by Tom Nelson
Tommy lies back on the bed that he has chosen as his and not long afterward comes the sweet smell of pot emanating from the cell next door. He drifts off to sleep, but only for a moment. He is woken by one of the trustees’ brooms tapping against the bars of the cell as he sweeps the hallway.
“Hey, man,” the guy says to Tommy, “the girls over here tell me you’ve got weed. Is that right?”
“I’ve got a little bit, yeah.”
The guy pulls a package of Camel cigarettes from his pocket and says, “I’ll trade you a pack of smokes for a joint.” Tommy sees the cigarettes and suddenly wants one more than ever.
“You got a lighter too?” Tommy asks.
“Yeah, man, here,” the trustee says and flicks the lighter as he shows it to Tommy.
“Okay, man, give me a few minutes and I’ll get something together for you.”
The trustee says, “Okay,” and slowly walks away sweeping.
Tommy pulls the bag of weed out again and removes a couple of buds this time. A few minutes later, the trustee returns.
“You ready, man?” he asks.
“Yeah,” comes Tommy’s reply. “Here.” Tommy hands the man a good-size bud and is given the pack of Camels and a lighter in return. Then Tommy hands the guy another bud and says, “Roll one for me too, will ya? I can’t roll for shit.”
They both laugh as the trustee accepts the buds and takes off down the hall to where the trustees bunk. Tommy sits back down, opens the cigarettes, fires one up, and takes a long drag.
“Can we get one of those?” comes the flirtatious voice of the girl in the cell next door. Tommy hands the girls a couple of cigarettes around the bars separating their cells. He lies back down on the bunk, finishes his smoke, and drifts off to sleep . . .
~~~
Tommy is playing Pee Wee League baseball. His father is coaching the team, the Clearwater Cowboys, and is screaming at Tommy from the third base coach’s box.
“Run, Tommy, run!” Tommy’s father encourages his son. He has just been at bat and hit a ball over the second baseman’s head, which sort of teeter rolls out to the youngster in right field. The boy stands and watches as the ball rolls to a stop before running up to get it, despite the cries from his coach for him to run to the ball. “You’ve got second base!” Big Tommy yells out as Little Tommy rounds first and makes it to second safely. “Now, stay put!” Tommy’s father seems proud of his son for the hit he has made.
Little Tommy looks to his father for more coaching as he stands on second base. He is too young to have total focus on the game but wants to please his father. Tommy is actually a very good baseball player and enjoys the game, as long as his father is in a good mood. Tommy’s father will take things out on him during practice by being extra hard on him, so he has learned to play the game pretty well.
Chink! goes the sound of the next batter striking the ball. The aluminum bat was introduced to the public in the early 1970s and became an instant hit. Pun intended. Its light weight makes it ideal for younger players. Little Tommy looks to his father for coaching when he hears the ball being struck by the bat.
“Run, Tommy!” his father calls out to him, “Run, son! Go ahead and take home!” Little Tommy is running as fast as he possibly can as he rounds third base and runs toward home plate for a slide.
Tommy is elated that his performance in the Pee Wee League this evening will probably help keep the peace at home for a while.
~~~
Tommy wakes in the juvenile detention cell at the jail. The trustee comes back and calls Tommy to the bars.
“Here, man,” he says as he hands Tommy a fat joint. “I’ve been by a couple of times, but you were crashed out!” the trustee continues. “A lot of guys back here want to buy some of that weed from you,” the trustee says. “How much you got?”
Tommy considers that question for a moment and says, “A little bit. Why? How much do they want?”
“As much as you’ve got.” The trustee steps up a little closer to the cell bars and asks, “Hey, man, don’t I know you? I’ve seen you somewhere before.”
“I doubt it,” Tommy replies.
“Yeah,” he says as though he is still thinking it through. “I saw you at Cheri Streck’s grandma’s house.” Tommy looks up. The guy does sort of look familiar. “I dated your cousin, Cheri,” the guy explained.
“Okay, yeah, I remember seeing you at grandma’s.”
“I can help you sell all the weed you got, man,” the trustee says and continues with, “what’s your name again?”
“Tommy.”
“Yeah, that’s it. Tommy.”
“I’ve got something else you can help me get rid of while you’re out running around,” Tommy says as he pulls the two bags of pills from his pillowcase.
“What the fuck?!” the trustee asks, startled by what Tommy has just shown him. The trustee repeats in an incredulous whisper, “What the fuck? How did you get all of that in here?”
“I didn’t,” Tommy says, “the cops did. I grabbed it when they had me in the narcotics building today.”
“No shit?!” The trustee says with awe and admiration. He chuckles. “That’s funny! Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Tommy shows the two bags to the trustee, who says in an incredulous whisper, “Motherfucker! You’ve got about fifty Quaaludes and fifty reds here. Don’t worry, I’ll get rid of all of this for you.” He looks up at Tommy and asks, “How much do you want for these?”
“I don’t know. What do they go for?” Tommy asks.
“About seven dollars each on the outside. Twice that in here,” the man tells Tommy. “Hold on to those. I’ll be back in a little bit.”
“Okay,” Tommy says, and then asks, “what’s your name?”
“Jerry,” comes the response as the man starts to walk away.
“All right, Jerry,” Tommy starts off slowly, still pondering the deal he is going to offer him, “I’ll do a seventy/thirty split with you for whatever you make on the weed and pills. How’s that sound?”
“Fuckin’ excellent!” Jerry replies excitedly. He is on the last few days of his six-month sentence in the Aiken County jail for driving under the influence (DUI) and can certainly use the money. “You’ve got a deal.”
Tommy lies down on the metal bed and thin mattress. The bed is hard and the blanket he was issued never seems to keep him quite warm enough, but he falls asleep again quickly.
~~~
Tommy is called to leave the Aiken County jail. His parents finally came and signed him out, which is the equivalent of bail or an own recognizance release for a juvenile. He had been left there for a week, so Tommy spent his thirteenth birthday in jail.
This is an interesting turning point in young Tommy’s life. If his first experience being incarcerated had been horrific, then jail may have had a different effect on him. Instead, he got to relax away from all the drama of home, had plenty of peace and quiet, and got some much-needed sleep. He even read a couple of novels and made a few new friends.
Jerry has given him a phone number with a Georgia area code, where he told Tommy he can either reach him or leave him a message. Although he is ten years older than Tommy, Jerry has been out on his own since a very early age due to a situation very similar to Tommy’s. Fortunately, or unfortunately, he has managed to find a job that pays well and is a lot of fun.
Jerry tells Tommy a little about the “job” that he can help him get while the two are gettin’ stoned together in jail. Tommy had simply said, “Sure, what the fuck do I have to lose?” when Jerry asked if he was interested. It involves driving. The fact that Tommy has only driven his granddad’s ’62 Ranchero and a tractor up and down a dirt road about a dozen times never seems to come up.
All of the girls in the cell next door to Tommy give him their numbers. They have thoroughly enjoyed their stay at the graybar hotel, due to Tommy being such a generous neighbor, and want to hang out with him when they are released. The fact that he is thirteen doesn�
�t seem to bother any of them. And, the fact that Tommy is leaving the Aiken County jail with a fat stack of cash probably encourages them a little.
Of the handful of women who are shuffled in and out of the cell next door during the week, Tommy has developed more of a rapport with the girl who initially asked him for cigarettes. She is the talker of the bunch, and it is easy for Tommy to listen to her sweet Southern voice. Tommy is barely thirteen years old and still a virgin. He has no idea what to do with a woman.
The ride home with his parents is a quiet one. Tommy is relieved not to be the target of his father’s rage for the moment. He hopes things stay peaceful at home long enough for him to get in contact with Jerry and get something started.
~~~
Tommy is at a pay phone dialing the number Jerry had given him before leaving the Aiken County jail. The youngster doesn’t really know what to expect as he calls the number. Whatever is on the other end of this call, Tommy thinks, it has to be better than being at home.
“Hello?” comes a female voice answering the call. She sounds irritated.
“Yeah, hi,” Tommy stammers, “I’m calling to speak with Jerry.”
“JERRY!” Tommy hears the woman scream on the other end of the line. Thank god, she had taken the phone away from her face before she screamed! “He’ll be here in a minute,” the woman says into the phone, and Tommy can hear her putting the phone down on a hard surface. “JERRY!” she screams again as she walks away from the phone.
“Okay, thanks,” Tommy says to the empty phone line. His words go unheard.
Tommy waits for Jerry to come to the phone. His mind wanders. It seems like a long wait, and Tommy is about to hang up when Jerry picks up on the other end.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Jerry,” Tommy stammers again. “It’s Tommy. From jail.”
“Hey, Tommy!” Jerry says excitedly. “I told all the boys here about our time in jail and they can hardly wait to meet you!” Jerry lets out a laugh as he recalls the adventure.
“Cool,” Tommy responds. “Where the hell are you and how do I get there?”
“I’m in Waynesboro,” Jerry says. “Where are you?”
“Augusta.”
“Do you have a ride?” Jerry asks.
“No.”
“Okay, man, I’ll come pick you up,” the older man says. “I can be there in a couple of hours.”
“Cool,” Tommy replies, “I’ll be at the Krispy Kreme.”
“All right. Hang tight!”
Two hours is just about how long Tommy needs to get back to his parents’ house and pack a few items of clothing, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and deodorant. Tommy is too young to need razors and shaving items. He barely has any peach fuzz on his face.
~~~
Tommy and Jerry pull down an old dirt road and drive toward a pale light that cannot be seen from the main road. Jerry douses the headlights and drives by instinct and repetitiveness down the dirt road. As Tommy’s eyes adjust to the darkness and the pale moonlight, he looks over and sees Jerry’s silhouette from the moon behind him.
“Don’t worry! You’re gonna learn to drive by memory too, pretty soon,” Jerry says, never taking his eyes off the dark road ahead. Tommy doesn’t answer.
“Come on!” Jerry says as he throws the car in park and hops out in what appears to be one motion.
“Okay,” Tommy manages to say. He has barely noticed that the car is stopped. Everything seems surreal. He gets out of the car and follows the other man to a small farmhouse where the pale light is originating. It’s gone now. The front of the house is dark. There is only the slightest hint of illumination from lights being used on the other side of the house. They cross a wooden porch that echoes their footsteps and creaks a little as they walk.
“Hey, everybody!” Jerry shouts as the two walk through the front door. “We made it!”
“Don’t know how, with yo sorry ass drivin’!” comes a joking voice from another room.
“We’re in the kitchen,” comes another voice. This one sounds older, somewhat gruff, and more serious. This voice sounds authoritative.
Tommy follows Jerry toward where the voices are coming from. The two enter a large kitchen area with shabby furnishings. Sitting at an old wooden dining table are two young men about Tommy’s age. Leaning against the sink is an older man who is about sixty, Tommy figures.
“Fuck you, Billy!” Jerry says to the person who had joked about his driving. He throws a playful punch at the other guy’s ribs and moves ahead into the kitchen. “This is Tommy, everybody.”
“Hey, Tommy,” the one called Billy says as he stands up from the table. “I’m Billy,” he says with an outstretched hand. “Welcome to the land of misfit boys,” he continues with a laugh.
The other youngster across the table also stands and introduces himself.
“Kent,” is all he says as he reaches out to shake Tommy’s hand.
The man leaning against the sink hasn’t moved nor spoken. He is evaluating Tommy as he makes his way through the introductions. Jerry is standing between Tommy and the other man and makes their introduction.
“Tommy, this is Jack.”
“Hi, Jack,” Tommy says as he steps forward and reaches his hand out for Jack to shake.
The man known as Jack just looks at Tommy’s outstretched hand, ignores it, then asks, “You know how to drive, boy?”
Tommy retracts his outstretched arm with its unshaken hand and says, “A little.”
“A little, huh?” Jack echoes with a critical voice.
“Yeah. All I’ve ever driven is a tractor and my granddaddy’s sixty-two Ranchero.”
“Great,” Jack says, “just great.” He looks over at Jerry, who seems to be cringing just a touch, and says, “Take him out tomorrow and show him how to drive.”
“Yes, sir,” Jerry says with obvious relief. “I’ll make sure he can drive, all right.” Jerry looks over at Tommy with “don’t fuck this up” written all over his face.
Later, Jerry shows Tommy to a room with several twin beds in it. He points at the only empty one and says, “That one’s yours.” Billy and Kent apparently occupy the other beds in the room.
“What am I supposed to be doing here?” he asks. Tommy still isn’t sure about everything that’s happening and what might be expected of him.
“Don’t worry, man,” Jerry says reassuringly, “I’ll teach you what you need to know. Get some sleep. We gonna be drivin’ all day tomorrow.”
With that, Jerry leaves the room and Tommy settles down to sleep. His mind begins to wander as he lies down on the overstuffed mattress, which is covered with white sheets, a white blanket, and white pillowcases. It’s almost too comfortable, Tommy thinks, as he drifts right off to sleep.
~~~
Tommy is two weeks into driving school with Jerry. He is behind the wheel of a 1970 Dodge Charger R/T that is heavily modified to be as fast as fuck! He has a huge grin on his face as he makes a hard right turn from an isolated country road to an even smaller, barely paved road. The car is heavy and moves sideways through the turn, tires smoking as the car goes from forward at ninety mph to sideways at sixty mph and back to ninety mph again as the car straightens back out. Tommy is learning not only how to drive, but how to drive with the cops dead on his ass. He is strapped inside the car with a four-point restraint system, a half roll cage, and bucket seats. He feels like Richard Petty right now!
Jerry, who is in the car beside him, is white-knuckling through the turns and would be in Tommy’s lap if not for the restraint system he too is using. “You can take her back in,” he says a little queasily, “we’re done!” Jerry makes a slicing motion across his throat to indicate they are finished.
Tommy doesn’t respond verbally; he simply steers the car down a series of country roads until they reach the garage. The “garage” is a barn on the farm that has been set up as a shop for building and rebuilding cars to run whiskey and anything else that’s worth money: cigarettes, booze, electr
onics, beef. A little bit of everything passes through this farm! Tommy pulls inside the barn and turns off the engine.
“He’s ready!” Jerry shouts over at Jack who is leaning against a workbench in the garage. Over the course of two weeks, Tommy discovered why Jack is always leaning against something when he is standing. The old guy had been in a serious auto accident where cops had shot the car right out from under him. It flipped several times and Jack busted his pelvis in the crash. He walks a little crooked, relies heavily on a cane, and it’s uncomfortable for him to stand, but Jack can still walk. He is an ornery old bastard with a heart of gold. He loves these boys!
“Good,” comes the simple response.
“He didn’t fuck up my car, did he?” Billy asks jokingly. He is the class clown and always has to get a word or joke in somewhere.
“No,” Jerry responds.
“Fuck you, Billy!” Tommy defends himself as he climbs out of the car. “I think it’s my car now!”
“Nuh-uh!” the skinny country boy comic says. “Right, Jack?”
“You boys work that shit out,” Jack says with a wave of his hand. “I don’t give a damn which of you drives what, as long as my deliveries get made!” He uses his cane to stand up from his leaning position on the workbench and begins his crooked walk back to the house.
“Right . . .” Jerry pipes in.
“Fuck you, Jerry!” Tommy and Billy say in unison, then laugh.
Tommy also found out why Jack only has kids driving for him. Cops don’t shoot at kids. And, kids don’t do life in prison for bootlegging. They go to juvie for six months. Once a kid turns seventeen, he no longer gets to drive on deliveries. He becomes too much of a liability as an adult. This is why Jerry only instructs the newbies on how to drive and helps load and unload the deliveries. He turned seventeen quite a few years earlier, but had nowhere else to go, so he’s stayed at the farm. Jerry looks at Jack like a father.
All of the boys who drive for Jack are either runaways or strays. Kids that have been abused, abandoned, or both. Jack isn’t the greatest of father figures, certainly, but he does give these boys a home and a way to make money. Each boy earns a few hundred dollars per week, depending on the number of deliveries that are made, and are given free room and board as long as they pick up after themselves and perform some basic chores. The general rule of the house is: If you dirty it, you clean it!
