“Yes, Sir,” he said nervously. “Any health problems?” “He’s healthy,” Morris Anderson said. “No current problems from us,” Joyce Trenton said. She noted that he had been treated for unspecified distress a year before, but carried no psychiatric diagnosis at this time. He appeared no more mentally disturbed than any inmate new to this unit. This was a big unit with a bad reputation. It was old and ugly. The three or four colors of paint that coated the doors and window facings were peeling, leaving a tattered appearance. The office walls were abused from years of service. “You’ll work in the kitchen, Armand. Stay out of trouble and you’ll be fine,” the warden scribbled in the record and passed it to the captain. Morris Anderson and Joyce Trenton initialed the record. Joseph Armand exited the stuffy office. He was intimidated by the building, the officers, and the aura of this farm. He went to work as directed and did what he was told. He did not like the officers who took the field squad out. They were brash and loud, and he was afraid of them. Most of the other employees who ate in the dining hall were not offensive; they were not necessarily nice, but not too bad, either. He caused no trouble and tried to be inconspicuous. During his first week at work he learned the routine, became acquainted with his co-workers, and learned which wardens liked their eggs fried and which liked them scrambled. There were four wardens on this large unit. The head warden was regarded as Caesar. The three assistant wardens were addressed in like manner. Nobody ever actually fell on their faces in a prone position, but it was understood that officers, employees, and inmates did so in their hearts. Inmate Armand did a passable job until one day at the height of the breakfast rush. Two psychologists and two social workers were sitting together. Armand had waited on them. They were pleasant to him and he tried to do a good job. Breakfast was the only meal where food was ordered. Some things like gravy and oatmeal were on the line, but the eggs or pancakes were ordered from the kitchen. Armand admired the skill and grace of some of the other waiters. They carried trays and bus tubs with finesse. While he did the best he could, he knew he was somewhat clumsy. He cleared the table to the right of the psychologists and social workers. Just as he picked up the stack of dirty plates, the top one began to slide. He stepped sideways to catch it. He saw it falling as if in slow motion, but he could not regain the balance. He did not want his clumsiness to cause him trouble. The plate was plastic. It would not break, but still his heart stopped when he saw it. But it did not hit the floor. There was no bang, no clatter. It should have hit by now. Oh, please hit the floor. But it did not. The dirty, grease-smeared plate hit Dr. Robert Vernon, Chief Psychologist, and slid down his back stopping at his belt.
The psychologist looked stunned and froze in his chair. He smiled slightly not quite sure what had happened. Armand set the stack of plates down quickly and removed the offensive dish. He tried to blot the egg yolk from Dr. Vernon’s back, but it was impossible. The psychologists and social workers left the dining room laughing good naturedly while Armand, his self-confidence in shambles, retreated to the kitchen. Armand’s supervisor did not see the incident. Armand's whole security depended on knowing the rules and obeying them. Now his system began to crumble. The harsh realities of prison life grew sinister rather than just unpleasant. He dreaded going to work. What if somebody wrote a case on him for the incident? What if the psychologist said it was deliberate? They smiled at him as if they had a secret when they came to eat. They joked about the incident and pretended to avoid him when he cleaned tables. Some mornings no one from the psych department came to breakfast. He breathed a sigh of relief when his shift ended, and he had not seem them. A week passed and no case was written, no reprimand was issued, no punishment delivered. Was something worse waiting? Finally he could stand it no longer. On Sunday morning when the breakfast crew turned out for work at 5:00 A.M., he refused to go. He knew what would happen. Officers would come in and wave at him. They would want eggs and toast. They would ask him about his weekend and make jokes. Why did they do that? Was it a trap to lure him into breaking rules? The rules were his only defense. What if it happened again? What if he spilled coffee on a warden or a major? An officer escorted him to the infirmary. A nurse came.
"Armand is something bothering you?"
He did not answer "She knows," he thought. "She is baiting me."
She spoke again in gentle tones. "Armand, can we help you?" He could not tell what had happened. He could not describe the threat he felt in the dining room. His fear was evident to her. She called the on-call psychiatrist who authorized a transfer to the in-patient facility. Armand returned to the unit of assignment with a diagnosis of Paranoid Schizophrenia. He was on anti-psychotic medication. This had always worked before. He was confident that it would relieve him of working and greatly reduce his stress. The unit classification committee met in the assistant warden’s office. Everyone was there when he walked in. “Returning from the treatment unit? Did they help you out over there?” “Ye.. Yes, yes sir. I’m fine now.” His eyes wandered to the chair where Dr. Vernon sat reviewing the health record. He could not take his eyes off him. “Armand? Armand.” The warden's voice finally brought him back to the small cluttered office. “Yes sir,” he said. “He is restricted from long exposure to the sun because of the medication,” Dr. Vernon said. “Medical squad,” the warden said. “You’ll be working in the medical squad, Armand, with the field bosses. Get some fresh air. You’ll like that.” Dr. Vernon and the field captain were talking quietly. “Somebody told me you won the ballgame at the employees’ picnic. Must’ve been some hit.” “No, I just crossed the plate because Johnson dropped the ball.” The captain laughed. All Armand heard were the words “plate” and “dropped“ and the muffled laughter. Now Captain Wright would be watching him, harassing him, threatening him just like the psychologist had done. Going to in-patient treatment and taking the awful medicine had not done any good, after all.
© Copyright 2002 Come Fly with Me--Kiter (UN: ghaynes64 at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
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