by Lisa De Jong
“Damn, Mrs. Honeycutt is sexy,” I heard DeAndre whisper as I walked away. “Look at that ass. She’s a MILF if I ever saw one.”
“Hell yeah,” agreed another guy, whose voice I didn’t quite recognize. “I bet she’s good in bed.”
Chris put them in their place. “Shut up, asshole. Have some fucking respect.”
“Yeah, dumbass. Show some respect,” Greg echoed.
I ignored the exchange and kept walking toward Val’s office. Working with a bunch of hormonal teenage guys, I accepted the fact that inappropriate comments just came with the territory. I didn’t base my self-worth on the antics of a few pubescent boys.
“Good morning, Salem,” Val greeted me when I popped into her doorway.
“Good morning, Val. I just came to get the details of our newcomer.”
“Oh, great,” she said, as she pushed her glasses up onto her nose and began shuffling through some papers on her desk. “Here it is.” She handed me a folder.
I opened it up and glanced at the picture. A cute kid with freckles looked way too serious for his age in the mugshot. “Wow, he looks young.”
Val nodded. “Twelve years old.”
“Oh my…” my voice trailed. “Assault. Robbery. Drug Paraphernalia.”
Val nodded empathetically. “They seem to get younger and younger these days.”
“No kidding. When does he arrive?” I asked.
“A little after lunch,” she replied.
“Okay, so I have some time to join the guys in the rec room. I’ve learned that we have some of our best group therapy sessions when we’re shooting hoops.”
“Glad to see you’re getting your guys to open up. How has it been, coming back after maternity leave?”
A sharp stab of guilt shot through my conscience. “Fine. Everything has been just fine,” I lied.
No, really. I’m fine. Really, I tried to convince myself. Never mind the fact that Alexis screamed in the backseat all the way to daycare this morning, and my nerves were shot before I’d even finished my first cup of coffee.
Val smiled, completely fooled. “Great! Glad to hear it. Okay, well I’ll see you at intake a little after lunch then.”
“Sounds good. See you then.” As I stepped out of her office, the door clicked behind me. I leaned against the cold, beige wall, out of her sight.
Taking a few deep breaths, tears formed in my eyes. I’m fine. Everything is fine. Nothing is wrong. I just need to get back to the boys. They’re expecting me.
I walked to my office and dropped the folder on my desk. Stepping out of my heels, I slipped into my sneakers. Time for a little mindless activity. Get your head in the game, Salem. Literally and figuratively.
I waited for the guards to slide open the big metal door to the rec room. It was a lot like a high school gymnasium, but without bleachers. Just a big open room with basketball hoops.
“She’s here!” I heard Malik shout as the door buzzed, indicating that it had been unlocked.
Officer Harris slid the door open. “Here you go, Mrs. Honeycutt.”
“Thanks,” I said, stepping into the room. The echoes of the basketballs bouncing off the walls and the squeaking shoes against the newly polished floor rang in my ears.
“Think fast!” Malik said as he tossed the ball in my direction.
I caught it and tossed it back immediately. “Think faster,” I joked.
Malik laughed and dribbled off toward the basket, shooting a layup. I rebounded the ball and shot one myself.
“Nice shot!” DeAndre congratulated me from across the room. He ran toward us and tried to steal the ball from Malik.
“No way.” Malik darted away from him, passing the ball to me.
I took a shot. “Whooo! Nothing but net!” I shouted the instant the ball swooshed through the hoop.
“Wow, Mrs. H!” Malik sounded impressed. “You got skills.”
Before long, a little game of three-on-three started.
We were all playing, laughing, sweating, and having a blast. Thank goodness I’d worn my slacks instead of the skirt that I’d been considering that morning or I wouldn’t have been able to join them. I loved hearing the boys cut up; it was such a refreshing feeling. Given their situation, watching them let loose and really enjoy themselves was such a pleasure.
I sank another three-pointer over Toombs’s guarding hands.
DeAndre pointed at him and covered his mouth, feigning shock. “Oh shit!” he teased, doubling over in laughter. “Toombs just got schooled by a girl!”
Toombs grimaced, taking two long strides across the floor toward DeAndre. “What the hell did you just say, punk?” Clenching his fists by his side, his stony expression exuded bottled rage.
Toombs was a big guy—a kid that no one dared to cross. Toombs was actually his last name. His first name was Shaun, but no one ever called him that. Toombs seemed to fit his personality better anyway—quiet and somber. He wasn’t the shy kind of quiet, but the dangerous kind. He even kinda freaked me out sometimes.
“Hey, Toombs,” I said gently, trying to diffuse the ticking time bomb, “it’s okay. No big deal. He was just teasing. Right, DeAndre?” I looked at DeAndre pointedly, hoping he’d follow my lead.
Fully aware of the consequences, but having learned early not to let guys bully him around, DeAndre ignored me and stood his ground against Toombs. “That’s right, asshole. I said you just got schooled by a girl.”
Other boys began surrounding us. They knew a fight was about to break out, and a lot like the adult prison environment, certain boys created certain alliances. They protected each other like tight-knit gangs.
“Come on, guys.” I tried another approach. “You don’t want segregation, do you?” Segregation was the worst kind of punishment in juvie. It was a ward where disorderly inmates were kept. They spent twenty-three hours a day, alone, in a small cell, with no interaction. It was maddening, and most guys who spent time in segregation vowed never to do anything that would send them back there again.
But, Toombs’s anger had already passed the point of no return. His twitching jaw and flared nostrils were an indication that things were about to get ugly. I put my hand on his shoulder in an effort to calm him down.
“Shaun Toombs!” Officer Blevins’s voice boomed from across the room as he stalked toward us in authoritative fashion. “Stand down now!”
“Don’t do it, Toombs,” I said soothingly, but it was too late.
Toombs jerked from beneath my consoling touch, and swung his fist, narrowly missing me and hitting DeAndre square in the jaw.
Suddenly, as if I were in the agitation cycle of a washing machine, I was being pushed and shoved and jerked around by all of the other guys, who had immediately jumped into the fight.
Boys were throwing punches and spewing profanities, while I felt like I was caught in the middle of rioting mosh pit, getting jostled and stepped on like a rag doll.
An elbow connected with my head and I tumbled to the ground. Intense pain immediately pulsated across my face. Stomping feet and kicking legs closed in around me. I couldn’t stand up. I was tangled in a sea of angry limbs. Out of nowhere, a set of hands grabbed me and pulled me to safety, away from the calamity.
As soon as I was placed gently on the ground and out of harm’s way, I glanced up.
Chris held me by my shoulders. “Oh my god, Mrs. Honeycutt, are you okay?” he asked. Concern filled his voice as he glanced angrily at the boys who’d caused my pain.
My eye throbbed, and my head pounded. The metallic taste of blood was on my tongue.
“Oh, shit. You’re bleeding,” Chris said, distraught, looking around for something to wipe the blood. Using the sleeve of his jumpsuit, he carefully dabbed the blood off my chin, careful not to cause me more pain.
“I’m okay,” I assured him, swallowing back the blood that pooled in my mouth.
Just then, what seemed like a battalion of guards rushed the scene and broke up the brawl, dragging disorderly in
mates away in shackles.
Officer Blevins rushed over to us. “Salem! Are you okay?” he asked, as he squatted beside us. Barry normally didn’t use my first name in front of the inmates, but in this case, he was my friend first.
I nodded. “I’m fine. A little shook up, but I’m okay.” My hands were shaking and my heart was pounding in my chest.
“I tried to get to you, but it was too late. Thanks for getting her out, Chris,” he said gratefully, patting him on the back.
Chris nodded with a pale face, seemingly in shock. “She’s bleeding.”
“She’ll be okay. I’ll take it from here, son,” Barry told him.
Abruptly, Officer Harris stalked over and clamped handcuffs on Chris’s wrists, dragging him away.
“Wait,” I called out. “He didn’t do anything.”
“Sorry, Salem,” he apologized. “Everyone here must go to segregation until we can sort this mess out.”
“How long?” I asked panicked, knowing how unhinged a person could become in solitary confinement.
Officer Harris shrugged his shoulders. “That’s not been determined yet, but at least overnight. Maybe several days. Chief Sawyer will probably have to review the tapes.”
“No!” I shouted. “I’m telling you. Chris didn’t do anything.” This is so unfair.
“Sorry, ma’am,” he apologized, pulling Chris toward the exit.
Chris’s shoulder sank in defeat.
“I’m sorry, Chris,” I called after him. “I’ll get you out, okay?”
Chris simply nodded, hanging his head. He shuffled his feet as the officer escorted him across the scuffed floor of the rec room.
“We have to get him out, Barry,” I pleaded. “He didn’t do anything.”
Barry patted my shoulder. “I know, Salem. We will. I’ll do what I can.”
Barry helped me to my feet and ushered me out the door. I walked into the ladies’ restroom and looked at myself in the mirror. As suspected, the bruising around my eye was already beginning to show. My gums had stopped bleeding, and thankfully it looked as though no damage had been done to my teeth.
“Got yourself a nice little shiner,” Val pointed out, as she stepped out of the stall and saw my face in the mirror. “You need to let someone from the medical staff take a look at it.”
“I will,” I told her. “I’m headed that way next.”
In the meantime, I needed to put a bug in her ear about Toombs. “By the way,” I informed her, “Shaun Toombs needs some serious anger management intervention. He’s a ticking time bomb.”
“I’m working on a referral. We should get him into a specialized psychologist soon.”
“Thanks. He needs it,” I said, thankful that the process had already been started. It wasn’t the first time he’d snapped over something minor. He carried a major chip on his shoulder. I’d had him escorted from group therapy sessions a few times before when he was threatening some of the other guys. I wasn’t a psychologist, but I would’ve almost bet money on an Oppositional Defiant diagnosis.
Val nodded as she rinsed her hands under the cold water. “Hopefully we can push the paperwork through and get him to see someone sooner than later.”
“Thanks,” I said, pumping soap into my hand from the dispenser.
Val finished drying her hands on a paper towel and left the bathroom. I stood there, rinsing the soap off and staring at my reflection. In some ways, I had failed Toombs. As his counselor, it was my job to help him on his road to reform, and at that point I saw none. In my training I had learned that no matter what you did, there would be some kids that you just couldn’t change. Knowing that lesson didn’t make the reality of it any easier. I was failing him, and there was a likely chance that Toombs would spend his entire life in and out of prison. Tears glossed my eyes. My heart broke for the boy inside Toombs that had been failed as child—by his parents, by his school, by society. What had happened to him to cause him to lose control of himself like that? Deep down, Toombs was a kid who just needed love—a kid who had been painfully neglected throughout his life. One black eye wasn’t going to cause me to give up on him. I left the bathroom feeling more determined than ever.
****
Later that afternoon, I stood in Officer Blevins’s office.
“A week?” I cried, slamming my palms on his desk.
“It’s the best I could do for Chris. Toombs got two weeks.”
The boys would be delirious by the time they got out. “That’s too long, Barry! Even for Toombs, that’s too long. That’s two weeks of missed opportunities for counseling and for group therapy. There has to be another option.”
Officer Blevins shrugged his shoulders apologetically, “Sorry, Salem. I don’t make the rules.”
I glared at him. I didn’t want to be mad at him, and deep down I knew I wasn’t. I was mad at the system and was just taking my frustration out on him. Reining in my emotions, I folded my arms across my chest. “I know,” I huffed, marching out of his office.
I made a beeline to the segregation ward and saw Officer Douglas staring at his computer, accessing live video surveillance from each boy’s room.
He glanced up from the screen. “Oh, hey, Mrs. Honeycutt,” he greeted me. “Whoa. What happened to your eye?”
“Oh, I just got caught up in that little fight in the gym.”
Officer Douglas nodded his head. “Oh, yeah, Officer Blevins was telling me about that. I didn’t realize you were caught up in it though. Sorry to hear that. How can I help you today?”
“I need to see Chris King,” I said coldly.
Officer Douglas shook his head. “Sorry. No can do. Chief Sawyer’s orders. The boys are on twenty-four hour lockdown right now. Come back tomorrow.”
I knew he was just doing his job, but I couldn’t help feeling frustrated. “Dammit,” I hissed under my breath. Whirling around, I stomped out of his office and with a strong look of determination, I called over my shoulder, “You bet your ass I will.” The echoes of my heels, as they clicked down the hallway, pounded in my already throbbing head.
****
Graham questioned my black eye when he got home that evening. I explained it away, claiming a mishap. I guess technically it was an accident because I don’t think any of the guys meant to elbow me in the face. I was just standing in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Officer Blevins vowed that a fight like that wouldn’t happen again. He’d promised to pull extra guards during rec time to help maintain order until things settled down, or until Toombs got transferred. Graham spent the evening questioning the validity of my story, but by the time we went to bed that night I felt sure I’d convinced him that it was a just stroke of misfortune.
****
“Holy shit!” Chris cried when I slid open the tiny window of his segregation door the next day. He rushed over to the window, his face inches away from the slot. Stunned, he sputtered, “Mrs. Honeycutt…your eye!” Then, he furrowed his brow with disgust. “I can’t believe those guys did that to you.”
“It looks a lot worse than it feels,” I assured him.
He grimaced. “Damn, it looks painful.”
“It is a little, but I’m okay.” I smiled, attempting to curb his low-boiling rage.
His voice was low with repressed fury as he grumbled, “I swear, when I find out who did that to you—”
“You’ll do nothing,” I interrupted, “because if you do, you’ll land yourself right back in this place. What’s done is done. It’s been handled.” I stared at him through the small sliding window that was barely large enough for a cafeteria tray. I could see his eyes, narrowed with constricted pupils—an indication of the intensity of his anger. “How are you doing in there otherwise?”
He reached up, gripping his head and tugging at his hair with frustration. “I’m about to lose my fucking mind,” he groaned, glancing around at the barren, white cement block walls.
“I know. I’m working on getting you out sooner.”
&nbs
p; “Thanks. I can’t take the silence. My mind is going crazy in here. I’m about to lose my shit.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, sympathetically. A week was way too long for these kids who already have a tendency to remain on edge.
“I feel lost in here, but seeing you helps.” Creases formed in the corners of his eyes as he smiled.
I smiled back. “I’m glad I can help.”
“Me too,” he said wistfully. “You have no idea how much.”
I remembered the mornings that I fought to climb out of my bed, to climb out of the dark recesses of my depression, and to put one foot in front of the other to get through each day. Just last night I’d been up four times with Alexis. I could barely hold my eyes open on my way to work that morning before my coffee kicked in, but I knew the minute I walked through the door, my world would brighten because these kids would breathe life into me, not suck it out.
“Yeah, I do have an idea…” I admitted.
We stared at each other. Chris’s dark eyes penetrated mine, and it seemed as if in that moment he understood me.
“I’m going to get you out,” I said earnestly.
“Pinky swear?” he pleaded, resorting to the ultimate promise from his childhood with desperation in his voice.
“I pinky swear.” Sticking my tiny finger through the slot, Chris wrapped his own finger around mine. A pulse of determination shot through my body the minute he touched me. Come hell or high water, I will be getting him out.
“Thank you, Mrs. H,” he whispered, hopeful.
I walked away knowing that we connected in that moment, bonding on the same level. He was a lost and broken teenager who just needed someone to understand him—to really hear him. I was a hollow shell of a person who just needed a beacon of hope, a possibility for something positive. Together we complemented each other’s needs.
****
The grocery store was packed that afternoon. Every aisle felt like a maze of carts. It had been a long day and I just wanted to get in, get out, and be done with it. Alexis slept peacefully in her car seat in the big basket of the cart, which meant I’d only have enough room for a few items. I zipped through the aisles as fast as I could, grabbing things off the shelves from my list.