The Jailhouse Blues Ch. 01

Never before, had I felt so angry. So outraged. So incensed. So uncontrollably enraged.

I launched myself out of the tubular-framed dark-grey canvas folding-chair.

But, it wasn't to belatedly obey prison officer Bella Donna's order to do so. It wasn't to obediently pass the seat through the cell's bars to her, so that she could sit down while she enjoyed watching prison officer Billie Jo partaking of Prisoners' Foot Service, as provided by my soul-crushed cellmate.

And neither, was it to respectfully stand, in the presence of prison officers.

No: It was to confront prison officer Billie Jo.

"No!" I yelled, my blood boiling in outraged, righteous fury, unutterably appalled at witnessing Ross's dire distress. And heartsick, at witnessing his devastating, unspeakable misery - yet more misery, caused by her!

"You can't do that!" I railed. "He's supposed to be getting out of here next week! A free man!"

"Not any more, he isn't, heh heh heh," chuckled prison officer Billie Jo diabolically. "I've got him for another month, now ... at least. Heh heh heh."

Prison officer Bella Donna opined, "Quite right, BJ. And I should think so, too. Disobedience needs to be punished, and non-compliance should always be nipped in the bud - or where would we all be? We will never tolerate it. Another extra month of intensive correctional tuition will do prisoner Chapman a world of good; especially under your personal guidance, BJ. Chastisement is the only sure way for prisoners to learn the errors of their ways - and to remember to always do exactly as they are told."

"All right, prisoner Chapman ..." said prison officer Billie Jo, carefully cupping the toes of her right foot around Ross's nostrils "... start sniffing."

"Y ... ye ... yes, Miss Billie Jo," said my distraught, soul-destroyed cellmate, between his uncontrollable, body-wracking sobs.

I saw Ross's lips compress into a thin, mouth-sealing line. And then the sounds of his foot-sniffing were quite audible as, exactly as instructed by prison officer Billie Jo, closed-mouthed he inhaled her under-the-toes foot scent.

Her human footrest obediently keeping his face statue-still for her, prison officer Billie Jo gave every appearance of being blissfully contented: The ball of her right foot, resting on the top of Ross's nose; the bottom of her heel, pressing firmly into the middle of his upper forehead; and her toes, cupping his compliantly inhaling nostrils, prison officer Billie Jo's grip and balance was thus assured and comfortable, as the tip of her e-cigarette glowed the same pale blue colour as her Greystone Prison uniform as she 'vaped'.

I just stood and watched the astonishing scenario, totally at a loss for words.

After what might have been a minute or two, prison officer Billie Jo looked down on Ross and snapped, "Now, prisoner Chapman, Foot-Cleaning duties! You know what to do: open your mouth, for me - and open wide. So I'll be all nice and comfortable, when I put my foot inside it. There's a bit more wiggle room in there for me, isn't there, prisoner Chapman, since I got rid of all of those pesky teeth?"

"Yes, Miss Billie Jo, there is more wiggle room for you," said Ross pathetically. "And, Miss Billy Jo, thank you. Thank you for this privilege. I feel very honoured, that you choose me to do this for you, Miss Billie Jo. Such a beautiful lady, as yourself. I ... I admire you, so much."

I could not believe my ears. Even now. Even after all that I'd heard so far.

Yet, I couldn't help but feel some sort of admiration for Ross, who even now was still grovelling brilliantly ... as it were.

Despite the unspeakably malicious, heinous cruelty of the devastating disappointment that prison officer Billie Jo had just inflicted upon him, somehow my cellmate was still holding himself together: refusing to respond further, to her malevolent goading; refusing to fall again, into another of her despicable traps.

For to do so would be a most disastrous folly - as Ross apparently realised - that would allow prison officer Billie Jo to recommend yet more prison time tagged onto his sentence. A catastrophic error, that would give her another excuse to go running to the Governor. A dreadful mistake, that would play right into her slyly manipulating hands, enabling her to further 'retain' him.

And, damn it all! Ross had come so close - to within just one lousy week - to his release from Greystone prison.

So much, then, I thought ... So much, for behaving yourself. And for keeping your head down. And for keeping your nose clean. And for being a model prisoner ... if the prison officers were only going to pull strokes like this!

But now, I could hardly believe my eyes, either ... When Ross opened his mouth, as wide as he was able, and prison officer Billie Jo began inserting the toes of her right foot into it; forcibly stuffing them all in ... Adding injury to insult.

I was aghast: Ross's mouth! His ruined, toothless mouth - his devastating dentistry!

I tapped prison officer Billie Jo on her shoulder, to protest. "Stop! You can't do this!" I yelled in her ear. "His mouth! It's - it's all—"

"Quiet, prisoner Lightwood!" snapped prison officer Bella Donna. "You are speaking out of turn. And, just as soon as we've concluded Foot Service proceedings here, I shall be reporting your behaviour to the Governor, and I'll be recommending that a second extra month be added onto your sentence. Now: pass me that seat, like I just told you."

Hell! I thought. That meant I was going to be stuck in this damn place, for five months now.

But, when I saw the contentedly 'vaping' prison officer Billie Jo angle the position of her foot in Ross's mouth more precisely, and then jiggle her foot, thereby causing my cellmate's eyes to suddenly grow all big and bright and woefully expressive - and moist; with fresh, big tears of pain now about to commingle with his tears of unspeakable misery - I couldn't help but "speak out of turn" again.

Because I understood.

Understood, exactly what prison officer Billie Jo was doing: she was finding her 'toe-holds'.

Prison officer Billie Jo was probing for the 'toe-holds', in Ross's 'custom-fitted' mouth. She was pushing the ends of her (fortunately, short toe-nailed) toes, into my highly distraught cellmate's convenient cavities - the commodiously accommodating craters, created at her own instigation!

In his acute distress, expressive of his abject, unspeakable wretchedness, Ross began to emit an eerie, barely audible keening sound.

I was beside myself with outrage.

It was no wonder, that my cellmate's mouth wasn't healing up!

Helpless, I could only watch prison officer Billie Jo's heinous subjugation of my cellmate.

I could only look on, sympathetically, as glistening fat tears of misery coursed down my cellmate's abjectly wretched face. I could only look on, uselessly, as Ross was forced to contemplate the grubby, sweat-smudged bottom of prison officer Billie Jo's dominant bare heel, while she casually and carelessly used his face as her cigarette-break footrest.

Apparently comfortably enough settled now, with the bottom of her right heel resting squarely in the middle of Ross's forehead to aid balance and stability and surety of purchase, thus anchored securely, and making the most of her "wiggle room", prison officer Billie Jo continued puffing away in pleasure on her e-cigarette.

"This is not right!" I cried, clenching my fists impotently.

"And that'll be another month added onto your sentence, prisoner Lightwood!" said prison officer Bella Donna. "Now, shut up - or I'll shut you up!"

Hell! I thought. Now it was going to be six months, that I was going to be stuck in this damned hellhole! Why couldn't I keep my mouth shut?

"Heh heh heh heh," chuckled prison officer Billie Jo. "Who needs trumped-up charges, Bel? When we've got idiots like these two chuckle-heads playing right into our hands. Heh heh heh heh."

Prison officer Bella Donna then said to me, "In fact, prisoner Lightwood, you needn't bother passing that seat through to me, after all. Because I've decided to shut you up now - the way officer Billie Jo is shutting-up prisoner Chapman: I'm going to have a cigarette, too, while I enjoy Prisoners' Foot Service."

I said nothing. I just stared back, at prison officer Bella Donna - at Poison Ivy!

And now I was really wishing I'd kept my fool mouth shut - just as Ross had advised me. Why the hell didn't I listen? All I'd achieved, as a result of my well-intended interfering, was to get myself an extra three months in this godawful place!

"Well ...? Chop-chop! Come on then, prisoner Lightwood!" snapped prison officer Bella Donna. "Don't keep me waiting! Assume the position for Foot Service. Now!"

Still, I said nothing. I just stared right back at her ... and it was absolutely unnerving. I had never been so scared.

"I won't be telling you again, prisoner Lightwood. It'll be the cane ... or worse. Now, for the final time. I said: Foot Service. You can clearly see, from prisoner Chapman's example, what you are to do. Now: Assume the position!"

For a moment longer, I said nothing. Did nothing.

I just stared right back, at prison officer Bella Donna's uncompromising, concave-bob framed face. Stared right back, into the implacable, fear-inspiring depths of her ice-blue eyes.

And then I did 'a Ross Chapman'.

I returned to the tubular-framed dark-grey canvas folding-chair. I picked it up, positioned it right opposite to the still-standing, still expectant prison officer Bella Donna, and sat down again.

"No, Miss Bella Donna," I said.

"What ...? What, did you just say to me, prisoner Lightwood?"

"I said no. I'm not prepared to do that."

The Jailhouse Blues continues, in chapter 2 (of 3).