Three Weeks in Hell

Chapter 3

Having learnt his lesson the hard way, the remaining few days of isolation passed in silence and every single minute felt like an eternity. Day six finally arrived and the correction officer unlocked the door to Callen's isolation cell and escorted him to the showers at 06:30. Clean clothes, toiletries and a towel were provided and ten minutes later he was taken back to the his cell in the main wing. At precisely 07:15, he was allowed breakfast in the dining area. Callen's first interaction with other youths after a week's isolation was uneventful. He sat at a table on his own and kept his head down, focusing on eating his food and drinking his juice. No one spoke to him and he spoke to no one. After breakfast, he and all the other boys returned to their cells. Classes started at 08:30 and Callen was taken to another room just past the recreation area. The classroom contained about twenty boys ranging in age from fourteen to sixteen. His social worker Miss Williams had advised during his first day that classes were made up of children of similar ages and abilities. Callen sat at the only free desk at the front of the room and slouched back, stretching out his legs. In the past three years he had barely attended school. He was moved so frequently that some social workers had given up registering him in local schools, although many foster families insisted on sending him. However Callen also had a tendency to play truant. School bored him; he had no friends, was always stared at as the 'new kid', and then bullied when he was discovered to be a ward of the state, living in foster care or children's homes. He had also been excluded several times for fighting and word soon got around the local schools as to who were the trouble-makers.

The male class teacher at Southgate was a middle aged man, wearing jeans and a checked shirt. He looked like he would rather be anywhere else than teaching a group of delinquents at a detention centre; an attitude that was mirrored by the facial expressions and body language of each boy in the room. Mr Jessop also exerted an air of authority that was instantly recognised by the class. He was a traditionalist, which in reality meant he would freely use a cane, ruler or a shoe to mete out punishments. A glare from him ensured that silence rapidly ensued, and Mr Jessop handed out packets to each boy, which that morning consisted of Maths papers. English would follow in the afternoon. Callen lazily opened the papers and glanced around him. Seeing most of the class settling down to work, Callen did the same, taking his time and doodling. Maths was a subject he could manage better in his head than on paper so he took to guessing how many minutes had passed, versus the time that had elapsed when he looked at the classroom clock.

A general assumption of Southgate was that the inmates were not as bright as children in the outside population. It was expected that they had learning difficulties or that they had missed so much school through poor behaviour they were perpetually playing catch up. The result was that Southgate had an apathetic attitude towards education; and that was reflected in their standards and their teaching, which consisted of the teacher making sure there was silence in class. There was little interaction or tutoring and therefore no real learning. After two hours, the boys were allowed a fifteen minute break before returning for another hour session that led up to lunch. After lunch there was a further hour and a half class. At 2:30pm, classes finished for the day and the youths were either taken to weekly group or individual therapy sessions or allowed supervised free time, indoors or outside.

That afternoon, Callen decided that outside may be better for his health than hanging around the recreation area after the events of his first day, and he sauntered through the door and leaned against the exterior wall of the building, breathing in the fresh air. He turned his face towards the sky and thought it was rather fitting that grey clouds covered the usual blue California skies; even the weather was depressed in this part of town.

The exercise yard was a reasonable size with a basket ball court marked out, rigid frames cemented into the concrete provided stability for the baskets and about a dozen boys were playing. Past the court was an expanse of grass, edged by tall mesh fences that were topped with razor wire. If the cell bars and constant presence of correction officers weren't enough to remind him he was a prisoner, the razor wire topped it off. Callen sighed and pushed himself off the wall, preparing to take a walk around the perimeter.