At the age of six, my mother died. I was taken away from the safety of protective custody and placed into general population. Right away I knew that this area of the prison was different. It was dirtier, more dangerous. Two uniformed guards escorted me to my new cell. My new home. The other inmates leered at me and shouted obscenities as I walked past. I was the smallest, weakest person in the entire prison. Hands stretched out at me between the cell bars as I walked past, reaching for me. These were men with nothing to lose. Many of them would have beaten me to death for no reason but to pass the time. Others would have done worse things. Never in my life did I feel more helpless.
I clutched my stuffed bear Osito to feel safe. It felt like I was walking forever, a never ending hallway inside a cage. The hall seemed to get narrower, the outstretched hands seemed to get closer, and the taunts became more vulgar. Some of these men hated me for spending my infancy in protective custody while they suffered in general population -in their eyes I was unfairly born into privilege. Some of the men just wanted to attack somebody weaker than them -I have learned that this is a universal constant. The strong destroy the weak because that is the nature of the world. And some of these men were just mad and depraved, their motivations lacking any reason or forward thinking.
Finally I reached my cell. I sat in my new bed with Osito trying to process everything that had happened the last few days. My mother was dead. The warden and doctor showing me nothing but complete indifference. Now I was in general population expected to live amongst these monsters who had been reaching for me, taunting me. I sat in my bed shaking. The room was cold, far colder than my old room near the infirmary.
I thought of Zombie, the janitor and the only person who had ever shown me compassion. I wondered what he was doing right now. Would things have been different if Dr. Ruger had listened to Zombie and seen the signs of my mother's declining health? Would he have been able to save her? Would he have even cared?
After several minutes, I noticed the sound of breathing that was not my own. I took one last breath and hid myself under the covers. While I held my breath, the sound of the other man breathing continued, a nasty steady wheeze. Finally, I found the courage to peek from beneath my blanket, and look towards the sound. The breathing came from the cell next to mine. A man was leaning against the bars peering at me. He was bald and fat, with a chest full of hair and sweat glistening from his skin despite the cold. A gold chain dangled from his ear to a ring in his nose. His eyes were cruel. I knew he was evil.
"Come closer," he beckoned to me. "Do not fear me, I will protect you from the others."
I didn't come closer. Instead I clutched Osito tighter and tried to shut his words out. I couldn't.
"In this place you must have friends," he continued. "We will become good friends tomorrow," he promised me.
Only after the man retreated back into the shadows of his own cell did I dare to breathe again. My eyes welled up with tears again for the first time since my mother died, -and again I refused to cry. My mind was racing -what did this man want with me? What would he do to me? I closed my eyes and tried to will myself to die in my sleep.
The next morning I woke, and felt a wave of despair wash over me that I did not die like my mother. My cell door was opened and I was told to go downstairs to the mess hall for breakfast. I gripped Osito, he would come with me. I was in the adult world now, and Osito was my only friend. Slowly I made my way towards the stairs. Other men were wandering about, and unlike yesterday, nobody was paying much interest to me, the boy with a stuffed bear. Perhaps they were still tired from a restless night? Perhaps they had their fill of cruelty from taunting me yesterday? Perhaps the only thing on their mind right now was breakfast. I allowed myself a moment to relax a little. Perhaps my new life in general population would not be so bad after all.
Before I reached the stairs I felt a hand grip my shoulder. I turned around and swallowed, hard. It was the man from last night, the man from the cell next to mine! He was closer now and he was touching me. I could smell the stink coming from his body as he pulled me toward him into a hug.
"We will become friends today, eh?" he sneered reminding me of his promise from last night.
I froze, unsure of how to respond. His eyes bulged as he leered at me, and smiled his perverse grin. He leaned down towards me, the stink of his breath even worse than the smell of his body.
"You would like to work for me, would you not, child?" he whispered to me.
I was too scared to respond. After a few terrifying moments of being stared down by this man, another voice responded to him. A low gravelly voice, so unlike my own.
"The boy does not want your filthy hand on him Puerco," said the second man, addressing my tormentor by name.
"What business is it of yours, eh?" Puerco responded, his hand still gripping my shoulder.
"Everything on this block is my business," the second man responded.
Puerco's grip on me loosened and I was able to turn to see my savoir. He was a large man, his chest was broad and his arms were thick. His face was ugly, by far the ugliest man I'd seen my life. He had small piercing eyes, and a large flat nose that had been misshapen by years of violence. He towered over Puerco, in some ways he was even more terrifying.
"Release him," the man demanded.
"He's mine, Trogg!" Puerco screamed back, refusing to let me go. "One so small as this can slip beneath the notice of the guards. He will be useful to me."
Trogg would not back down. He stepped forward. "I said release him!" His swung his fist forward, slamming it into Puerco's chin in a vicious uppercut.
Puerco stumbled back, but he still gripped my shoulder. He groaned from the punch, then collapsed. His gigantic weight pushed me toward the end of the landing. As Puerco fell, his shoulder slammed into my gut. My head smacked against the railing and I lost my footing.
Pena Dura was not built with children in mind. The railing would support an adult, but a small child could slip through the bars. As I lost my footing, I tumbled and reached up to grab something -anything. I screamed in panic as the realisation hit me. In the scuffle, I'd been pushed between the bars of the railing and had fallen from the platform. I was falling for three stories. I remember the ground rushing up at me. I don't remember the impact of hitting the floor below.
