got anybody?” the guy asked. He gestured to himself. “I’m Ryan and these are my boys, and if you don’t got anybody, I’ll step up for you.”
Kell’s mind looked at the words and at the three men, but he couldn’t make sense of the question or the statement.
“You look like you could use somebody. Ya know? I could be that somebody for somebody as pretty as you.”
Ryan moved closer, and the smile broadened, but it looked fake. As near as Kell could figure, he was being propositioned. He was also being offered protection from his own fears, both the ones he’d gleaned from TV and movies, and the other unnamed ones that lurked in the back of his head, back there where it was dark and shadows loomed.
“No, I’m okay,” said Kell.
He shrugged and put his hands in his pockets, shuffling off into a part of the yard where there weren’t any prisoners, where the gravel gave way to dirt, and that gave way to mud. Where it looked like something damp was oozing up through the ground, and his slip-on sneakers squished a little, making him slip a little.
Just the same, that was better than looking at Ryan’s pink scalp, wanting to make a joke about it, or tell him about the wonders of sunscreen. Neither would make Ryan happy, Kell had a feeling.
Looking back over his shoulder, he could see that Ryan and his boys were talking amongst themselves, so while they shot the shit, Kell moved all the way to the fence. Beyond it was a three-foot gap and another fence, also with razor wire on top of it.
He wasn’t escaping any time soon, but it appeared that his ninety-day sentence had just gotten a little more complicated than he’d anticipated.
There was nothing he could do about it now, as the buzzer rang, and all the inmates shuffled inside, getting in a long line, so Kell got in it, too.
The line turned out to lead into the dining hall, going past narrow metal boxes of silverware and a stack of plastic trays that had little indents in them. The indents were for food, and the staff behind the steamers slammed food into the indents as if each scoop was a fight against hunger and they, the main militia.
When Kell got to the end of the line, tray and silverware in hand, he looked out over the dining hall, wondering where he should sit.
In high school, at least the years he’d attended, lunchtime seating protocols were firmly entrenched. The bandies sat with bandies, the drug heads sat with drug heads, the poppy girls sat with poppy girls, and on it went.
Kell had usually sat with the track and field people, girls and guys both, though sometimes he sat with the brains, on account of his good grades, and nobody seemed to mind that. People had generally liked him in high school, but here, that was no longer a certainty.
What was a certainty was that Ryan was waving him over, like a popular kid being nice to the newbie for no reason at all.
Tightening his fingers around the edges of his tray, Kell pretended he’d not seen the wave, and looked for an empty spot. There was no way he was going to get this right, but he needed to sit somewhere, as the two guards at the wide door were eying him and a few inmates were muttering under their breath as they went past him, knocking his shoulder with theirs.
Kell sat down at the nearest table, ignored the swearing and the dirty looks, and ate his lunch. Or pretended to. It was all glop, tasteless and gray in one indent, over salted and cold in another. It was probably meant to be meatloaf and mashed potatoes, but it was like cardboard in his mouth and it was all he could do to get it down.
He missed his meals in solitary already, though at the time he’d balked at the sub sandwiches with their lettuce so wilted it was practically soup, and the mayo obviously fake. Kell had eaten better on the road, sifting through trash bins outside of grocery stores, or fast-food places, bumming money off passersby then taking that into a 7-11 for a pair of yesterday’s hot dogs, which were at least hot and tasted like something.
The puddle of fruit cocktail was equally unappetizing, but everyone around him was chowing down like they were at a five-star restaurant, so Kell didn’t suppose the food got any better. The inmates were eating because that’s what there was to eat.
Soon, maybe Kell would be hungry enough to do the same, but for now he nibbled at the edges of his tray and gratefully drank the milk, which came in a carton and was at least cold and tasted like milk.
Over the next few days, the food did not get better. After an afternoon shelving books in a dusty, unused library, dinner was Salisbury steak with mashed potatoes and more fruit cocktail.
