Peace. Who needed it? Peace didn’t make you strong, didn’t help you out there in the real world. Or in this one.
When they let Banjo out for lunch, Kev was on the other side of the room, as far away from the door as he could sit. There was something different about him, something missing. That nervous, twitchy energy he always had. That was it. It was gone.
Banjo walked straight over to Kev. The conversation in the lunchroom stayed the same, but everyone listened, watched, waited.
Kev in his seat was almost the same height as Banjo standing behind him. The inmates at Kev’s table stopped eating and the seat next to Kev was made empty. Banjo stared at Kev.
Kev chewed. “Hey, Banjo. Aren’t you eating?”
Banjo stared some more until Kev swallowed.
“What did I tell you?”
Kev looked down, fiddled with his lunch tray. “I dunno.”
“I told you something.”
“Nothin’. You told me nothin’.”
Banjo leaned over, slammed his hand on the table. The trays clanged and rattled.
Conversation stopped. The screws around the lunchroom pretended to look the other way.
Kev kept his hands on the tray. He had the shakes.
“I told you to quit.”
“I did, I quit. I told you I never do that stuff. Not again, no more.”
Banjo looked at Kev’s skin. It was parched. Cracked. Red. It hung on Kev like it would melt right off. Eyes like a bug. His hair wasn’t combed and it fell over his head like he’d just woken up. But Banjo couldn’t be seen to show sympathy. Not here, not for this.
“Who gave you the needle?”
“You know, I just get ’em where I can.”
Banjo backhanded Kev.
Kev spat out gravy, but kept looking forward. He was breathing heavily through his nostrils. “Fuck! What for?”
Banjo leaned closer.
“I told you about survival, didn’t I?”
Kev nodded, his breathing slowed.
“To survive you have to be strong, you have to be clear. You can’t be getting messed up on smack. Who gave it to you?”
Kev turned his head enough to whisper, “Kong.” He turned back and spoke louder. “Okay! I won’t do it no more. You can count on me, honest.” He nodded fast, as if that made his words true. “No worries, Banjo.”
Banjo straightened and patted Kev on the head.
He picked up the tray and smacked it on Kev’s face, hard. Meat and potatoes spilled onto Kev, the table, the floor. Again, harder. Banjo hit Kev with the tray until Kev fell off the chair.
Kev was on the floor under the table, whimpering. “No worries, no more. No more.”
Banjo used the tray to flip a piece of potato off his uniform. Brown stains on the front of his shirt mixed with spots of blood. He put the tray back on the table and walked over to the counter, grabbed another tray that was already filled with food. Plonked the tray down with a clang on a table nearby and set to eating.
The screws were still looking the other way.
When Banjo walked into the meditation class this time, everyone was already cross-legged on their cushions, eyes shut.
Banjo snorted and walked to the front of the class, looked around, didn’t find an empty spot. A few cushions were leaning against the wall behind Sam, but Banjo wasn’t in the mood for squeezing past. He grabbed a young inmate by the scruff of his uniform. The inmate took in a sharp breath.
Some of the others opened their eyes, but Sam kept his shut. The inmate looked up. Banjo tilted his head, pointed it at the back of the class. The inmate understood, walked over without a word, and sat on the cold concrete.
Sam breathed out. “That’s five minutes, everyone.” He looked around the class, skimming over it, looking at Banjo as if he’d been there the whole time. “Did anyone get further? Who held the image for the whole five minutes?”
Troy, a young Italian, his voice pitched high with excitement. “I did it, boss. Held her in my mind for the five. Fully sick. She had all this light around and I felt, like, this energy all through me. Tingly.”
“Who did you hold on to this time, Troy? Megan Gale?”
The inmates laughed, a little too loudly, Banjo thought.
Troy didn’t say anything, his face flushed red.
Sam looked at him with that twinkle in his eye. “Seriously, Troy, what was the image you came up with?”
Troy waited for the chuckles to die down. “Well, I know you’re Buddhist and all, but I was brought up Catholic, so I thought, who’s the most holiest person I could think of? She came to me, straight up, the Virgin Mary. Don’t get no bigger virgin than her, Sam.”
Even Banjo couldn’t help letting out a snigger.
Sam said, “Troy, there’s nothing wrong with using the Virgin Mary, or any other religious icon. It doesn’t have to be Buddha, that’s not how this class works. The image that is the best for you is all that counts.” Sam paused for a moment. “What image would you pick, Banjo? Who makes you the happiest, or brings love to you?”
Banjo had been waiting for Sam to say something to him, but not this. He expected Sam to complain about taking the cushion from the other inmate, the inmate now sitting at the back of the class, not saying a word.
“No one brought us love, we didn’t have to be happy, just had to survive.” It was more than Banjo had planned on saying. How did Sam get him like that?
Sam uncrossed his legs. “You say ‘us,’ and ‘we.’ Who’s that? Your brothers and sisters? Is that it? Maybe something happy-”
“That’s none of your fuckin’ business.”
There wasn’t a breath to be heard in the room, not a single movement.
“Your life can’t have all been this, Banjo. I can see that in you, see the way you take care of the others.”
“Fuck this. And fuck you.” Banjo stood, picked up the cushion, clenched it tight. “You like spending time in prison, do you? You got no fuckin’ idea. What is it? You like boys in uniform?” He looked around the room, everyone watching him, Troy’s face red again. Sam didn’t move, but the twinkle had left his eye.
Troy said, “Hey, Banjo, don’t get pissed off at Sam, it’s his job. He doesn’t…” Troy trailed off into silence.
Banjo looked back at Sam. “Looks like you’ve got them all on your side, Sky Pilot. Fuck me if I’m gonna join them.” He spun around and walked straight out, throwing the cushion in the corner of the room. It bounced off Troy’s shoulder, but Banjo didn’t look back, and no one said anything as he left, not even Sam.
After another week in the dry cell for refusing to do the class ever again, the screws let Banjo out to lunch. A group at one of the tables chattered. They were excited about something. Banjo watched them as he fiddled with his food.
Kong carried his lunch tray past Banjo’s table, stopped, then backtracked a few steps. He looked down at Banjo, tipping his head in the direction of the talkers. “Looks like your boys are all robe fuckers now.”
The guards were at the other end of the lunchroom, laughing and talking. Banjo didn’t look at Kong. “Keep moving.”
Kong looked behind him. The guards stopped talking. Kong moved on.
Banjo picked up his tray and took it over to the group of talkers. He didn’t like being out of the loop. “Troy, Kev. What’s all the excitement?”
Kev said, “Hey, Banjo. It’s all good. I been clean. Nothin’ to worry ’bout.”
Banjo smiled and patted Kev on the back. “That’s good to hear.” It was as if nothing had happened the other day. He looked at them all. “What I want to know is what’s got you boys covering your mouths, like no one can tell you’re talking.”
Troy said, “Nothing much, boss. Just that class, with the monk guy, all in robes and shit.” Troy looked around, the others laughing. “Maybe not, but it feels like he’s got robes on. Fuckin’ weird. But good.”
Banjo stopped smiling. “Didn’t seem like a big deal to me.”
Kev, all nervous and twitchy, said, “Hey, Banjo, we can’t take the dries as good as you. I’d go nuts in there. Make me wanna…you know, that thing I can’t do, ’cause I’m all cleaned up.”