On the Razor's Edge by Paul Telegdi

Author:Paul Telegdi
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, hope, prison, rape, betrayal, lawyers, justice, redemption, despair, court
Publisher: Paul Telegdi

Chapter 23

“Orientation to Oyster Bay was harsh. The staff was rough, the style was military, and there was a lot of yelling and intimidation. The focus was on control, always on control. Intake was a series of do this and a whole list of don’ts. I wasn’t there ten minutes before my head was spinning.

“I was bum rushed through, searched, hair cut, deloused, and washed down, naked under a pressure hose. Somebody was always yelling, like in a boot camp. Loaded down, a bunch of us were led through the prison, aware of the many predatory eyes mustering us. One by one we were settled in cells and introduced to our cell mates. Mine was a big black man Otis, who on seeing me started swearing. ‘Shit, don’t give me a whitey... Please don’t stick me with a pale ass white trash bugger. What the fuck am I goin’ to do with him? He don’t even talk my language.’ In spite of that introduction, we got along by ignoring each other, pretending to be alone. And for the most part it worked. I learned to keep out of his way in the mornings when he was most irritable, and he never tried to engage me in any way.

“Life sort of settled down. Quickly I learned the routines and adjusted to fit in. I volunteered at the library and drifted into tutoring English, which kept me from having to do more menial tasks. Doyle and I became, well not exactly friends, but sort of traveling companions. He gravitated toward the white supremacists and soon was sporting one of their tattoos. I met other people but didn’t let them get close; mistrust was the basis of most relationships, and I had my own issues left over from Butch and his gang.

“Oyster Bay was for hard core convicts, serving time for major crimes, murder and assault. We were treated as vicious beasts and career criminals, none of which I was. Still, being thrown into the pool, it was amazing how quickly I soaked up the identity. How does it go? If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck... then it’s a duck. Well I soon became one of the ducks in the Oyster Bay pond.

“I was just settling in, and was congratulating myself for having found a crack that gave me a bit of space to breathe in, when I was cornered and raped by three men... but I don’t want to remember that. It happened to me, but had nothing to do with me: I was merely an object not a participant. Still, it was hard to live with the shame of it. That shook me up for quite a while and it took some time to recover some sense of self again.”

*****

Following the riots, tough new policies were instituted. Open door times were reduced to two hours in the morning and the same in the afternoon. Yard time was also cut in half, in smaller shifts. For most of the day the prisoners ended up in their cells, wondering what to do with the time.

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