My head is
fuzzy like the feeling I get the morning after the night before, a night of
heavy drinking. I lie still for a while
before I open my eyes, listening, listening for clues, for sounds that will
tell me where I am. I was hoping to
feel the softness of my bed at home, the warmth of Hannah's sleeping body
beside me, the sighing of her sweet breath, the weight of a comforter. But instead I can feel a coldness
surrounding me and the mattress is hard and unyielding, the blanket, rough. There is a familiar smell in the air as I
take a deep breath, a smell I had long ago forgotten and hoped I would never
smell again. The smell of too many men
living too close together, the smell of metal and sweat and acid and stale
institution food. The smell of men in despair, men in pain, men with lost hope.
The smell of evil deeds, revenge,
drugs, bartering, cruelty and desperation. The smell of my vomit, my criminal past.
I know
where I am now.
2700 South
California Avenue. Hell.
I lie still
because I don't want to be noticed. I
don't want them to come for me again. The soreness of my throat reminds me that even the men who are in charge
hate me enough to try to choke me into submission, to tame me. Without looking I know I have burns from the
handcuffs, from where they dragged me across the floor by my hands and called
me names. I can't go to them for help
from the drug addicts, the HIV positives, the pimps, the murderers, the
psychopaths who are all out there waiting. They smirk and call me
"Pretty boy," and stroke me. I hide in the library, hide in the garden praying they won't find me and
damage me. I thought I was tough till I
came here. Here they try to force drugs
on you, if you refuse they beat you. I can feel the bruises, the aching joints
even now as I lie still in this bed. Lying still and trying to keep safe. My muscles ache from the effort and tears begin to prick at my eyes.
I try to
block out the image of a young man hanging from his trousers staring at
me, a look of surprise on his
face. Two suicides since I came here
and I wonder if I will be next. Sometimes I think taking my life would be the easy way out. Getting away before one of them finally
catches me and succeeds in taking me, raping me.
I am
worthless and abandoned.
Is this a waking dream?
.
Did they
catch me again? What have I forgotten?
I can hear
footsteps along the polished vinyl floor. I hear screams from the insane. I try to plug my ears, stop the sound from penetrating my consciousness,
hunch further under the blanket. There's nowhere to hide from the despair of others in here. No privacy, no safety. Someone is coming to get me and I have no
defense.
Please God,
let this be a dream.
