Page 92 of The River Is Waiting

“Said a lot of things. Useful suggestions to let me hold on to hope and not get sucked into the black hole of being here.”

He nods. I don’t tell him about the timing of the letter: that I got it right after he sprang me from the observation cell. “She was really pushing the mind-body thing. Said if I was isolating—which I was—I needed to fight against it. So I forced myself to go to chow instead of skipping meals. Started exercising, playing cards in the dayroom with other guys on my tier. Later on, I got a job on the grounds crew, which was great at first. Fresh air, sunshine, physical work. Pulled me out of my funk, you know? Our supervisor was a good guy, but then they switched supervisors and there were issues.”

Another check of the wristwatch. He says our time is limited and suggests we focus on the present. “Now, since this incident, I take it you’ve been isolating again.”

Interesting that he’s calling what happened to me an “incident.” I tell him I just don’t want to be around people—that I feel on edge about everything. “Am I going to get attacked again? What’s going to happen when I get out of here? How much of my life am I going to get back?”

“Whendoyou get out?” I tell him I have less than ten months. “Okay, well, let’s see if we can take away some of that stress you’re feeling. I’m not sure you’re aware of this, but there are protocols available to someone in your situation. Do you know about PREA? The Prison Rape Elimination Act?”

I shrug.

“It’s a zero-tolerance policy against sexual assault—a protection for people in confinement facilities: prisons, jails, lockups. Basically, it says that if you report to PREA that you’ve been sexually abused, the allegation gets investigated promptly and thoroughly. Theoretically, that’s what happens anyway. It’s been around for a while and there are mixed reviews about how effective it is. But if you wanted to go that route, it might make you feel more in control than just staying in your cell and stewing about things. You think you might want to look into that?” When I shake my head, he asks why not.

“Well, besides the obvious: that I’m pretty goddamned ashamed that it happened, I’m afraid they…hemight retaliate if there’s an investigation. And maybe I’m cynical, but I doubt anything would happen if Ididreport it. When I filed a complaint about something else a while back, it went nowhere.”

He nods. “A second ago, you said ‘theymight retaliate’ and then you corrected yourself—saidhe.Were you assaulted by one person or more than one?”

“You mean, was I gang-raped? No. It was just a slip of the tongue.… There were two of them there, though. One of them did it and the other one watched. He was the one who probably orchestrated it.”

“Got it,” he says. To refresh his memory about what my name is, he glances down at the call slip I handed him when I walked in. “Well, Corbin,unfortunately, you’re not the first guy at this place that this has happened to. Comes up from time to time with the men I see in here. And maybe you’re right to be cautious about who you tell. It’s not a bad thing to be self-protective in here. And to tell you the truth, it didn’t end well for one guy I counseled when he decided to file a PREA complaint. That said, think about that option, and if you change your mind—”

I tell him I won’t.

“Okay then. Let’s get back to the symptoms you’re experiencing. Anxiety, insomnia, loss of appetite, lack of motivation.”

Jesus Christ,anothercheck of the watch. How many times is that? Four?

“I’m going to call Dr. Beller, who does some consulting here, and get you a prescription for antianxiety medication. Benzodiazepines aren’t magic, but they can help to take the edge off, and the effect kicks in pretty quickly. There’s a bunch of them out there: Xanax, Ativan, Halcion, Klonopin. Klonopin’s used to treat panic attacks and seizures, and a couple of my patients with anxiety and sleep-disorder issues have had good results taking it, too. How much longer did you say you have in here?”

“About eight and a half months.”

“Okay, that’ll work. I’m going to have you take a half milligram twice a day to start with, then once a day as you get closer to your release date, and then every other day. With benzos, you don’t want to go off them cold turkey. You have to taper off. So let’s go with the Klonopin then. Sound good?”

Here’s where I should come clean. Instead, I hear myself saying, “Sounds good.”

“So let’s see how that works for you. We can always adjust the dosage up or down as needed. Okay?”

“Okay.” A benzo’s a benzo and an addict is an addict. But this time it will be monitored. Controlled. It’s not like when I get to the front of the med line, they’re going to give me more than what’s prescribed. Half a milligram’s not much, but if it lifts me out of the hell my mind’s puttingme through, that’s all I’m looking for. And a plan’s in place so that I will have stopped taking it before I get out of here. So that will work. All bets would be off with Emily if I don’t walk out of here clean.

“All right, my friend. Anything else you want to ask me before you go?”

Should I say it or not? No. Forget it. I start to get up from my chair.

“Yes? No? Looks like you’ve gotsomethingon your mind.”

Too embarrassed to face him, I look down at the floor. “Just that, while it was happening… the assault?… This doesn’t make any sense but… there’s one thing I’m confused about.”

“And what is that?” I struggle to come out with it. “Did you get an erection? Have an orgasm? Is that what’s confusing you?”

My face goes hot. “An erection, not… it just happened.”

He tells me to sit back down. Says I don’t need to worry about it or feel guilty—that the nerve endings in the anal canal were only reacting autonomically to a stimulus. When I shrug, he says, “Think about the difference between a blink and a wink. Winking’s a conscious act, right? But blinking’s autonomic. You do it without thinking about it.”

“Uh…”

“Okay, let me put it this way. An enjoyable sexual experience results from the body and the brain working in concert to give pleasure. Female rape victims sometimes feel guilty or confused when, during an assault, they become wet the way they would with a lover. But there’s no shame in that. It’s just their body having an autonomic response. You see?”

I tell him I do.

---