Laugh with Sinners, Cry With Saints

If ever I wished I weren’t such a queasy motherfucker, it was now. Already I could feel bile rising all the way to the very back of my mouth, spreading acidity throughout my tongue. I snarl and quickly turn my face and spit against the wall, pining for some Winterfresh. And a cigar. I would sell my soul for a damned stick of gum and a Don Benigno. I rub my hands over my face, pressing the calloused heels into my eyelids until little stars explode against the blackness and I lay back, grimacing at the crunchy noise my thin starchy sheets make beneath my weight.

Fuck.

To think, this is my very last day and I’m spending it on foul smelling sheets, complaining that I don’t have any gum like a candyass. I roll off of my cot that’s at least a foot too short for me and start to pace. Every step seems to squeak “Dumbass. Dumbass. DUMBASS.” on the floor between my thick soled shoes. I was one fucking delayed flight from sleeping on whitesand beaches all day and meeting delectable Bikini wearing Brazilian women all night.

I feel a growl claw its way up my throat, pressing its sharp nails throughout my windpipe and I can’t contain it from slipping out between my teeth, bared into a snarl. A guard walks by, and bangs sharply against the bars. The noise is metallic and reverberates against the walls underneath his warning off “Get your ass together, Bridges.” My face melts to a sneer but I nod anyway, so he’ll take is scrawny ass down the corridor.

He looks skinny, but he can whoop your ass into shape.

I collapse on the edge of the bed, stretching my long legs out in front of me. They brought a priest in earlier this morning. He asked if I wanted to talk, to repent. The same things they always say when they come here, “God Forgives, he doesn’t see your deeds, he sees one of his children. It doesn’t matter where you are in life, He forgives. Young and Old, Rich and Poor, Sinners and Saints. They are all the same in his eyes.” (If that is to be believed, The Saints must be pissed. They did shitloads of work for nothing.)

I said I was prepared to bust the gates of hell wide open, thanks, and “you can crawl back in your nice red Volvo and go the hell home.”

I’ve got nothing against that priest personally. But as far as I am concerned, a priest got my ass in here and not one of them can get my ass out. That’s why I’m about to take a nice whiff of Cyanide. I killed a holyman.

In my defense, said holyman cheated me a solid 300 bucks, and I hadn’t meant to kill him originally. But after getting bludgeoned by a baseball bat, thrown around the trunk of his car over a few railroad tracks and finally ramming into a tree, he couldn’t handle the sinking sensation of the Missouri River.

They call my name, and I stand, not really aware of what’s going on. It’s like someone’s taken an eraser and just smudged the outlines of everyone and everything, and it’s a blur of vomit green and cement and khaki and neon orange as they lead me down the hallway. There’s a ringing in my ears and a buzzing that wont stop, like I’ve got swarms of wasps holding tiny, high pitched bells in orbit around my head.

The queasy feeling I thought had subsided rises up again with a vengeance and as I slouch between the guards, I can feel my lips begin to shake and wet warmth begin to cascade up from my stomach to my mouth and before I can stop it, I’m hunched over, barfing my fucking guts out in front of everyone. Whenever I feel like I’ve lurched up all my stomach, the smell of my own vomit wafts up and I’m bent over again, until my throat is raw and someone finally pulls me up by the scruff of my neck.

I’m shaking all over when I lift my hand to wipe my mouth off, and accidentally whack myself. Damn. “I didn’t think you’d be a puker, Bridges.” The back of my neck hurts like a bitch. I feel a trickle of blood ooze out from the guards ragged thumbnail. It’s cold and as it slides down the side of my neck I find myself shuddering. Blood creeps me the fuck out.

I try to regain myself, and continue shuffling down the hallway. I ignore the calls of the other guys. 'Assholes.' We approach the chipping metal door and I’m weighed by the inevitable wave of “Oh Shit.” Dread turns my insides into twisted origami, and It feels like I’m chewing fire and sipping Hydrochloric acid. It bubbles underneath my tongue and I feel sticky sweat erupt from everywhere. It burns at my eyes to even look at the door, but I’m roughly nudged in the small of my back and I stumble forward. My shoulders hunch over even more and I feel little tremors run underneath my skin.

I feel like a chickenshit, but I can’t seem to pull it together. They push me into the room, which was the most nauseating color green imaginable. Couldn’t a man’s last moments be pleasurable? Why not cover the walls with porn? It would make more fucking sense to me. I don’t struggle as they strap me down in a plain chair with a nail sticking out poking me in the ass. I’m going to have bruises and rashes from them. I snarl a choice word or two about their service, and I get a extra hard tug on the strap across my chest from scrawnyass

All I can think about when they leave the room is how badly I still want that piece of gum and cigar. I hear a buzz come from somewhere and wonder if I should Take a deep breath or hold it for as long as possible? They never told me how long this would take. I feel the makings of a panic attack begin, and suddenly I’m 8 again, having an asthma attack because my older brother was holding my Crayola box above my head, out of my reach. 'If I can just get the purple one I can finish drawing the rest of the body…' Fuck. There’s warmth at the back of my eyeballs, but it feels rusty, like when you leave a folding chair outside for a week, then try and fold it back and it’s rusted so badly you can’t.

My body is screaming for oxygen but I try to hold it out, ignoring how badly it hurts. I feel my lips curl back from trying to breathe so hard. I look around the disgusting room and realize that it’s really over. I close my eyes and count to three before I finally take a great, gasping gulp of air.