Will we get out by Christmas? The 34 of us bused here hundreds of miles from the prison near our families to this faraway prison where we know no one already did Thanksgiving in Covid Quarantine, and that was more than enough to make us feel like gum on the bottom of a shoe. My cellmate rolled over the other day, looked at me as I paced the room (212 laps wall to wall is about a mile) and said, “Cellie, I’m gonna need you to do me a favor. Any time I wake up, you just go UFC on me and choke me out, okay?”
The days are mind-numbing, unless you are one of those guys who can somehow sleep 18 hours straight. There are only so many push-ups, squats, and wall sits to be had. Though I know only the rudiments of the game, I spent four hours constructing a chess set out of white paper, envelopes, and a brown paper bag. No ruler, no scissors, no glue, except from the envelope flaps. I folded, creased, tore pieces of paper, and then -- using old napkin-folding skills from my days as a waiter more than 30 years ago, mixed with pseudo-origami techniques -- fashioned unique 3-D forms to distinguish the different shapes of the pieces. Wetting the flap of an envelope allowed for a bit of adhesion when and where necessary. Coloring 32 squares for the board was the hardest part, using a 3.5 inch fake-lead rubber pencil. Since I’m no grand master, making the set was more fun than playing, but I’m getting better, even won a few times.
The guys next door made playing cards. Two doors down a guy dubbed himself “Young Covid” and started rapping. I don’t know if he’s actually getting better or if I’m losing my mind completely, but he’s starting to sound pretty good. I had plans to ride his coat-tails to fame, but my lyric-writing career ended abruptly when I suggested the word “Ovid” to rhyme with “covid”. Silence on the block. Can only imagine the looks.
After the failure of my rap career, I had to find other diversions. That’s when I started the “War Against the Orange Fuzz.” Our clothing, sheets, blankets, and towels are all bright construction cone orange. They shed fuzz faster than a golden retriever in the summer. Using a wash cloth under my shower shoes, I more or less skate around the room collecting fuzz. I then sweep it into a pile with a brown bag, pick it up with toilet paper, and flush it. If I did this hourly, there would still be fuzz. I imagine the cells of some of the lazier guys; they must wade knee deep through the stuff. The other day I sat and watched a section of the floor. Thinking, there must be some point of initial arrival of fuzz, and I wanted to see it happen. Nope! Empty one minute and in the blink of an eye – Fuzz!
My cellie sleeps through it all, blissfully unaware of the sacrifices I make for our nasal-sinus-olfactory health. In fact, my cellie sleeps through almost everything. Not a bad strategy, come to think of it, but I don’t see how he does it. In all honesty, he is rarely awake for more than two hours at a time. I have to wake him for count times, for meals, for meds…. It’s to the point now that the nurse comes to the door, taps, says my name, and just points to sleeping beauty!
Although we don’t always have clean clothes to change into, the shower is probably the best diversion. It gets hot and has no time limit. Forty-five minute showers are not uncommon, three times a day. Just think of it, killing 2 hours and 15 minutes in a hot shower every day. Hah – just when you were feeling sorry for me! Bit jealous now?
Other than my physical training that keeps me in shape for my duties as squad leader in the Anti-Fuzz Brigade, my patrol hours, showering, and baby-sitting my generally comatose cellie, the only other thing I do is hope that today may be the glorious day when the mythical representative from Education shows up with books! I’d read anything at this point – an Amish Romance Mystery? I’m in!
Well, off to do my rounds. Orange Fuzz has again infiltrated the perimeter. I HAVE NOT YET BEGUN TO FIGHT!!
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