All Shapes and Sizes

“Bob, do you want my pillow?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? I don’t really need mine…”

“No, thanks, I said I’m good.”

“Ok, well, if you change your mind, let me know.”

“I will.”

A pause.

“Bob, I know that this thing you have now is bothering you but we’ll get through this.”

“I know.”

“I mean it Bob! I’m here for you and whatever you need, you just let me know.”

“I will.”

“Even my pillow!”

“Thanks.”

“So how did it go with the doctor today?”

“Ok.”

“Just Ok?”

“Yes, just Ok.”

“Well what did the doctor say?”

“The doctor said I am fine and will continue to be fine for a long, long time.”

“But what about the pain in your leg?”

“Well they’re investigating but they say its not life threatening.”

“But you’re in pain Bob…”

“Yeah,” shrugging.

“So what are they doing about that?”

“What they can, I guess.”

“Can’t they get drugs for you?”

Bob’s brow furrows slightly, his eyes narrow ever-so-slightly.

“You know the answer to that.”

“Well, I’m concerned, I’m scared, and I don’t like it.”

“I’m the one in pain, remember?”

“I know! That’s what’s crazy! I’m scared shitless and you don’t give a fuck, Bob!”

Bob turns over slightly.

“Hey! Be quiet! It’s late!”

“Oh is that it, Bob? Changing the subject again?”

Bob returns to his original position and leans a few degrees closer to face the wall.

“Look, can we just go to sleep and talk about this tomorrow?”

“No, I wanna talk about this now, damn it!”

“I said, quiet down!” a low thundering grumble threatening lightning.

“Ok, I’ll quiet down, but you tell me why you don’t seem to care about this? Why you don’t tell me what the doctor says?”

“Ok, fine. Urgh! I hate this, damn it! Errr…Ok…” mumbled, the frown a mental trench now.

A pause…

“Bob…”

Bob slowly sits up in bed.

“Yeah, look, this ain’t easy, I’m not built like you, I just can’t up and share what I’m ‘feeling’,” spitting the last word out of his mouth in haste, like a dirty, uncomfortable mouthpiece.

“It's ok, Bob, you can tell me. You know you can tell me anything.”

“Well, no, not really, I can’t,” blurted in exasperation.

“What?”

“Well, I can’t really tell you ‘anything’ because you overreact all the time!”

“No, I don’t!”

“Of course you don’t.”

Eyes rolling to the ceiling, but really desiring of heaven, wishing blue skies.

“Remember this afternoon when Matt and Carlos were here and they touched your stuff and you went ballistic!”

“They know they shouldn’t touch my stuff!”

“That’s not the point. The point is that you always overreact,” the trench turning in a canyon.

“No I don’t! And this is all beside the point! You’re supposed to tell me about the doctor, damn it!”

“Yeah, now’s who’s avoiding sensitive ‘issues’,” that same unsavory finale.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Bob!”

“Ok, ok, I’ll tell you about the doctor… So, he tells me that they’ve ran this test and that and they can’t find shit to explain why my leg hurts like a bitch all the time.”

“Yeah, you sort of alluded to that. What are the doctors here doing about it?”

“How the fuck should I know” throwing his arms up in pursuit of the runaway eyes – “I’m not the fucking doctor!”

“But you should know – it’s about your health first of all and second, you should ask questions!”

“Oh, I should ask questions now!” Oh, the sarcasm.

“Yes, obviously!”

“Right, so maybe next time I go to the clinic you can prepare a set of questions for me to ask the doc!”

Bob’s scores! Direct hit! A proud smirk worth more than what he stole crackles along his lips.

“That way you’ll get what you want!”

“What I want is for you to ask questions when you meet the doctor!”

“Sure babe, ask questions, noted,” deferentially. “Can we go to sleep now?”

Bob lies down and fluffs his pillow.

“No, I’m not finished with you Bob!”

Bob sighs, burrows his head in the pillow. He’s considering changing his mind and asking for the extra pillow offered earlier now.

“What is it now?”

“Well, whenever we have issues, you just shut down and stop talking and I have to pull your teeth out for you to talk to me.”

A muffled “So?” from the pillow swallowing Bob’s head.

“’So’? ‘So’? You think this is funny Bob?”

The ostrich lifts its head.

“Am I laughing?” more than half whispered but still very audible.

“Look, we’re not getting any younger. We live in this shit of a place and –“

“You call this living!?”

“Oh will you shut up! Stop being a freakin’ smart ass all the time! And we have little to show for it. I want to talk to you about our future.”

“Well considering our predicament…”

Bob rolls, faces the ceiling.

“After all this! Are you still going to be with me when we leave this place? Are you going to find someone better than me? More pretty?”

“Oh God! This again! I told you we’re together and that’s it. Stop fuckin’ worrying about it all the fuckin’ time! Seriously, this is getting on my fuckin’ nerves!”

“Answer me!”

“I’ve answered before but for the fuckin’ record, I’m with you, I’ll stay with you, and I’ll likely die with you too!”

Bob is sitting again.

“Oh now you have to get morbid on us! Why can’t you just say that you love me? Maybe get married?”

“Get fuckin’ real! Are you living in Disneyland or what?”

The canyon spreads across Bob’s entire face, a rugged terrain of disbelief and annoyance.

“What? You can’t say it?”

Bob inhales briskly. “Of course I can! I love you! THERE! But this marriage shite…! And I’ll tell you I love you when it feels right. It’s not something you can ‘command’ me to say when you need to hear it! Geez!”

Eye roll, eye roll!

“Right, never about me, always about you! And keep your voice down!”

“Oh, I give you what you want and you’re still bitching?

Bob splashes backward on the mattress.

“I’m going to sleep. Goodnight”

“I said I’m not finished with you Robert Powell!”

“And I said ‘goodnight!’” the smirk is back.

“Oh big macho man, strong silent type, I’m just going to keep nagging and nagging until you acknowledge me Bob!”

“Good night!”

Bob rolls over, fully faces the wall, and pulls the pillow over his ears.

“Maybe I’ll call your mom tomorrow to let her know what a brute she raised.”

The pillow emits a close approximation of “Good night!”

“Oh, better yet, I’ll call your son…”

The pillow is flying away, maybe looking for the eyes…

“DON’T YOU FUCKIN’ DARE!”

“Ah, sensitive spot! And keep your voice down!”

Bob leans over the side of his bed, looks down, canyons of annoyance running with bloodthirsty perspiration.

“My son has nothing to do with this. You leave him out of this or I’ll teach you!” says Bob’s wagging hand and pointy finger.

“Ok, I’ll leave him out of it but you have to stick with it!”

“What the fuck do you think I’m doing here? Sunbathing? Playing tennis?”

Bob grinds his teeth, wants to say more, a lot more…

“There we go with the smart ass comments again! I know you’re here, at least your body is, but I have trouble reaching your mind, your heart, your soul.”

“Oh will you cut the bullshit! I’m here and that’s good enough. This is what you’re going to get. If you want more, maybe we’re not meant to be together!”

Bob lays back down so that his puffing lungs can work more efficiently to support his frustration.

“I think we are meant to be together Bob but being together is more than sharing the same space, it means sharing thoughts and feelings!”

“Right, right, darling. You sound like a damn shrink!”

“Well these guys know what they are talking about… usually…”

“Obviously you don’t!” And Bob scores again!

“Why do you have to be so mean with me, Bob? I’m just trying to fix things…”

“Things don’t need fixing. I don’t need fixing.”

“Really? Are you happy Bob? Huh? Are you?”

“Well, yeah, I guess.” Bob silently giggles. “Why is that relevant?”

“Well, if you’re not happy it’s a clear sign that there are things to be fixed!”

“Where did you gobble this shit from? The counselor?” the giggle is now audible and persistent.

“Yes. So?”

“Oh come on, don’t go believing what these guys tell you.” An abrupt snort ends the giggles. “They’re paid to spew this bullshit on people and help you feel more guilty!” Lungs functioning at normal capacity and rhythm.

“It would be hard for me to feel more guilty… and what he said made sense. I’m not that naïve you know!”

“You just keep telling yourself that! Anyway, it doesn’t matter. What matters is – and this is what you said – US.”

Bob’s facing the wall again.

“We matter, not them, not what the doctors think, not what the counselor thinks, not what the priest or the Church think, not what my mother thinks, not what the rest of the idiots out there think. Just you and me Baby. Just you and me.”

“I like that Bob. But you’ve got to be open with me. Trust me. I’m there for you, you know…”

“Yeah, I know, thanks Babe and I’ll try to be better at this feelings stuff but you’ve got to be patient with me.”

“I will. I just get so frustrated from time to time but it usually passes quickly.”

“I know, I know.”

“I love you Bob!”

“I –“

The PA flares:

“Inmates 699073 and 783323, Robert Powell and Oscar Falthorne, be quiet. LIGHTS OUT! Keep talking and you’re both going to spend the rest of the week in solitary confinement!”

PT4/4/09

Prison Break

“Yo, yo, Mickey, what’s up my man?”

“Don’t you ‘yo yo’ me, motherfucker!”

“Yo chill dawg! What crawled up your skirt, huh?”

“What took you so long man, you’re like fifteen minutes late!”

“Ah man, you know, these surprise inspections and all. Don’t know what’s up with the warden these days but I hear there’s been a lot of those in other cell blocks as well…”

“Yeah, well, don’t make no mind to me. Just make sure you get here on time. I got other people to see, man!”

“I’m here now, man! Wanna do business or yap your mouth all day like my old lady?”

“Did anyone see you coming out here? Anyone follow you?”

“Naw, dawg, it’s cool, it’s cool!”

“No, it’s not cool, dipshit! If anyone catches us here we’re both way screwed!”

“I told you dawg, it’s cool! No one saw me or followed me! Sheesh!”

“Are you sure?”

“Fuck ya, I’m sure, man! Damn! Give it a rest man, or I take my goods somewhere else!”

“Oh yeah, like you could move stuff in here! You can’t do shit without me signing off on it, junior, and don’t you forget that!”

“Ya whatever, man”

“So do you have the materials?”

“Ya man, right here, two ounces of grade A Columbian powder ready for distribution! But…”

“But, what the fuck?”

“Well … see bro, the price has gone up.”

“What the fuck does that mean, the price went up? We had an agreement!”

“Ya, we had an agreement, man. But see these guys, they just won’t do it without an extra eight hundred.”

“Why the fuck would I pay more? This is ridiculous! I never should’ve brought you into this!”

“Yo chill man, it’s the way of the world, you know!”

“Yeah, the way of the world, like Dog eat Dawg?!”

“Look, this global economic recession is affecting everyone.”

“Why should I give a fuck about the globe! Just sell me my stuff, damn it!”

“Tell you what, should give a fuck about the globe because this stuff is affected by fluctuations in oil prices, which impact my guys’ transport costs, increased security measures because of the war on terror which require more payoffs, while products to refine the stuff is more controlled and policed so we have to hire internet wizards to order this without drawing attention. High overheads, man! Not to mention that inflation and unemployment are way up this year and our dollar is crashing in the currency market! All this makes this bag worth eight hundred more than what we discussed.”

A contemplative pause to let all those long words sink in and dissolve like Alcaseltzer in water.

“So, you still interested?”

“You little lying shit! This ain’t about recesses, inflammation and curries! This is about you!”

“Say what? You got your head so far –“

“I see your game now shit-for-brains! You want a bigger cut! That’s it, isn’t it?”

“You been dipping in your own stuff again, man? That’s just –“

“Oh yeah! You’re telling yourself that you’re not being given a fair slice of the pie. Yeah, yeah, you sit there thinking, ‘I’m the one taking the risk of moving the stuff and arranging for it to come in to this fine establishment. My services are worth more than the fifteen percent I was promised because I’m a greedy bastard.’ Getting warm?”

“Shee-it, if this wasn’t about business, it would be really funny, man…”

“You wanna hear funny, little man? Let me tell you funny. This guy walks in to a bar. He’s really broke and really thirsty. Very irritable. So he walks up to the bartender and pulls out a sawed-off twelve gauge shotgun. ‘Give me the money and that bottle of scotch,’ says the guy, pointing with the weapon. The bartender is startled and hesitates after raising his hands like the coward he is. The guy with the gun is really irritated now and still thirsty, so he pulls the trigger taking off the head of one of the patrons sitting at the bar. The bartender –“

“Where the fuck is this going man? You got people to see, remember!”

“I’m just getting to the good part. The bartender is now whimpering like a schoolgirl. The guy with the gun asks again, politely, ‘Give me the money and that bottle of scotch.’ The bartender hesitates again and another patron’s head explodes like an overripe tomato being microwaved at high. Then –“

“Ha, ha. What’s the fuckin’ punchline?”

“Ok shitbag, the punchline is that I’ve been here way longer than you, you fuckin’ muppet. You’re barely twelve in Dawg years and your face is still patchy with peach fuzz. You don’t get to tell me what to do! Ever!”

“Fine, I’ll just take my business somewhere else. But I’m guessing I won’t be doin’ that because you know what? You know you can’t get that shit from anyone else but me. So just bend over and take the deal, man!”

“I’ll take your stuff. I’ll pay you but only half a grand extra, nothin’ more. If this is how you do business, you can bet your black bootie that I’ll look for another partner. And trust me, when that day comes …-”

“Sure, you do that, gramps. In the meantime, that’ll be the new going price.”

“Wipe that smirk off your sorry excuse for a face! And I’ll be sure to let all my boys know that you’re responsible for taking their dough. But you, pull this shit on me again, you’ll –“

“Don’t you fucking threaten me, motherfucker! I still get you the best deal in this yard you can ever hope to get you little white hands on!”

“You just keep telling yourself that, 2Pac! But if you ever change prices after we got ourselves a gentlemen’s agreement, you could find yourself in a very – how shall I say? – delicate? Situation… Plenty can go wrong inside these walls!”

“Yo dawg, don’t go getting your white chicken feathers all ruffled up! It’s just business. And you should remember two things, you hillbilly F U C KKK. One, you ain’t no goddamned gentleman! And two, I’ve got insurance on the outside. Anything happens to me, man…”

“Christ, you’re walking the line, diaperboy! I own this place! This is my prison!”

“You may be the old dog in this place, yo, but when we get out, me and my homies, we own the streets. You feel me, biatch?”

“Oh I feel you, you little punk! I’ve come across your kind before. As a matter of fact, many in this place. But as your supervisor, I expected more from a fellow guard than to rob his colleagues. Now give me this shit, break finishes in ten minutes and I gotta be in Cell Block C when my shift starts.”

PT6/6/09