Fish: A Memoir of a Boy in Man's Prison T. Parsell (ebook reader play store .txt) 📖

Chet said he began making spud juice in the late fifties, when he first started serving time. They considered themselves experts and called their operation The Senility Distillery.

"Had we been around during prohibition," Taylor boasted, "we'd a been 0.G.s."

"What's Oh Jeeze?" I asked.

"Original Gangsters!" Chet said. "We'd a given Al Capone a run for his money."

I smiled and looked down at my drink, which I had almost finished. I was starting to feel a little warm. It had been about six weeks since I had had any alcohol to drink. It felt nice. I was relaxing, something else I hadn't been able to do for at least as long.

"In a pinch, we've used tomato puree," Taylor said, "when there's nothin' else."

"Now that's some nasty shit!" Ed chimed. "Anyone want nay fruit?"

He had finished his jar, and there were a few pieces sitting at the bottom: a prune, a piece of grapefruit, and something else that looked dark and truly nasty.

"Let Tim try it," Red said. "He'll eat anything!"

"No, I don't want it," I said, shaking my head.

"Oh c'mon!" Ed looked over, "it's not all that had."

"Go ahead," Chet encouraged, "it'll get you goin'."

"What the hell," I shrugged, looking around the room for a garbage can. I could always spit it out. I took the jar from Ed and lifted it to my mouth, trying to shake a piece loose without putting my lips on the ring. I wasn't sure he'd want Inc drinking from his jar. Some of the juice spilled on my chin.

"Here," Ed said, taking it back from me. He grabbed the prune with his fingers and lifted it to my lips. I reached for it, but he motioned my hand away with his fingers, and placed it in my mouth. The prune had absorbed the juice and was soft and swollen. I bit down on it and felt a gag rise from the base of my throat. I ran over to the butt can next to the door and spit it out. The guys were laughing.

"Don't worry," Red said. "You'll learn to swallow."

Chet and Slide Step gave him a look. I wiped any chin with my sleeve and pretended I didn't know what he meant, but I did. I didn't like Red, and I was glad Chet and Slide Step was there. Ed seemed nice too, but I began to wonder if I was being set up. I was feeling light headed.

I sat back down, and Chet explained that he liked eating the fruit, but it took some getting used to. Taylor reached over and took the jar from Ed and lifted it to his mouth, letting the remaining bits of fruit fall onto his tongue. I watched his eyes water as he chomped down on them and swallowed. He shivered and shook his head back and forth like a dog does after a bath.

"Now that's how you get a good buzz," Taylor said. "That's the Whip!"

I looked down and noticed that someone had refilled my jar. I was beginning to loosen up. I took another drink, and the acidic taste seemed to have lessened. There were no chills this time, just more warmth going down into my belly.

Chet popped some fruit into his mouth and smiled. His Adam's apple contracted as he gulped it down his throat. He winked at me, "That's the do, baby boy, that's the do."

I tried another piece of fruit, and this time I didn't gag. It was as nasty as before, but at least I got it down. My jar was getting lower, so I turned my head to see what was happening in the pool room. I was hoping they'd fill my cup again.

Were they doing this because they got a kick out of getting the kid drunk, or was something else going on? Maybe this was why Chet was being so friendly. And it's probably why I had that stifled grin on my face. A smirk from the attention I was getting. The attention that I didn't want, but really did-glad I was getting it, but ashamed of it at the same time. But what about the others? I couldn't get a read on them. Maybe they just liked the fact that I was so young, and they thought of me like a little brother. Or perhaps I reminded them of themselves when they first got here. I really enjoyed the focus and attention. I loved their smiles and the kindness they were showing me. They listened to what I had to say, and they took interest in me. Something I didn't get much of at home. It filled a void and loneliness, and it was what I had longed for. It felt real nice in spite of my surroundings.

When I turned my head back, I noticed someone had refilled my jar. I could feel my heart pounding and my breath shorten, sending a swirl of energy around my chest. My hand was shaking slightly as I lifted my drink. I swallowed a piece of fruit, and it tasted smooth. My face and taste buds were numb, but I could feel that silly smirk on my face.

Chet asked me to step into the shower room to talk. He led the way, as I felt myself stagger up the hall. I thought I knew what was happening, but my head was pretty cloudy, even more so than usual. There was a dullness that was new to one, my face was completely numb, unlike any of my previous drunk experiences. It had nothing to do with the spud juice.

I had been drinking since I was thirteen, so of course I'd had different reactions to different booze. Rum and Cokes gave me the spins, and Tequila Sunrises gave me the pukes. But the buzz before the crash was always the same feeling. I loved to watch myself when I was drunk. It was like I could get outside of myself and watch what I was thinking on a big screen. But