Page 78 of The River Is Waiting

“With over half of my sentence served here, I have a lot of anxiety about what happens when I get out. I have two versions in my head about the day I walk out of here. In the first, the gate opens and your mother and sister are there, waiting. In the other, I walk through the gate and look around. No one’s there.

“Well, I’m getting sleepy now, so I guess I’ll say good night. Please look after Maisie for me and keep her safe. I love you, Niko. Thank you for listening.”

I drift off, smiling and wondering whether I’ve finally discovered what, until now, has eluded me. Is my dead son the one who can remove my defects of character and restore me to sanity in this place where insanity reigns? Is Niko my spiritual touchstone?

The shouting wakes me up. “Goddamn it, Corby! I just stepped on that fucking thing! I think it bit me! Get it the hell out of here!”

I’m confused. What’s he yelling about? I follow his pointing finger, but all I can see in the dim light is that it’s a snake. Jesus, is it a copperhead? Those things are poisonous.

Climbing to the safety of his upper bunk, Manny continues his rant. “You had to file that stupid grievance, didn’t you? ‘I know what I’m doing, Manny. This isn’t about you.’ The fuck it isn’t! IknewI heard someone in here last night!”

I swing my feet onto the floor, walk cautiously toward it. “False alarm, Manny. It’s a milk snake. They’re harmless. You’re all right.”

“IknewI’d get caught in the middle because of that grievance. Such a stupid move! You see them kill a fuckingturkeyand you get so bent out of shape that… Well, your space is my space, too, asshole, and if this shit continues, I’m putting in for a cell change so I don’t have to step on a fuckin’ snake when I get up to take a piss! Now get that fucking thing out of here!”

I make a grab for it, but it’s fast. Try again. And again. Get ahold of it on the fourth try when it slithers into the corner. Holding it so that its head pops out from the top of my loose fist, I take a couple of steps toward Manny. “Look at him. He’s kind of cute, isn’t he? What are you afraid of?”

“Get that thing away from me! I mean it, Corby! It’s not funny!”

I hold it until they call us for morning chow, then carry the snake with me and let it go once we’re outside. It pauses for a second or two, lifts its head, then slithers off the walkway and toward the woods. Probably hears the river out there.How can snakes hear if they don’t have ears?I remember asking my father when I was a kid.

They don’t have outer ears, but they have inner ears. They hear vibrations.

Later that day, I apologize to Manny about the snake and he says he’s sorry he lost his shit. In the time I’ve known him, he’s never said much about his childhood, but he opens up about how kids in his Staten Island neighborhood used to chase after him with toads and snakes and call him a “sissy pants.” And that by middle school, “sissy pants” became “pansy,” “faggot,” “fairy,” “flit.”

I tell him one of the things I admire about him is that he’s comfortable about who he is and doesn’t seem to get pushback from the homophobic assholes here.

He says that’s because straight guys enjoy a good blow job just as much as gay guys do. “And believe me, I give a great one.”

I smile. Tell him I’ll take his word on that.

“But I tell you, Corby, when I stepped on that snake this morning, I went flying back to Willoughby Avenue with those punks tormenting me, and Bobby Costello, who I had a secret crush on, putting his pet snake a few inches from my face and me staring at its flicking forked tongue.”

Talking to Manny gets me thinking about how most of us must carry our bruised childhoods on our backs when we come here. Solomon was the most obvious example. No matter how well-intentioned his adoptive parents might have been, or how unfit his birth mother was, she was still his mother. Maybe getting separated from her is at the root of his troubles. For a lot of the other guys here, the bruises might not show, but they haven’t necessarily healed. My conflicted feelings about my father take center stage whenever I think about my childhood. Dad was the guy who taught me my love of nature when I was a little kid. Taught me the names of the constellations in the nighttime sky and the stories that went with them.Those three bright stars make up Orion’s Belt. Above them and to the right is his shield. He was a warrior and a great hunter.… There’s Pegasus, the winged horse, who emerged from the sea to help Perseus rescue the beautiful princess, Andromeda, from being devoured by the sea monster, Cetus. That cluster of stars tells their story.… I can still pick out those stars in the sky and I have vivid recall of those ancient tales.

But Dad was also the guy who, as I got a little older, began to chip away at my self-confidence and sense of worth.You acted like you were afraid of the ball out there. And you didn’t show the coaches any hustle whatsoever. That’s why you were one of the last ones picked. What did you expect?

I blurt it out. “Manny, you were right. I wish I had listened to you. I never should have taken on those two. Piccardy’s been sneaking in here in the middle of the night, waking me up and whispering shit to scare me. And that had to have been him who dropped the snake in here. I mean, Anselmo’s a thug, too, but he takes his marching orders from Piccardy. He’s the ringleader and, for all I know, a fucking sociopath. I’m sure they’re planning to make the time I have left as miserable as possible.” Mannysighs but doesn’t say anything. “So have you requested that cell change yet? Because if you haven’t—”

“I changed my mind about that,” he says. “You’re a pain in the ass, Corby, and I’m still sort of pissed at you, but we’re friends. I’m not going to bail on you now.”

What he says brings tears to my eyes, which I try my best to hide from him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

August and September 2019

Days 734–79 of 1,095

I remember a folk song my mother used to play and sing along with on one of her albums—a Joan Baez record, I think.Yesterday’s dead and tomorrow is blind.… Live in the present, Dr. Patel’s letter advised. Day at a time, the Big Book says. But with two-thirds of my sentence completed, it’s hard not to get preoccupied about the future. Twelve more months to go. But then what?

The squawk box clicks on. “Hey, Ledbetter? The library just called. They need to see you about something. You want a pass?”

“Sure. I’ll be right there. Thanks.”

Truth is, my attendance at the library dropped way off after that incident with Solomon. It wasn’t my fault, but I was the one who brought him over there. A missing razor blade could have turned into a big headache for Mrs. Millman if she hadn’t caught it right away. Wonder what she wants. Has a job finally opened up? I could use one. I’ve been going a little stir-crazy here in the cell.

That time I brought Solomon here, everything was in chaos. Now when I walk in, the books are off the floor and back on the shelves. The freshly painted walls have brightened the place up a little. The computer station’sup and running now; some guy’s hunting and pecking on the keyboard of that refurbished IBM.

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