It wasn’t such an unpleasant job, as far as prison job assignments go. Troy had been a confinement orderly for a bit more than a week now; it even seemed like it could be somewhat nice. He had to get up at 3:30 am to be there in time to pass out breakfast at 4:30 am, but he was still grateful it kept him out of the kitchen. Those guys had to get up at 3 am and they stayed until 11 am; Troy was out of there every day at 6 am. Not only that, but all he had to do was handle the breakfast cart and do a little sweeping and mopping – no sweat.
Some of the officers would even let him hustle. Like the officer he was working with now, Officer Moody. Moody seemed alright. Now that Troy had worked there a few days, he knew which cops would actually strip search him coming in and out and which would just pretend; Moody didn’t even make him take off his blues. Troy could traffic all sorts of stuff past Moody; the officer didn’t care at all. Just today, he had brought in two bars of soap, three packs of batteries, and a few Reader’s Digest magazines. He was going to be leaving with at least five books of stamps – the profit from the soap and batteries.
With Moody, he could also hustle trays. Extra trays went for five stamps each, and Moody didn’t care if he sold the cart itself, along with the contents. In fact, yesterday, Troy had messed up and sold too many trays. Moody had to call Food Service and order more so they could finish the last of wing 3. Moody was sweet.
“Air-tray this asshole,” Moody told him now.
“Sir?” Troy was startled. Moody stood there, held the flap tray open, and watched him with an empty expression. Did Troy hear him right? Officer Moody looked directly into Troy’s eyes and said with serene clarity, “Air. Tray. Him.”
Troy had heard about this sort of thing in the county jail. An air-tray was exactly what it sounded like – a tray of air, empty. It appeared legitimate for the hallway camera, so the guy behind the door couldn’t file a grievance claiming that he hadn’t been fed; he would have a hungry, miserable day.
Troy was frozen. He didn’t want to do it. It wasn’t that he was worried the guy behind the door might catch up with him out on the compound. Troy didn’t want to do it because he knew it wasn’t right. It was fundamentally different than breaking any rule. Prison rules are oppressive; they are meant to be broken. However, Troy had been raised to do unto others as he would have them do unto him. He couldn’t imagine having to spend a hungry day in the box himself. Troy didn’t have to do it, either; he could just as easily reach for the next full tray as he could the empty one. What could Moody do, beat Troy up? Lie, and give him a false disciplinary report? He couldn’t imagine either; not from Moody. Troy liked Moody; Moody let him hustle.
Troy glanced over at the cell window, but couldn’t see the face of the man behind the door. He could see his shadow on the cell wall, but not his face. Troy was hoping that knowing who it was would help him to explain that he couldn’t do it, but he couldn’t imagine why the identity of the man would matter. Troy was only casting his gaze about, searching for a way out of the trap he’d fallen into.
Moody cleared his throat expectantly. Even as Troy was trying to think of a way to explain to Moody that he couldn’t do it, Troy’s hands moved on their own accord in defiance of the signals his brain was sending. Numerous scenarios ran through his mind, but they got all tangled up against each other; he couldn’t sort them into a plan.
Troy believed that he was going to make a stand; he envisioned himself telling Officer Moody he was sorry, that he couldn’t do it. He envisioned himself picking up the full tray, in defiance of Officer Moody, and handing it through the flap. He saw, in his mind, the disappointed look Moody would have on his face, felt the weight of the knowledge that Troy’s relationship with Moody would forever change. Troy tested his willingness to bear the repercussions of defying Officer Moody. He imagined that knowledge of imminent ramifications, and he believed he could do what he knew to be right, despite the consequences.
He believed it until the guy behind the door took the empty tray from Troy’s traitorous hands.
The hungry man expected a full, heavy tray, but the reality was hollow. The difference in weight between the expectation and reality caused him to bang the tray against the top of the door’s flap.
“Bonk,” said the empty tray. To Troy, it was an accusation, a condemnation.
Just before moving on to the next cell, Troy’s eyes moved from the flap to the cell window. He only saw his own reflection in the glass. The fluorescent lights made him look flat and empty; the mottled and thick glass made him appear distorted – slightly grotesque.
