Walter Myers: Lockdown

"I hope you mess this up! I hope you blow it big-time! You're supposed to be smart. You think you're smart, right?"

"Sir…"

"Shut up, worm!" Mr. Pugh looked over his shoulder at me. "If you had any smarts, you'd be out on the streets. But you're in jail, ain't you? Ain't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you know this work program is bullshit. Just more work for me and the staff. But I'm counting on you, worm. All you got to do is walk away when nobody's looking. When they catch you, I'm going to put you in a hole so deep, you won't even remember what daylight looks like."

The van stopped. I could see Mr. Pugh looking out the window. Then he got out and came around the back. I was handcuffed to the rail, and he climbed in and unhooked me.

"Turn around."

I hated having my hands cuffed behind me-all the kids did-but I twisted around in the van like he said. He cuffed me, then pulled me out of the van by my sleeve. I stumbled a little but I didn't fall. I stood behind the van with my head down like I was supposed to as he locked it up. Then he took me by the arm and led me to a side door.

He stopped just inside the door while he looked around; then he took me over to a woman sitting behind a desk. She was small, Spanishy looking, with dark eyes that went quickly from me to Mr. Pugh.

"Yes?"

"I'm here to see a Father Santora," Mr. Pugh said. "This is the inmate."

The receptionist smiled at me, then picked up the phone on her desk and made a call.

"The people from Progress are here, Father," she said into the phone.

Mr. Pugh was a big man, as wide as he was tall, but the thing that got to you was that he didn't have any eyebrows. His skin was really white and he was bald, so it looked like his face ran all the way up his head. I knew he didn't want to have to drive me to the nursing home, but I didn't care.

Mr. Pugh didn't uncuff me until the man from the hospital had signed the papers.

"I'll be back to pick him up at four," Mr. Pugh said. "I'll leave a pair of cuffs in case you need them."

I watched as Mr. Pugh headed for the door. I used to think I couldn't hate anyone as much as I hated my father, but Mr. Pugh was coming close.

"Well, welcome to Evergreen," the man said. "I'm Father Santora and I run the facility. This is Sonya, and your name is…" He looked at the paper. "Maurice Anderson. Do you mind if we call you Maurice?"

"Most people I know call me Reese," I said.

"Okay, then we'll call you Reese," Father Santora said. "You'll be coming here ten days a month for the next eight weeks in your work-release program. We think you'll like it here."

He left the handcuffs with Sonya and took me into the elevator. He looked okay, but a lot of people looked okay.

"Evergreen is basically a facility for senior citizens," Father Santora said. "It's not a hospital so much as a refuge. People reach a stage in their lives where they need to have assistance from day to day."

"What am I going to be doing here?" I asked.

"You'll be working under Mrs. Silvey," he said. "She sees to the comfort of the residents. It'll probably be cleaning the hallways or running errands for the seniors. But she'll let you know. How old are you?"

"Fourteen. I'll be fifteen next month."

"You play basketball?" he asked, smiling.

"No, not really," I said.

Father Santora asked me if I minded sitting down on a bench in one of the hallways and said he was going to look for Mrs. Silvey. I said it was fine with me.

The place smelled like a hospital. I saw two old guys walking down toward the end of the hall holding hands. They were really old looking and one of them was stooped over, so I figured he was sick.

I sat there for a while and then Father Santora came back with a woman. I stood up and kind of nodded.

She looked me up and down and asked me how tall I was.

"I don't know," I said. "Maybe about five five."

"You're five seven," she said. "Maybe five six and a half. You have family in the city?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, welcome to Evergreen. Come with me."

Father Santora was smiling as I left with the lady. She took me down the hallway and up a flight of stairs to the next floor. It was like a big dayroom, and people were sitting around playing cards or watching television. She took me to a closet and opened it. Inside there was a small plastic bucket and a kind of stick with a grabber on it to pick up paper off the ground.

"There's a lot of paper and trash on the floor," she said. "Sometimes the residents get careless. I want you to go around and pick up anything you recognize as trash. If someone argues with you, says that something isn't trash, then you either put it back where you found it or offer it to them. You understand that?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And I don't want you touching anything nasty with your hands," she said. "And I need you to wash your hands at least twice a day and keep your hands out of your face and especially away from your eyes. I don't want you getting sick.

"Never argue with anyone here," she went on. "Do you understand that?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Father Santora said they call you Reese, is that right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Okay, Reese. So, you'll be working here from ten to four. At twelve, after the residents have eaten, you'll eat with the staff. It's a very informal, catch-as-catch-can kind of meal. At three thirty you'll clean up and get ready to go back to Progress. How long have you been there?"

"Twenty-two months."

She looked at me like she was surprised, but she didn't say anything.

"My office is on this floor. It's room 307. If you can't remember that, Simi or Nancy-they're on our staff and will work directly with you-will tell you. If you have a problem you'll come to me, right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And Reese." She stopped and took a deep breath. "Many of the residents here are on medication. You're not to touch any of the medications for any reason. Even if you see a bottle on the floor, you'll tell Simi or Nancy. Do you understand that?"

"Yeah."

She left me, and I took the bucket and grabber out of the closet. I noticed there were some hooks in the closet so I could hang my clothes if it was raining. I hoped it didn't rain on the days I was coming to Evergreen, because I didn't want them seeing me in my orange rain hood.

I walked around the dayroom most of the morning picking up little pieces of paper. Most of the people sitting around were white and they were all real old. I heard some of them talking and it wasn't in English, so I thought they might have been talking about me. I didn't care. It was better than being at the Progress Center.

A tiny little woman saw me coming near her and she took an orange off the tray she was sitting near and put it behind her back. I wanted to smile but I didn't. One man looked big and he had something wrong with the skin on his face. I thought maybe he was in some pain or something.

"Hey, what's your name?" another woman asked me.

I was about to tell her but she looked away.

I started walking away, but then she yelled at me and asked me my name again.

"Reese," I said.

"What kind of name is that?"

"And he's only got one name," another woman said. "Maybe his family couldn't afford two names."

"It's really Maurice," I said. "Maurice Anderson."

The day went by fast. I kept the floor clear, which was easy. I met two more people from the Evergreen staff at lunchtime. One was a short, heavy black girl with an African-sounding name. She talked on her cell phone all the while we were in the staff room, which was a little room on the second floor with a coffeepot, a microwave, and a small refrigerator.