A Cup of Coffee

A Cup of Coffee Reams O’Neal

Rumor had it there was a shortage of blankets in the male housing pods, so Sergeant Margaret Teal, recently promoted from the SHU (“solitary”), called for a shakedown on the coldest night of the season. The 64 men of 2A, county detention, gathered on the enclosed exercise porch, where the fresh freezing air flowed in freely through the bars atop the wall. South Carolina in January was not Florida. With Teal on duty, they would expect to be there 45 minutes or more. Most of the men wore only their orange jump suit and shower shoes, so they were quickly rubbing their arms and bouncing up and down for warmth. As they pressed close to the glass, they watched a covey of black-uniformed officers go leisurely from one bunk to another to see if anyone was hiding more than one thin blanket and two sheets.

Sure enough, a pile of excess blankets and sheets grew on the floor beneath the television sets, which were turned off for the night. Mason’s bin contained a leftover bologna sandwich, which he watched go into the trash. No midnight snack for Maze. Mendel moved close to Janicky and said, “I would’ve showed out if they had pulled this last night. Most of my set-up fixins would be gone.” For weeks Mendel had been talking about going “down the road” to Columbia for 3 years. “My noodles and rice, pickles, tortillas. The last meal.”

“The guys enjoyed it,” Janicky said, glancing back at the full moon through the grate above. He hated jail food, except Taco Tuesdays and a cup of weak coffee. “So tonight’s the night?”

Mendel scratched his head nervously. He was still holding the Western novel he had been reading. “Yep, tonight for sure,” he said, quietly. He had been to prison before. He was shorter than Janicky, a tough-looking country boy with a soft voice. He suddenly looked very vulnerable. “Hey Kel, you got any coffee? I ran out yesterday. I would love a cup before I go.”

Coffee was gold in the pod. A man who ordered a bag of coffee had more friends than he wanted. Janicky had ordered a new bag. He had given away coffee to several guys who had no money for snacks. After 8 months in the detention center Janicky stubbornly refused to get comfortable by buying a lot of snacks. He preferred to stay angry and hungry. Tall, thin but muscular, usually unsmiling unless you count an ironic grimace, with a scrub of beard, he spoke to the point and had little tolerance for inmates who socialized too much.

“I got a little bit left,” he said, not looking at Mendel. “Enough for one more cup.” Janicky loved his coffee. Like nothing else it reminded him of home. A breeze blew through the exercise porch and the inmates cursed Sgt. Teal. Janicky wore a long sleeve flannel shirt under his orange suit. He wouldn’t have let the correctional officers see him rubbing his arms anyway, no matter how cold he got.

Mendel knew that Janicky would not lie. If he said that he did not have enough to share then he didn’t have enough. He had also seen Janicky buying toothpaste and deodorant for those who had run out, and he had broken up fights before the officers even noticed.

“Ask Tennessee,” Janicky suggested. “Or Rivera. He could just pour you some from his big tumbler.”

Mendel smirked. While half the guys in the pod did not have coffee unless they begged it from someone, Rivera walked around twice a day with a 16-ounce plastic cup filled to the brim, and it was dark too. “I’ve hit up Rivera too much. He told me ‘no mas’. And Tenn, all he has left is coffee grinds for making tattoos. You know, that dude’s an artist, he could make a living at that.”

Janicky shook his head. “He’ll be popular in Columbia,” he said with a snarl, then regretted saying that to Mendel. He looked at Mendel and nodded his head. "I’ll ask around, Rooney,” he said. “Somebody will have some.”

“Thanks.”

There was quite a pile of contraband on the floor now. Teal might take away television through the weekend, and there was a football game Saturday night that the guys wanted to see. Sergeant Teal was personally going through the gray bins of belongings, finding unsealed food and metal pieces as thin as paper clips that could be used to make tattoos. She also found small bars of soap with messages carved in them which had been slid under the door across from the women’s pod. She strutted around and admonished her troops to be thorough.

They aren’t getting to me, Janicky was thinking. I don’t need your honey buns, your ramen noodles, or your comfortable $19.00 shoes. He watched as Teal pulled the gray bin from under his bunk. There was so little in it that she could see everything without rummaging around. Toothpaste, toothbrush, shampoo, comb, pen, writing paper, envelopes. Small bag of coffee. She moved on.

Janicky smiled. Above he could see the silhouette of tall trees. How good it would be to climb the mountains again and see acres of whole trees. Janicky and Mendel moved to a corner in the rear of the cell, away from the worried gawkers. “Well, you know my address. Send me a note; let me know how it’s going.”

“I’ll do it, Kel.” Mendel said.He laid down on the cold floor and looked through the small opening at the bottom of the wall. He could see cars going by rapidly on Church Street. "People going downtown,” he said. “Party time. My party starts about 3:00 am. Middle of the night ride down the road.”

“What does Maggie think?”

Mendel shook his head. “She says get it done with, boy. She’s young. She says it will be harder on her than me.” He smiled. “I let her think that.”

Janicky had never asked Mendel or anyone else why they were in jail, nor did he tell anyone about his charges. It was easy enough to find out, if you wanted to know. Early tomorrow Mendel would be taken to a prison for processing, then in a few weeks he would likely be sent to another prison to spend his three years. He was hoping to be close to home.

“I need to stay out of trouble in prison,” Mendel said, rather doubtfully. “There’s a lot of temptation there. Guys who have been in prison a long time are very clever at getting what they want and pulling me in with them. The days get long.”

“You’ll be okay,” Janicky said. His low, strong voice somehow gave Mendel some reassurance he needed. “Inmates respect a guy who doesn’t play, no pretense.”

After 45 minutes the men were allowed back into the pod. They began straightening their bunk beds and sighing over things that were taken. A man with white hair, walking with a slight limp, came over to Janicky’s bottom bunk.

“Hey, I’m a new guy here,” he said. His raspy voice seemed to be holding onto a bad cold.

“What’s up, new guy?” Janicky bumped fists with him.

“How would you like to trade beds? I’m on a top bunk back in the corner. I’m 68 years old and I hate to climb up that ladder.” He patted his gimpy leg like it was a pet. “How old are you, about 35?”

Janicky felt his face turning red and the hairs on his arms tingled. “How long are you going to be here, new guy?”

“Till Monday. How about you?”

“I’ll be here until a judge has the guts to give me a bond. At least 54 more days.” Janicky did not look at the man anymore. He smoothed his blanket. He pulled out his bin and checked the coffee bag. The amount had not increased. Barely enough for one small cup. Each morning after breakfast Janicky sat on his bunk reading the Bible or a novel from the meager selection and sipped a 6-ounce cup of coffee. It was his one indulgence at the jail, a small cup of lukewarm, freeze-dried coffee that barely earned the name. At such times he closed his eyes and thought of sitting in his truck at home at 6:00 am, listening to birds chirping, slowly sipping strong hot coffee before going to work. Moments of real peace rolled through him at such times. He had placed a new order for coffee with the canteen, but delivery was five days away.

He glanced across the pod. Mendel was already wrapped in a blanket like a mummy. He would sleep as much as he could now because he would not sleep after 3:00 am.

The officer at the desk was laughing about the shakedown with some of the inmates. The man known as Ohio was weight-lifting a laundry bag filled with water bottles. Back in a corner, Rivera was offering coffee in exchange for 2 honey buns.Janicky glared at him.

A few minutes later the new guy appeared again. “No luck yet,” he complained. “My friends call me Al. What’s your name?”

“My family calls me Janicky”. He folded his thick arms and stared at Al.

“What are you in for?”

Janicky shook his head. “Something I didn’t do.”

“Want to know why I’m here?” Al asked with a smile.

“No,” Janicky said. “Best if I don’t know.”

Al mused a moment. “You got coffee?”

Janicky smiled. “Al, there’s 64 men in this pod. You need to socialize a bit more.”

He walked away. Nine pm. Still too early for bed. A man from Thailand named Ittiphon challenged him to a game of chess and he sat down with his back to the shutdown TV.

Earlier in the day Mendel had slept late, skipping breakfast. He had eaten lunch with Janicky and Ittiphon. They listened to the Thai native’s stories of his years working as a chef in Las Vegas. It seemed a relief to Mendel to talk about something besides incarceration.

An inmate named Plumblee had stopped by their table and patted Mendel on the back. “I heard you are leaving tonight, Mendel.” There was an attempt at sympathy in his voice. “That really reeks,” he said. He bent close to Mendel, like he had words of encouragement he didn’t want everyone to hear. “Say, Mendel, can I have your radio?”

Mendel said, “You know I can’t afford no radio.”

Janicky stood up. “You got any coffee, Plumblee?” he asked.

Plumblee departed.

The afternoon had been quiet. Inmates played cards, slept, read, walked round and round the exercise room smelling the fresh air.

Now Janicky sat on his bunk and pulled out the bag of coffee. He knew a couple of guys who would give him coffee but he was not going to beg or even offer to pay it back. Besides, he had made up his mind. At 9:30 pm he saw Mendel sitting up in bed, so he walked across the room. Mendel held out his hand to shake and Janicky placed the bag in his hand. “Wow, you found some, huh.” He thought for a moment. “Say, is this your coffee?”

Janicky frowned. “No,” he said sternly. “It’s your coffee. Enjoy. I only got one piece of advice. Don’t try to be anybody else down there the road. Just be Rooney, with the inmates and officers. We’ll miss you in 2A. Nobody else here knows the Appalachian Trail.”

Mendel had to smile, then he said, “We’ll walk it together sometime. Hope I don’t see you down the road, Kel.”

Janicky shrugged, turned down the corners of his mouth, as if he was thinking that the fact of his going down the road or getting out on bond and going home had little to do with right and wrong, law or crime, facts and evidence, and more to do with the whims of the System, and the personalities making decisions. “Well, Rooney, if I see you down the road, I know I’ll have at least one friend there.”

Mendel smiled. “Thank you, bud. Thanks for the coffee, and the games of rummy. I talked to Maggie. She’s good. My mom…” Mendel shook his head. “She’s having a devil of a time. Last time down the road some gangbangers jumped me. Just hope I don’t go somewhere in the low country, so Maggie and Mom can come see me.”

“You’ll do well either place, Rooney.”

Within minutes after Janicky walked away, Mendel was completely hidden under the covers. He was there the remainder of the evening.

Janicky went to bed at 11:00 pm when the shift changed. Normally he slept through the night, but he awoke at 2:30 am. Lights were low and snoring was loud. Sixty-four men in a very cold room. Across the way some guys from South America were playing cards for ramen noodles. On the floor by his bed he saw a stack of Western novels.

Janicky then saw Mendel sitting at a table near the door, his back turned, waiting for his ride. He held a small white cup in his hand and raised it slowly to his lips.

Reams ONeal

Danzontwo@outlook.com