Westwood Point

Part 1

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Yet another thud.

I spring up from my bed with a sense of angry urgency, and opened the window shades, to reveal sunlight pouring in intrusively to my bedroom. I see one rock on my part of the roof.  I looked down to see two familiar cars parked on the curb. Two Buicks. Damn those Buicks. But not because of what they were, but who they belonged to. Latton and Strey Johnston.

The Johnstons are a rich couple on the other side of Westwood that always feuded with my family, the Clayborgs. We live in poverty and have for two years prior, making us the spectacle of rich families. How they got there no one knows, but they were there, throwing rocks at my window. I opened my window so they could hear me.

"What the hell are you doing?!" I yelled down.

Like cockroaches to a light, they scattered, got back into their Buicks, and they drive off. My mother, and younger brother Daniel walk into the room and they see the scratched up window.

"Michael..." She says to me, "I thought you would stop taking your anger out on things.."

"It was Latton and Strey again," I reply, "Stupid ass parents need to actually know where they are instead of going to ballroom dances and stuff."

Daniel looked silently down at the floor. Daniel was the quiet type the majority of the time. For a 18 year old, he's not very ambitious. He's so quiet spoken, almost like he hides something, but that's not Danny. Never.

Mom exhales as my other brother Brian comes in and taps me on the shoulder to hand me a note. 

"You got this yesterday," Brian says, "San Quentin got back to you about the guard job."                    

I opened the envelope containing these mere transcripts of my future and saw upfront, in bold faded green letters stamped: "A CCEP TE D."                                                                                                         

 Under notes, it stated that since I completed courses from when I worked as a municipal police officer in Westwood, I qualify for a job at San Quentin as a guard around the main prison population. The end of the week, I should have around $882. Enough to get us out of the hole and out of this dump of a town. 

The next day I have decided to go to orientation at San Quentin. 

On an old dusty country road, I drive along in my old Jeep. Twisted dry trees creeping around eachother, rocky roads hissing under the rubber tires, hazy rain coming up from the West. Until Eventually, I see two lookout towers rising above a tall series of buildings. San Quentin.

I eventually reached a tollbooth with two guards and a gate. Both had AK-47s strapped around, and I opened my window for instructions.

"Step out of the car, sir." One of the guards said.

I eagerly stepped out of the car as the other guard directed me to the booth. 

"Are you visiting someone today?" Asked the guard.

"No, I was accepted to be a guard here." I replied.

"Ahh, I remember, SQG-23 then. Right this way." He motioned for me to step out of the booth.

"Car's clean." The other guard said. "Park it and we'll send someone to let you in."

I got back into my car and I turned the corner into general parking. Every step towards those two iron double doors were echoing. 

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

and as I got there, another guard was there and looked at my badge labeled "INTERN".

"Rookie, aye?" asked the guard. 

I nodded.

"Come with me to the office." He says. 

I followed him down the well lit hallway to a white office. He sat down on his side and I sat down on a chair on the other side as he opened my transcripts on the desk. 

"You're Michael Clayborg, right?"

"Yes." I replied. 

"Okay...ch-ch-ch-ch..." He made a sound with his mouth as he was going over the portfolios.

"I'll let the warden know you're here, we can get you a uniform hopefully by the end of this week." He says, scratching his head.

He presses a button on the wall, and the loudspeaker turns on.

"Yes?"

"I have Michael Clayborg here sir, he's the rookie."

"Send him up."

The guard hands me a ticket with pen scrawled on it. It said "Room 1, 1st floor".

Down the hallway is room 1, the warden's office. a light is on the desk, and a man was sitting there. That man was warden Bill Bourbonnais. 

A name tag on his desk proudly displayed his name, "Warden Bill Bourbonnais, PhD"

"Ah, you must be Mr. Clayborg, have a seat." He motions to the chair opposite of him. 

I sit down without hesitation and nervously swallow.

"That guard you talked to downstairs in the office, that was Officer Tobias. He'd be your shadow guy." Says Mr. Bourbonnais, shuffling papers on his desk.

"Shadow Guy?" I questioned.

"That means you'll shadow him around and he'll show you what to do. Just be careful with the prisoners..."

As I walked to the cell tier with Tobias, Mr. Burbonnais's voice still echoed in my head.

"These are prisoners with no heart.  Don't ever mention you're a rookie around them...

...they'll take advantage of that" 

Tobias swiped a card on a iron door and a buzzer sounded for a second.

"Here we are. If you have any valuables in your pockets, remove them please and put them in this tray." Tobias warned as he held a plastic bin.

I put my wallet in it and slid it into the opening on the wall.

As we continued down the hall, the walls are barred cells. Men sitting on their bunk beds, looking down, some watching TV, and some playing cards with their cellmates.

"Every day, you'll come over here and sign off on the check list." Says Tobias, motioning to a clipboard on the wall at the end of the hallway. 

"Any questions?" Asks Tobias.

"When can I start?" I ask.