Last Hope

Living

Waking up every day, looking at the same walls and ceiling. Smelling the same stench, knowing its my own. These things make a man feel lots of things. I hadn't had a cellmate in two months now. I thought before I was brought to jail that I would have a good time with a cellmate, make friends. Was I wrong. My recent cellmate's Name was Rose. No one called him anything else, except the officers called him "Inmate". He told me not to call him anything. He said if I looked at him or talked to him, he would kill me. As a matter of fact, we got in a fight and I was put in the jail infirmary. Why do you think he is gone and I'm half-blind in my left eye.

The cell door lock clicked loudly in the middle of the night. The door swing open. "Canon! Wake up!" The words rang in my head while I sat up. "You have a new roommate." An officer in all black walked in the cell with a long haired blonde with skinny arms and a long neck. His build was a lot like mine, but his face was completely opposite. "Canon, this is Harold Kringle," said the officer, smirking. "I'm sure you two will get together swimmingly. Just don't get beat up by this one." The officer chuckled and shoved Harold into the cell and slammed the door locking it. Before I could say anything to him, he looked me in the eye as if he was high or half-dead. "Look, I don't want no trouble, I just wanna get some sleep," Harold said shivering. I nodded my head and got into bed after Harold did, just to make sure he wasn't thinking anything. This guy isn't trying to hurt me. Maybe we can get along.

The next day I woke up to the sound of the static of a radio. I looked up and Harold was leaning over the small desk in the corner tuning a radio. "What are you doing?" I asked. He looked at me and said,"I'm trying to find the news channel." He finally found the station. The same lady every morning. Her name was Cimone Cole. She got on air and would talk about things no one cared about.

During lunch there was another fight, a skinny fit white dude and a fat black guy. Normally, officers stopped the fight, but the only officer that was there was a woman and she was calling for back up. I looked down, shook my head, and ate my food.

Day after day, you would hear the *ding* then over an intercom, "Rec. starts at 6 after dinner, then ends at 7. Showers open from 8 until 9. Lockdown is at 9:30. If you are not in your cell when your officer gets to your cell, you will be punished." I have it memorized.

Its been three days and Harold hadn't said much to me yet. He looked quiet all the time.

At 11:10 at night, he finally said something after reading his mini bible. "So what's your name black boy?" Those words surprised me as I was taking a crap. "I'm Michael Canon." He turned the page. "Why you in here Michael?" "I killed someone. He killed my wife and son," I said. "I'm sorry," said Harold closing his book. "It's fine, I've been here 5 years. I don't care anymore." He looked at me funny. "That's fucked up man. Anyway I'm here for smoking crack while driving. Got in a wreck killed a woman and man." He looked at the ground and froze. He looked at his light blue jumpsuit. "I fucked up Mike." He sat on his bed and stared at the ground. "It's fine man, this is living now," I said to him, getting into my bed. I thought of being 28 and going to be in jail for the rest of life. Nothing would get me out of here. Is this really living?