Page 74 of The River Is Waiting

“I’m worried about him, you know? He’s just a fucked-up kid.”

“You know who I’m worried about, Corby?” he says. “You. You’ve gotten too involved with that kid. Yeah, he needs help and yeah, he doesn’t belong here. But you can’t fight his battles for him.”

“Okay, Manny. Thanks for the unsolicited advice.”

I put the big mythology book on my lap, grab a pencil, and start filling out the grievance form. “What’s that?” he asks.

I read him the heading. “CTDOC Form 16-E, Administrative Remedy Regarding Alleged Staff Misconduct. Don’t you love all the bullshit euphemisms they have at this place? Administrative Remedy? The real remedy will be if I can get Piccardy and Anselmo fired over this.”

“For bullying the kid? Roughing him up a little?”

“No. You can’t file a grievance on another inmate’s behalf. This is about what they did to the turkey.”

Looking bewildered, he lets go a laugh. “The turkey? What turkey?”

“Never mind. I want to get this done. You can read it after I finish.”

But the day has taken its toll and I’m too emotional and too exhausted to phrase it right. I stop after the first three or four sentences. I’ll write the rest of it tomorrow. I don’t have work anymore, so I’ll have plenty of time.

I flop down on my bunk, face to the wall, and close my eyes. It plays in my head like a movie: the way they hurt him, humiliated him. I’m just starting to doze when I hear, “I wouldn’t if I were you.” I turn my head and there’s Manny, standing next to my bunk. He’s holding the grievance form.

“Except you’renotme.”

“Come on, Corby. Youknowhow these things go. Anselmo and Piccardy will back each other up and you’ll end up standing in dog shit. Then they’ll want to get even. And frankly, I don’t want to get caught in the middle of it.”

“This isn’t aboutyou, Manny.”

“Thefuckit isn’t! What if they shake down our cell again and go throughmystuff, too? See what I’ve got stashed away? I don’t want to get a ticket for contraband because of your grandstanding.”

He climbs up to his bunk, crosses his arms across his chest, and pouts.

“I’m not grandstanding! I’m standing up to a couple of bullies.”

He jumps down again and goes to the back window. With his back to me, he says, “And if you think you’re gonna get those two goons fired over a turkey, you’re fuckin’ delusional. You planning to take on their union, too? And Piccardy’s uncle?”

“No, but if my complaint travels a few links up the food chain, at least it will put the administration on notice that these two need to be watched.”

He pivots, facing me again. “Okay, man, if you want to stick your neck out, you better watch out for the ax. And keep me out of it.”

I snatch the grievance form away from him and tell him to chill out. “I fucking know what I’m doing, Manny.”

“Ha!” he says. Goes back up to his bed and pulls the sheet over his head.

The next morning on the way to breakfast chow, I catch up to Solomon’s cellmate, Daugherty. “How’s the kid doing?” I ask. He shrugs. Says he hasn’t come back from the hospital yet. What does it mean if they kept him overnight? Is he that badly injured? Has he had a breakdown?

After I eat, I go back and start in again on the grievance. I go back and forth about including the part about them smoking weed while they were on the job, but decide against it. Too hard to prove so I stick to the animal abuse.They made a ten-dollar bet.… Piccardy was the one who pepper-sprayed her.… She was suffering but still alive when he stomped her head and threw her into the woods.… Her chicks can’t fly yet, so without her protection, they’ll be easy prey. I probably should not have added the flourish at the end of the complaint.If the matter is not taken seriously and dealt with appropriately, I will have no choice but to notify the SPCA about Officers Piccardy and Anselmo’s cruelty toward a defenseless animal and her young.

The instructions say to limit your complaint to the back of the form and one extra page. By writing smaller on the last half page, I just make it. When our cell doors pop for our five-on-the-floor break, I walk down to the desk to drop my grievance into the box, but I stand there, hesitating. Maybe Manny’s right. Maybe sticking my neck out is a mistake. But if I’m called in to talk about the pepper spraying, then maybe I can mention what they did to Solomon. The trouble with thinking like Manny is that it’s defeatist. Jackson said she didn’t think I’d have a shot either. They both assume inmates are powerless, but maybe we’re not. I’m starting to lose my nerve a little, but I’m in it now and I’m doing it for Solomon and whoever else they’ve been bullying—myself included. I drop the form through the slot.

On my way back to our cell, Daugherty stops me. “Couple of theguards just came in and packed up Solomon’s stuff. Said he’s been transferred out of here, but they wouldn’t tell me where.” Hopefully, Counselor Jackson performed some kind of miracle and got the poor kid into a psych facility. I’m relieved that he’s out of this place, but I wish I’d had the chance to tell him goodbye and good luck. He drove me nuts, but I’m already feeling his absence. One day he’s here, the next day he’s gone.

CHAPTER THIRTY

December 2018

Days 508–13 of 1,095

I’ve waited three weeks for a response to my grievance but have gotten zilch, so on Saturday I get a pass and head over to the library. I have to get an address for the SPCA. When I threatened to notify them, I wasn’t really going to do it, but by not responding to my complaint, they’re calling my bluff. I figure I’d better follow through. Mrs. Millman’s not there, so I have Javi look up the address on the computer in her office.

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