At the juvenile detention center, two guards took us to a room with shelves along one wall and a table in front. On the shelves were clothes and bedding. The cuffs were removed and we were lined up side by side. The men who brought us left with their handcuffs.
'Strip and put your clothes on the floor in front of you.'
We obeyed. The other boys were a lot bigger than me but I still tried to get a glance at what they had between their legs. They were all men compared to me.
'Into the shower and clean up real good.'
We were handed small bars of soap and ushered into a tiled room with at least a dozen showerheads. The water came suddenly out of four. It was steaming hot. The bigger of the two black boys complained. It got hotter.
We were allowed about five minutes then told to rinse. The water stopped and towels were handed out. Once dry, we were lined up again. One by one, a guard checked us completely.
'Raise your arms. Open your mouth. Raise your tongue. Turn around. Bend over. Spread those cheeks.' When he got to me I knew what he wanted from watching the boys who had gone before. I could only think that there were checking to see if we were lose back there from getting fucked. I pulled my ass open with my hands, squeezing my sphincter, hoping he couldn't tell Roy had been inside me a week before.
Nothing was said. I breathed a sigh of relief. I didn't want to be labeled a fag coming in the door.
The other guard sprayed our heads with a fine white powder and the rest of our bodies with a grey powder.
At the table we were given a set of clothes and told to put them on. The underwear was ragged but white clean. The greenish socks had holes. My khaki pants and shirt were easily two sizes too large. I was given a shoelace to tie up my pants. The shoes were downright uncomfortable sneakers, again too large.
One of the guards gave us a speech detailing some of the rules, most of which dealt with fighting and stealing. We were to go in lines everywhere we went. We were to be silent except in our dorms, the yard and the dining hall. Guards were to be addressed as officer or sir. We'd get our interviews and physical and dental exams on Monday.
The next step I should have expected after seeing others in the neighborhood that had been locked up. We were sat one by one on a stool and all our hair cut off. Watching my beautiful curls fall on the painted concrete floor solidified the realization that I was in jail and would be for a while.
I was given a broom and told to sweep up the hair while the others were issued sheets, blankets, pillows, towels and a second set of clothes. I put all the hair including my sweet curls into a pile and asked what to do with it.
The officer looked around then said, 'Leave it where it is and get your stuff.'
The two officers took us to an intake unit where the officer at the door checked off the names on his list. Gonzalez, my new name wasn't on it.
'He's supposed to go upstairs to major felonies, orders.'
The three teens were ushered into the intake dorm and the three officers huddled, probably talking about me. I heard 'isn't gonna like this' twice from one. I was taken to the third floor and put into a dormitory for what turned out to be thirteen to fifteen year olds in for serious charges like armed robbery, rape and murder. The officer there was expecting me.
My new home had thirteen narrow bunk beds, six on one side, seven squeezed into the same amount of space on the other. A thick wire screen separated the back end of the bunks on the window side of the room from the windows by about a yard and a half. A residential street was visible outside. A lounge they called the day room with tables, chairs, a television set in a metal box affixed to the wall and what had once been a pool table ran off one end of the dormitory. A large bathroom with two toilets, three urinals and six hand sinks was at the other. All areas were open to the view of the room and the officer in the screened off corridor.
I was alone there for an hour before the dorm's inmates entered single file, went straight to their bunks and stood in front while a officer with a fat ring of keys on his hip counted us.
`Where's your bunk, kid?' he asked me gruffly.
`I dunno,' I answered coolly.
`I dunno, sir! You call me sir or officer or get your ass kicked. Got that?'
I stared at him silently.
He grabbed my by the shirt and dragged me into the hall where he slammed me against the block wall. The officer at the desk outside watched without emotion.
You wanna play attitude with me boy?' The officer slammed me into the wall again. I chew up and spit out little punks like you every day! Now you answer me correctly or spend your life on punishment detail!' He stood and pulled up his belt. `You ready to show some respect.'
`What am I supposed to say?'
He poked his nightstick into my chest, pushing back to the wall again. You are required to say sir', smartass.'
`Okay, sir.' I tried to keep my expression as meaningless as possible.
The officer put his nightstick behind my shoulder and shoved me back toward the dormitory. `Where's a empty bunk?' he asked the room.
`Here, sir,' answered a tall black boy in the middle.
The nightstick in my back pushed me forward. I walked slowly to my new bed.
`On top,' said the boy with a sneer.
The group of twenty-five plus me included just three whites. The rest was divided pretty evenly between blacks and Latinos. They ranged in size from almost as small as me to the kid whose bunk I shared who was taller than the officer at nearly six feet.
`What's your name, boy?' the teenager asked.
`What's yours?' I retorted.
He laughed. `Hey ya'll. This little motherfucker thinks he's bad.
A crowd quickly formed at the end of our bunks.
I pretended to ignore them all and tossed my clothes and bedding on the top bunk. The tall boy approached me.
`Now, tough boy, let's see if you can remember your name before I turn your ass into ground beef.'
Another black teenager squeezed in between the bunks. Calvin, the trouble with you is you just don't know how to talk to people.' He pushed past the bigger boy who deferred with a sneer. Lemme show you how it's done.' He extended his hand to me and said, Hi, my name's Ronald. Welcome to our shit hole. What's your name?'
I couldn't help but grin. `Ray.' I took his hand and shook it.
'You see, Calvin. You gotta be civilized with people.' Ronald strutted back to where he'd been. Calvin shook his head, glared then smiled at me.
Two Latinos came to my bunk, one a bit taller than me, the other taller and stockier, fourteen or fifteen years old. I spoke to them in Spanish.
'Watch out for the blacks,' they warned me. 'You can't trust not even one of them.' I considered pointing out that I was part black but so were most of them.
They wanted to know where I was from. I told them West Side. What was I in for? 'They say I stole some shit.' When was I scheduled for my next hearing? 'I don't know.'
An officer shouted to form up for 'chow'. We formed a single file line, shortest in front, which meant me. We ate in the dining room at stainless steel tables sitting on stainless steel benches. Both were imbedded in the concrete floor. Around fifty others were in there with us. Lunch consisted of bologna and cheese on dry bread that probably was more than a day old and watered down Kool-Aid of an indistinguishable flavor. The cheese was slimy and had no taste. I spoke only when spoken to and then as briefly as possible. I got the same questions as in the dormitory and provided the same curt answers. One Spanish boy closer to my size tried to make conversation but I just nodded my head and answered with grunts. After giving up in frustration, he commented to the Latino next to him, 'This is one unsociable P.R.'. That worked fine for me.
I had heard plenty about this type of place. A guy had to be careful whom he talked to. Many of the kids there would try to pry information out of others to trade for their freedom. It was important that no one thought you were weak, that you wouldn't fight for what was yours. Otherwise, they would take everything you had right down to your pillow. It was jungle survival of the fittest in its rawest form.
I was assigned to the kitchen washing pots and pans then the floor and walls. From three to four, we were put into a yard the size of a small football field with basketball and handball against a concrete wall. I sat on a bench and looked bored, and, of course, tough, Bogey tough. It was working, I thought, because no one approached me. In the dorm, most of the others went into the day room and lounged around or watched the black and white television. I hopped up on my bunk and tried unsuccessfully to sleep.
I wondered where Cholito was at that time. What was he doing? He had to be wondering where I was. Oh, how I needed him. What about Bill? He had expected me hours earlier. If he went to my apartment, my mother would have told him I was locked up. Would he search for me or think he picked a loser and start his search for a special boy all over again.
Dinner was a little better, a stew of some kind with milk to drink. I hated milk. Then it was back to washing pots and pans, but only the floor, no walls.
Lights out was at eight-thirty. We had been counted, a three time a day occurrence, shortly before. The bunk was like a hammock, bowed in the middle but not comfortable. I liked to sleep on my stomach but it arched my back and hurt. I tried on my side but, after a while, that bothered my shoulder. A look around showed everyone on their backs. I'd just have to learn to sleep on my back.
Every move on the bed made a squeaking noise.
About fifteen minutes after lights out, Calvin, on the bunk below, called out in a loud whisper, Hey white trash, get yo pretty ass over here.' There was no movement or sound. Calvin called again. Don't make me come git you.'
By the moonlight and the illumination of the city outside, I saw one of the three white boys sit up three bunks down. I guessed him to be fourteen. The inch growth of brown hair on his head told me he'd been there for a while. He slipped off the top bunk and walked to ours, his pillow in hand. Without a word, he pulled off his briefs, put the pillow on the floor between the bunks and lay across it, his rear in the air. I knew what that position was for.
Calvin sat up and placed his bare feet on the boy's back. He had something in paper in his hand. It was margarine. He stood up, one foot on the floor, the other still on the white boy and smeared some on his long stiff cock. Calvin kicked the boys legs apart and knelt down between them. He pulled the white boy's ass higher and leaned over on one hand. The other guided his dick. The boy grunted quietly as Calvin forced himself inside. He lay on top and reached his hand under the white shoulders. He jerked himself higher obviously to gain greater depth. The white boy lay silently, his neck arched down, his forehead to the floor. Calvin began fucking, slow thrusts with hard fast endings. I couldn't take my eyes off them though I knew I shouldn't have been watching. I realized I was hard. I lay back and raised my knees to hide it.
The muffled sound of rhythmic movement came up to me like a nightmare. Was this what was in store for me? Was I next? I knew the boy's pain. It was probably worse than Sammy in me. I closed my eyes. I wanted to sleep and not hear, not know what was going on below. The white boy grunted.
`Shut the fuck up,' ordered Calvin, his whisper strained.
I felt movement on my bed and opened my eyes. A black arm was across the back corner. I could barely see his black head below. I was sure it was Ronald, the boy who had introduced himself to me. His arm disappeared. I heard the rustle of paper. I couldn't resist looking over the edge. Ronald was wiping margarine on his cock. The white boy was in for more.
Calvin's fucking grew harder, faster. He grunted, stiffened and rammed in, stopped, pulled out and rammed in again, and again, then went limp over his victim. Ronald patted him on the thigh. Calvin got up and went to the bathroom. Ronald climbed in and repeated Ronald's entry, but slower.
`You do got a sweet ass, Benjamin.' He began a slow, rhythmic, undulating fuck. His whole body was into each thrust. It was like one continuous motion, almost a slow dance. I wished there'd been more light to see better. Calvin came back and got into bed. Another boy, black, about fourteen with another large cock walked quietly to our bed and picked up the margarine filled paper.
Ronald took longer than Calvin and finished off as he fucked, with no sudden movements, just the slow arching of his body, pushing for full penetration as he unloaded inside Benjamin.
The third boy waited for him to pull out then elbowed in as Ronald left for the bathroom. He yanked Benjamin into a hands and knees kneeling position, pointed his dick at its target and jammed in. Benjamin grunted. The rapist rapped him on the back of the head with his fist. 'Shut up, faggot!' he whispered forcefully. Every thrust bounced the white boy's ass upward. Mercifully, it didn't take long, perhaps two dozen thrusts before it was over.
I hadn't noticed the smallest of the black boys waiting, seated on the bar at the end of Calvin's bed. He was completely naked. The beauty of his body, illuminated perfectly by the moonlight coming through the window, captivated me and drew my mind away from the horror going on below. He was a few inches taller than me with full rounded pectorals and abdominal lines that flowed to his long, slim penis that stuck out proudly above muscular thighs. Even with the poor angle of view, his ass was like half a basketball. When the previous rapist left, he didn't bother to grease himself, just pushed Benjamin to the floor and turned him on his side. Raising the upper leg, he slid in tight and pushed crudely into the well-used hole. Holding on the white leg with both arms, he fucked furiously for several minutes before stiffening in orgasm. The beauty of the boy belied his brutality. Benjamin followed him to the bathroom as though nothing had happened. It was over.
My cock would have burst if it were any harder. I desperately needed to beat off but knew that the Calvin could feel the motion of anything I did. I considered going into the bathroom but there was no privacy in there. The toilets were out against the wall. I massaged myself working the head. Visions of the last boy's moonlit body filled my imagination with fantasies that required some fruition. Saliva lubrication just got me more excited without bringing finality. I thought about my mother. It required mental discipline but in the end, it worked. The boy faded and my cock relaxed its demands.
I finally fell asleep but it couldn't have been for long because when they woke us up at five thirty, I was groggy enough that it took a while to realize where I was. After being counted, an officer led us down the hall, towels over our shoulders, to the shower room. The smallest rapist with the fantastic body was almost across from me. It took tremendous self control not to stare at him. I did a lot of turning and re-washing under my arms to steal glances. His succulent, long cock dangled and swung back and forth as he bathed. Mine started to grow. When next I looked, he caught my eye, grinned and nodded at my growing penis. I frowned and turned away only to be confronted by a slim Latino boy with another developing, hairless cock. I turned toward the wall but suspected he too had caught me looking. Breathing heavily stopped me from having a full erection.
After a breakfast of lumpy oatmeal requiring several spoons full of sugar to be edible and more Kool-Aid, I washed pots and pans again. Church services were announced and an amazing number of boys cued up to go.
At nine thirty, we were allowed out on the yard for recreation. I went to a wall and sat in the dirt, hoping not to be noticed. A Latino boy about my size came over looking hard at me. He stopped and squatted a couple of feet away.
'Ain't you Gato? Offa Forty Eight?'
I tried to recognize him but didn't. 'Who's askin'?'
'Shit, you don't remember me? You kicked my ass back in second grade when I wouldn't give you money I didn't have.' He looked at my arms. `And with the muscles you got now, you could probly kick my ass again.'
Being human, I enjoyed the last remark but I still didn't recognize him. There were lots of boys I beat up back in second grade. 'So what's your name?'
'Miguel De La Paz. I lived on Forty Seven for most of that year then came back to the Bronx. You were in Miss Zachary's class. I was in Miss Williams'.'
I did remember him. He had hair back then. 'Yeh, I remember you. What'cha doin' in here?'
He waddled to the wall and sat beside me. 'My second time, mano. This time's for some bullshit about me kickin' a lady cop when she caught us carrying some shit outta a store. What they get you for?'
'Stealin'.'
'When you get here?'
'Yesterday.'
'Yesterday? How come you ain't in the intake unit. You ain't thirteen, are you?'
'I'm eleven, why?'
'Yeh, like me. So how come you're with the big kids? You supposed to be in intake for at least a week. You kill somebody?'
'Nah, I din't kill nobody. Whatta mean I'm supposed to be in intake a week. What's that?'
He explained that all new arrivals spent a week in a special dormitory on the first floor where they were given physical exams and psychological testing and were assigned their case manager. The case manager kept track of everything to do with them including court dates, school and behavior. He'd never seen a boy come in and be put right into the general population, especially with older boys. There weren't many kids our age and they were all in one dormitory on the second floor.
Was my crime such a big deal I wondered? They had to know it was a Westies job. Maybe they considered me too dangerous to be put with kids my own age? Or was there someone manipulating this to punish me for not cooperating?
'You sure they always put kids in that intake place? What about with big crimes like murder and armed robbery?' I asked.
'They put Ronald Jackson in intake and he killed a dude with a knife. Stabbed him nine times.'
'That the Ronald Jackson that's in my place?'
Miguel looked over the yard and pointed out the Ronald from my dormitory. 'Him, the nigger playing cards just put his hands up.'
It was my Ronald, the kid who had been nice introducing himself and protecting me from Calvin, the kid who had screwed Benjamin the night before but was the gentlest of the four in doing it.
A whistle blew. Miguel jumped up and said, 'we gotta get in line. See you later, mano.' He sauntered off, hands in his pockets.
Ronald had stabbed a guy to death. I was in with murderers. I wondered what the seemingly nastier Calvin had done.
In the dormitory, Ronald came to my bunk with a Daily News in his hand.
'Hey, Ray, you go through a air duct and steal some diamonds? Says here some juvenile got his ass caught coming outta a air duct? That's you, ain't it?'
It was in the newspaper. 'Lemme see.'
He laughed and handed it to me. 'So you a big time jewel thief, huh, Ray?'
I was too absorbed in the article to answer. 'Jewel Heist Foiled' said the headline. It described what had happened, that I was caught coming out of an air duct into a janitor's closet and taken to the Midtown Precinct. Detective Colin Mulvaney was in charge of the investigation and said they'd have the whole gang in jail soon.
The detective knew who my father was and had to believe he was involved. But, unless I talked, he couldn't prove anything against anyone but me. A cold chill went from the back of my neck down through my spine. A lot of very bad people wanted me to be quiet. Would they risk me talking or kill me. I was in a dormitory with boys who had killed, boys who had little to lose by killing again.
I needed a lawyer to get me out of there.
We were back in the yard three hours later. Miguel re-joined me at the wall. I had a lot of questions I wanted to ask but wasn't sure which could become problems if he mentioned them to others. But there were things I had to know. Before I could get to my questions, Miguel had some of his own. Along with many others, he, too, had read the newspaper article about the burglary.
'Yeh, it was me but they got the diamonds back so what's the big deal. Didn't even break nothing.'
'That don't mean nothin'. They caught you stealin' diamonds, two million worth. That ain't like stealing cassettes, mano. This your first time?'
'Unh huh, 'cept a stupid fight with some white kid. But the judge said it wasn't anything and I went home.'
'You'll probly just get probation, then, but I don' know.'
Probation was what I wanted to hear. I began my list of questions.
'What's Calvin in for?' I asked.
'Calvin's in for rape like Miguel Solorzano, that fat kid over there.' He pointed out a stocky light skinned Latino who also slept in my dorm. 'You got some real bad people in your house, mano. Even that little guy, Joselito,' he indicated the smallest of the latinos in my group, 'he was with some guys shot a Korean in his store in a holdup. He been here over a year.'
'So how come I'm in with all those guys an' all I did was steal?'
He shook his head in ignorance. 'Maybe you pissed somebody off?'
That was what I was beginning to think. The cops were getting back at me for not giving up my biological father. 'So how long's it take to go to court?'
'Shit, mano, can be tomorrow or six months, a year from now. Nobody ever knows. You got a good lawyer, it's faster. You got a lawyer?'
'I think so. A guy in a suit came to the police station Friday night but they wouldn't let him talk to me.' The false name I had been given now made sense. 'Those motherfuckers said I was somebody named Juan Gonzalez and that ain't my name. They know my real name 'cause my mother came and told 'em. Fuck! They trying to keep my lawyer from getting' me out.'
'So, tomorrow morning when the social workers come in, you tell em'. I bet your mother's lookin' all over for you.'
That deflated me. She was too angry with me. She would not look until her mother made her and my grandmother probably didn't yet know I was missing. I wanted to tell my mother I was sorry so she would find me and tell the lawyer where I was. Hoolihan and the Italian would get me out fast so I wouldn't be thinking about snitching. In the morning, I'd tell the social workers my real name and they'd have to tell my mother. I'd be out in a couple of days.
I went to bed that night feeling that my situation would improve quickly, that my freedom was imminent. Sleep still wouldn't come.
Finally in a partial doze, I was brought back to reality by the sound of scuffling. Two boys were trying to push each other out of the way across the aisle between bunks. They hadn't any briefs on. A pair of white legs stuck out between theirs. One stood up and knelt in front of the other who yanked up the prostrate boy under him. He appeared about to fuck his ass. The boy in front had reached down and pulled something up, I guessed the boy's head. That side of the room was darker than ours. I looked over and saw Benjamin's bunk empty.
The boy fucking was Miguel Solorzano, the rapist. He finished quickly, probably in less than a minute. The boy getting the blow job immediately moved to Benjamin's backside and entered. He was followed by another who left his bunk when Solorzano walked past toward the bathroom.
Calvin stood up, watching the action and whispered to me, 'it's Latin night in Club Benjamin. Why don't you go over there get you a piece.'
My cock was rock hard but this wasn't something I could participate in. It was too public, too involuntary, too violent. I didn't really find Benjamin very attractive but probably would have been willing to have sex with him on the outside, without an audience. Even the second movie with cameraman and assistant watching and recording my every action didn't seem dirty like what was happening across from me.
'You oughta try it, my man, you never know when you might be the one on the flo'.'
His remark took a few breaths to sink in. Why did he say that? Was it a message? Were they planning on raping me that very night? Calvin was in for rape, just like Solorzano who had been first on Benjamin.
I'd fight them. They couldn't get in me if I didn't let them. They would have to beat me unconscious. I was not going to be seen as giving in. Nobody was going to have reason to call me a fag.
Five boys took their turns with Benjamin, including the smallest Latino, thirteen year old Joselito who was not much bigger than me, who had killed the Korean store owner. He was the one who had briefly excited me in the shower. He did it the same way as the smallest of the blacks, by holding Benjamin's leg up to his chest and fucking him sideways. Did they expect I'd allow that?
I lay back and closed my eyes, nearly trembling in terror. I knew what the pain would be like but I was more terrified of the humiliation. The word would get out. Everyone inside the institution would know. Whenever I walked by, sat to eat in the dining hall, went to the yard, they'd see me as a faggot, a homosexual. They'd point and make remarks, ask when they could have me. 'Come into the shower and suck my cock,' they'd order. It was the most frightened I'd ever been in my life.
John's words came to me: 'never say never, nothing is forever'. Whatever happened, it would end. I'd soon be away from this place, these terrible people. Nothing was forever! I thanked John.
Nothing more happened that night. I eventually slept.
Monday morning, I stayed in the dorm while the others showered. I wanted to go, to see some of their bodies wet and sexy but wasn't ready to risk a telltale hard-on.
After breakfast, we were taken to school on the second floor. They asked what grade I was in and put me with a group of about twenty-five boys of all ages that included Miguel, my friend from the yard. The classroom was painted light green and was brighter than the one at my school. I told the young teacher I wanted to see my case manager. He said he'd find out who it was during recess and let him know.
I barely heard what was being taught, some grammar and how to write a letter. My mind was going over what I would say to the case manager. I'd tell him my real name and ask why I hadn't been put in the intake unit, that I wanted my mother to know where I was, that I wanted to talk to my lawyer. I knew Bill's telephone number. Would he let me call a family friend who could contact my mother?
My thoughts were interrupted by a boy poking my arm. Juan Gonzalez was being called for. An officer stood in the door looking at me. It had to be my case manager.
I was taken upstairs to the dormitory and told to collect my belongings.
I didn't understand. "I ain't got no belongings, just the sheets and clothes and stuff they gave me Saturday.'
'Well, get `em.'
Was I getting out so fast? Was my mother or the lawyer waiting for me downstairs? At the least they were moving me into the intake unit where I belonged.
Bedding and clothes in my arms, I was taken to a long first floor office with half a dozen doors along one wall. A secretary told me to sit on a wooden bench and wait. It seemed a long time but was more likely a few minutes. I looked all over hoping for a glimpse of my mother or the lawyer. There was no one in sight. A serious looking man in shirtsleeves called me into a small office with pink walls, filing cabinets and a desk with a single metal chair sitting in front of it. .
'Juan', the man said after sitting me down and introducing himself as Mr. Foster, the intake officer, 'we have no address for you. Where do you live?' He held a pencil over a form. My stomach suddenly felt very empty. I wasn't going home yet. But, at least, I could tell someone the truth about who I was, get some help.
'My name is Raymond Molina, not Juan Gonzalez. I live at 440 West Forty-Eighth Street. I don't think my mother knows where I am. Can you...'
'Just a minute, why does this say your name is Juan Gonzalez if it isn't?' He was frowning.
'I din't tell the cops my name at first but my mother came and told them and they knew who my father was but they kept saying Juan Gonzalez which ain't my name.'
The man seemed to pay more attention. 'What was the officer's name... never mind, Detective Mulvaney?'
'That's him. He was mad 'cause I didn't want to talk to him. He kept...'
'Slow down,' he interrupted. 'You were brought here Saturday after the police caught you in a burglary of a jewelry factory. Is that correct?'
I had to think whether answering that was a problem. It wasn't. 'Yeh, but they got the diamonds back and I din't break nothin'.'
Mr. Foster smiled briefly for the first time and stood up. 'You stay put. I'll be right back.' He turned in the doorway. 'Who is your father?'
'Ray Hoolihan.'
'He a cop or what?'
'They think he's in the Westies,' I answered hoping that was the correct answer.
'Oh,' was all he said and left, closing the door quietly.
When he came back some twenty minutes later, he had a short older man with him. He sat in Mr. Foster's chair and looked me over with his small, close-set eyes. 'I spoke with Detective Mulvaney and he tells me you refused to give him your name and the woman who came ran out without speaking to anyone but you. And she only spoke in Spanish. That true, young man?'
'No,' I answered frantically. 'They even knew who my father was.' It occurred to me that I didn't really know what my mother had told them if anything. But how could she get in without saying her name and mine. And the latino cop called her Miss Molina. 'So how they let my mother in to see me if they din't know who she was and that she was my mother? An' they called her with her name. And they knew who my father was.'
The men looked quizzically at each other. The older man continued my questioning. 'Where do you go to school?'
'Two Twelve on Forth-eight Street.'
`Who's you teacher?
`Mr. Martinson.'
He picked up the telephone and asked someone to call school 212 in Manhattan. 'You can put your things on the floor.'
I had forgotten the clothes and bedding I had clutched tightly to me. I put them on the floor beside the chair.
They whispered into each other's ears then the phone rang. The older man requested the principal but apparently was speaking to her. He identified himself and explained that he had a boy claiming to be Ray Molina from her school. He listened and wrote. Mr. Foster leaned over and read what was being written. 'And who told you that?' the older man asked of the principal. He wrote down the answer. He asked for a school report and then waited.
'Ms. Peters, this is Henry Watkins of ...' He smiled and listened. 'Why, yes, we do know each other. Good to speak to you again. What can you tell me about one of Mr. Martinson's students, Raymond Molina?' He listened and wrote, muttering 'umh hmh' a few times. Mr. Foster kept reading. I was worried. Ms. Peters hated me after the Juvenile Court hearing when she was embarrassed by the judge. She would certainly have nothing nice to say about me.
After hanging up, the man told me to wait where I was and the two left the room. I heard the sound of recreation and knew boys were in the yard. The sound had ended when Mr. Foster came back and took me to another office in the same area.
'I'm Mr. Duncan and I'm going to give you some tests but first I need to ask a few questions.' He got my name, address, school, grade and all about my family. The tests took less than an hour and included asking me about strange black shapes on some cards. I didn't trust his request that I tell him what they looked like to me so I just said clouds and elephants or I wasn't sure. The look on his face told me he didn't like my answers.
The next stop was a doctor who gave me a very thorough physical examination including playing with my balls and pushing back the foreskin on my cock. I looked the doctor's face over good to see if I'd seen him on the Square. I hadn't. Another man stuck me with a needle and took blood. They gave me a cup to pee in and directed me into a small bathroom there in the doctor's office.
From there, I was taken to the dining hall for another dry sandwich and Kool-Aid lunch at a table by myself. Only bigger boys were there when I arrived. Then it was back to the long office to wait again.
I sat for more than an hour by the clock on the wall while men in shirt sleeves came and went. Mr. Foster gave me a forced smile when he passed.
A very young man with a stack of folders under his arm called me from the entry door. `Raymond Molina?'
I looked up. He had used my real name.
`Let's go.'
I jumped up and followed him. Was this it? Was I getting out?
We went into another office down the corridor. He began speaking as he walked around a desk covered with papers. `My name is Mr. Milner, your case manager. Sit down, please.'
Please was a word I hadn't heard for days.
Mr. Milner moved some papers out of the way and opened a file. He was obviously in a very bad mood. `How are things in your dormitory?'
`Okay. But how come I'm not in intake or with kids my own age?'
`Mr. Molina, let me ask the questions for a while.'
He didn't ask anything, just read paper after paper in the folder.
Finally, `Seems you like to fight, Mr. Molina. You had any fights in here?'
`No,' I answered with an exasperated tone.
`Well, I hope not. You understand the rules here?'
He didn't look up for an answer. Okay, I'm going to leave you where you are for a while to see how you behave.' He stood. Let's go.'
`When can I call my mother? She don't know where I am.'
`Don't worry, she's being notified by the police.'
I felt a panic rise inside. 'But, sir, the police...'
'The police will notify your mother. Just go with the officer.'
He handed me over to an officer who took me back to school. I arrived just in time for afternoon recess. Miguel and I, being the smallest in our class, led the line out to the yard.
Before I could sit down, Ronald Jackson pushed Miguel away and spoke softly. `Tonight after dinner when you're washing dishes, find a way to git me some cooking oil. Put it in a bag from the bread. Just a little's all I need.'
`They don't let me in the kitchen, just at the sinks.'
`Ray, don't give me no shit, just bring the oil, unnerstan'?'
After he left, I told Miguel what Ronald had said.
`They use it for fuckin'. You better find a way. You don't want him pissed at you.'
How do I get in the kitchen? They got me at the sink washing the pots n' all.'
`Get a sandwich bag outta the trash and tear off most. Then, just watch for a chance when nobody's watchin'.'
That didn't give me much hope but I'd try. The oil was for Benjamin's ass.
They fucked that white boy Benjamin both nights I been in there. And he just lets em. And not just the niggers.'
`He's a fag. Burned his house down with his mother and sisters inside. One a his sisters died. They gonna be fucking that homo for a lot a years, mano. We even got one in our house, little white boy always cryin' 'cept when he's got a nigger dick up his ass. Nigger's won't let nobody else fuck 'im. Says he belongs to them. We're outnumbered so what the fuck can we do. I wouldn't do it even if they let me. Ain't right, mano'
That last remark relieved me. He'd sounded so emotionless talking about how latinos weren't allowed access to a rape.
'What's the kid in here for?' I asked.
'First 'cuz he beat his old man over the head with a fryin' pan when his old man was beatin' on his mother. Then his mother says that's a lie that she fell down and her old man was just helpin' her up and Mark, that's the kid's name, is always lyin' and hittin' his sisters. But that ain't all, the old man comes up with a gun he says Mark had in the house to kill him.
'Mark says his old man don't live with 'em, just comes around every couple weeks to fuck his mother an' beat on her an' him. He says he ain't never had no gun and the social worker of the city is always on the father's side even though she ain't never even been to the house. Now ain't that some shit?'
'So how come the niggers fuck just him?'
'They like white boys and he's the onliest one right now.'
'They just like whites?'
'Usually. Unless a kid's a real fag like that Latino up on four. He likes it. Don't ever wanna get out, they say.'
I felt a little safer and told him about the interviews and exams I'd been through. `But they still ain't movin' me outta where I am. An' when I asked to call my mother, he said the cops were gonna tell her I was here. Shit, the cops's the ones don't want her to know. They knew my name and said I was Juan Gonzalez.'
Miguel thought for a moment. `You got a telephone? We can tell a kid in my group that's goin' to court tomorrow. He can call from his house or the street, maybe.'
It sounded like a good plan. I had him memorize Bill's phone number and promise to write it down once in his dormitory. I hoped that the following day Bill would get the call and contact my mother. She could talk to Hoolihan and bring the lawyer. They could get me out.
Of course, that all depended on Bill still being interested in me, something very uncertain in my mind. The two boys he liked came from nice homes in Queens. Bill just didn't look the type to want juvenile delinquents around.
School the rest of the day was about human relations. The teacher had us speaking politely to each other. Everybody thought it was funny.
After dinner in the dish kitchen, I snatched an empty bread bag out of a huge trash can and tore off the top two thirds. The remainder went inside my shirt. I watched the civilians, as non-officer employees were called, in the kitchen. I tried to spot the cooking oil but didn't see it anywhere. The two cooks walked out. No officers were near by so I rushed in. There wasn't any oil anywhere. The cabinets were all locked as were the refrigerators. I looked under the stainless steel worktables. Nothing but pots, pans and large utensils. No oil anywhere.
I ran back to the sinks. An officer was waiting, smiling.
`No food, huh. Next time you go in there, I'm gonna arrange for you to skip a couple meals, understand?'
I understood but I'd have rather missed a couple of meals than have Ronald the killer angry with me. That's when I noticed the jug of dishwashing liquid on the wall by the dishwasher. A plastic tube went from the jug to the machine. I yanked the tube free at the machine end and let the liquid run into the bag.
It wasn't what Ronald wanted. "I tole ya'll to bring me oil, not soap, new boy. We gonna have to see about this.' He went into the day room and commented to Calvin and another black teenager. They all looked briefly at me then went back to a card game.
I dreaded the thought of lights out. I almost asked the officer for help when he passed by during the count. When the lights did go out, the chills came back, this time accompanied by a pain in my stomach so bad I thought I was going to vomit. I pulled the blanket up to my chin and tried to relax. Whatever was going to happen, I had to be ready and cool. Everyone had to know that I fought, that I never accepted what was done, that I was no fag! But if they were coming for me, I wanted it right away. Do it and get it over with. Never say never, nothing is forever.
There seemed to be greater silence than normal. I tried to concentrate on the shadows on the far wall of the windows and the screen behind me. I listened to the cars passing outside. Then I began to hear the heavy breathing of sleep. Time passed. Nothing happened. Even Benjamin was allowed a night off.
I planned to avoid the showers again but the officer wouldn't allow it. 'Can't have you people stinkin' up the place.'
I tried to get to an end shower head but bigger boys pushed into them, ignoring my presence. It was back to the middle, enticing bodies pulling on my eyes like magnets on iron filings. The smallest black boy was playing with his partial hard-on. I turned to the wall but sneaked looks at Joselito alongside me. Cholito would probably look like that when he was thirteen, except he'd have a bigger dick. I missed Cholito. Tears welled up inside me.
During morning recess in the yard, Miguel was with three boys who had been talking to him at the end of class. Benjamin joined me at the wall. No one seemed to pay attention so I stayed instead of moving elsewhere.
`My name's Benjamin. You're Ray, right?'
I nodded.
`Where you from?'
`West Side.'
`I'm from Queens.'
I had to ask him. `Why do you let them do that to you?'
He looked at his shoes. I waited in silence.
`What am I supposed to do?'
Shit, man, you can at least fight back. Make it hard for em.'
`I don't know how to fight. They'd kill me. Ronald's a murderer already. They hit me even if I act like it hurts.'
`Does it, hurt?'
Of course it does.' There were tears in his eyes. He wiped them on his sleeve. You better hope they don't ever do it to you.'
`I ain't no fag. Why they gonna do it to me?'
`That doesn't mean anything. I never told anybody I was gay and look.'
Didn't he know how he talked and walked? Anybody could see he was gay.
So why don't you ask em to move you to a different group?'
`I already did but they said I have to stay in this group because of my charge.'
You tell em what they was doing to you?'
Benjamin stared at his shoes again. I knew the answer.
So why didn't you tell em?'
`If you tell, they'll investigate. I'll have to testify. That'll just make it worse. Then they'll want to kill me or worse.'
`Don't you got a lawyer?'
`Hmmph! Sure, I have a lawyer. Some jerk from Legal Aid. I've only seen him twice in two months at hearings. He's never been here. Anyway, we're juveniles. They can do anything they want with us and there's nothing a lawyer can do. Unless you're rich.'
Benjamin was in for murder and arson. Nasty as my situation was, his was worse. I had a lawyer somewhere. My biological father had to use his connections to help me this time. My grandmother would raise all kinds of hell until my mother did something. If Miguel's friend called Bill, maybe he would help.
Even not snitching, I'd get out eventually. If Miguel was right, I could luck out and get probation though I doubted that. I felt sorry for Miguel and the little white boy getting raped in Miguel's group but was powerless to do anything for them. I was powerless to help myself.
The rest of the day was uneventful. Ronald didn't speak to me or even notice my existence. Miguel said not to worry.
By mid afternoon, I was imagining the released boy who had been in Miguel's dormitory calling Bill, setting in motion my release.
Dinner was disturbing. The food tasted foul. Ronald and the blacks were winking at me. It was ominous but I wasn't sure how or why. In the dormitory, they played cards, ignoring me. I looked at the Latinos but they too were involved in other things. Most were watching television. As usual, I climbed up on my bunk and thought of other things, this time what Cholito might be doing. I wondered if he was visiting our basement to beat off. I missed the fun, the companionship of being with him. Then there was talkative John. Was he in a foster home or had he run away? I hadn't seen him for a month.
Count time came and went. The lights were shut off, momentarily blinding me. Gradually, my eyes became accustomed to the low level of light coming from the moon and street lights seeping through screens and windows behind me. I closed my eyes.
Every sound seemed to be someone getting up or approaching my bed. Time after time and opened my eyes to see merely boys in bunks, some with arms behind their heads, all dozing or asleep.
Again, nothing happened.
The officer made sure I went to the shower in the morning. Again, I was shuttled to the middle. The black boy with the attractive body soaped himself up and began to slowly masturbate. It took several seconds before I could turn away. I washed myself facing the wall. When I turned while rinsing, the boy was looking at me and holding on to his cock. I averted my gaze. He said, 'woowee' and laughed. I'd been tagged.
It was sure he'd say something. If someone said anything to me, I could just say I thought it weird that some kid would beat off in the shower right in front of everybody. I looked for Benjamin. He was already drying himself off. A black boy was whispering something in his ear. Benjamin grinned and gently elbowed the boy in the side. He didn't look at me.
Maybe the boy's gesture had just been playfulness, showing off to anyone who'd look what a big dick he was growing. Lots of kids did that. Even at school, kids showed off their dicks in the bathroom. I hoped that was all it was.
There were no remarks during the day. I was called out of class to the dentist who checked my teeth and filled several cavities after supposedly numbing me with painful injections. It was my first time with a dentist. He wanted me back the following week giving me another strong reason to hope for a prompt release.
At dinner, the smallest black boy sat beside me and whispered in my ear. 'You wanna suck my big dick?'
'Go fuck yourself!' I answered angrily.
'Come over my bunk tonight an' I'll let you suck on it long's you want.'
'Get the fuck away from me. Go see your buddy Benjamin, faggot!' I was fully prepared to fight and be punished for it. It would prove my manhood. The boy didn't take the bait.
'I'll be waitin',' he said and turned away to eat his sandwich.
Nothing more was said.
I debated whether to mention the incident to Miguel but decided against it. The boy was probably just checking me out. I'd make sure never to look at him again, in the shower or out.
As lights out neared, my anxiety grew. No one said anything. One Latino boy even offered me a Spanish magazine. It helped divert my mind from my worries. The officer made the count. I felt a sense of urgency as he neared. He was security, protection. But what could I have said to him that he wouldn't have rebuffed out of hand. He walked by and I felt alone, unprotected.
I took the magazine up on my bunk and tried to read those last minutes before lights out. I had to sit up to do so because I couldn't see the words lying on my back with the magazine blocking the light. The black boy was sitting on his bunk, a top one like mine, about a dozen feet away on my side. He was looking at me. I didn't look but, out of the corner of my eye, could see that he was facing me, legs over the side of the bed, briefs his only clothing. I hunched over more and kept my eyes down. I couldn't read more than a few words at a time without forgetting what I had read. The officer called 'Lights Out'. I was still fully dressed. I took off my shoes and lay back. Realizing that might be considered a sign of fear, I slowly unbuttoned my shirt and took it off, then my pants. I got under the covers and closed my eyes.
`Robert's waitin' on you, Ramón.' It was Calvin standing up, his face near mine.
`Fuck Robert,' I said.
'No, motherfucker, fuck you.' It was Ronald Jackson, behind me.
I turned fast toward him but he put his hand over my mouth and pulled me off the side of the bed. I didn't fall because he and another boy grabbed me. Calvin climbed quickly through to that side of the bunks and grabbed my legs. I took a deep breath through my nose and tried to bite Ronald's hand. He felt it coming and pulled it away. A fist hit me in the stomach taking my breath away. I was flattened on the floor, knees in my back and on my legs. A sheet was pulled across my face and forced into my mouth, stretching my lips and cheeks.
I struggled but only succeeded in wiggling. Hands pulled my briefs halfway down my thighs. I tightened my buns. The knees on my legs moved to my ankles as my briefs were pulled down to my calves. Someone sat on my ass while another wrapped his arm around my legs just above the briefs, which were then pulled off. I rocked side to side trying to get an arm or leg loose. Separate arms took hold of each leg and pulled them apart. I tried jerking one loose and did so long enough to knee someone in his body. He grunted. A body went across the free leg and pulled it away from the other.
`Hey man, I'm first!' The harsh whisper sounded like Robert.
`Not no more. I'm getting' this motherfucker now.' The low calm whisper was Ronald's.
A hand spread something oily on my ass. I tightened my buns determined that there'd be no entry. I felt the cock push at my crack. I held it off.
A fist hit me in the side. A sharp pain spread rapidly, breaking my concentration. The cock gained ground but I squeezed again stopping its progress.
`Open up, motherfucker, or I'll bash yo' head in!' Ronald whispered into my ear.
I wasn't deterred. Hit me all you want, I thought, but I'm not letting you in.
I felt them changing positions while keeping me pinned to the floor. An arm pushed under my gut and yanked upward. They pulled my ass up but kept my legs down, bending them farther and farther under me. My ass cheeks spread. I tightened my sphincter against the coming attack. The cock pushed hard against it. Twice it slipped off. The next time the tip forced its way in. I was tiring. I bit down on the sheet in my mouth. The cock pushed further in. A searing pain made it feel like flesh was being ripped. I released my muscle. I felt it rush in and ram against something inside. The pain was excruciating. I began to cry, a silent screaming cry not from the pain but from the frustration, the helplessness, the defeat.
The fucking began. My ass hurt from entry to deep inside. I was having trouble breathing. Anger returned and stopped my crying. The thrusts were hard and fast but the pain uniform. I fought to free an arm but both were locked in someone's grasp. Everything seemed to become unreal, distant, as though my mind had somehow parted from what was going on. The pain was still there but somehow remote. The fucking stopped. Whoever was in me was cumming.
Positions were changed. My ass was lifted higher. Another cock entered. I tried to scream. The sheet was tightened. I could hardly breathe. Everything became more distant still. I could feel the banging on my body but lost track of how long it was going on, if it was just one boy or they'd switched off again. I realized I wasn't struggling any more and that I should be. But I felt so weak, so tired. Then my ass was empty.
Arms turned me on my back then my side. The sheet loosened on my face. Fresh air entered my lungs. I heard whispers but not distinct words. Someone sat on my leg that was against the floor. Something entered my ass again, something smaller. There was no pain. Robert was getting his.
My one arm was held against someone's chest, A pair of knees were on either side of my shoulders, my other arm trapped under them. Something soft and greasy lay against my face. It was a cock. My face was in someone's crotch. I took a deep breath, turned my face into the crotch and bit into the greasy penis with all my strength. There was muffled but loud scream. I tasted blood. The knees lifted off my shoulders. My arms were released. I struggled to roll over. The cock in me came out. Then there was just hurt. I have no memory of anything after that until I woke up sometime later in my bed; face down, pain roaring throughout my body.
I rolled to one side then on my back. One knee felt like it was broken. My gut hurt side to side, in and out. I felt the nausea rising and managed to get my head over the side of the bed before vomiting. Little came out but I couldn't stop gagging.
I heard Calvin mutter angrily, `motherfucker'.
He climbed out of the other side of his bunk. Moments later, one of the Latinos came to me. He put his arm over me and pulled me off the bed. 'Let's go to the bathroom,' he whispered in Spanish. I was barely aware of walking. At the sink, I heard a man's voice.
'What's wrong with him?'
'He's sick from your lousy food.'
'Well, clean him up and get him back in bed.'
'He threw up on the floor. We need a mop.'
The officer agreed to get one.
There was a second boy with me, washing my face with his wet hand. It was Benjamin. 'Wash your mouth out with water,' he said and held his hand in front of the stream of water from the faucet.
I sipped and spit several times holding back a sudden urge to cry.
'How bad you hurt?' asked the Latino holding me up. His strong presence held up the tears. The macho spirit lived in me still.
I tried to stand but a sharp pain shot through my knee and gut. The urge to cry changed into anger. I wanted to hurt the ones who had hurt me.
'Somebody got to call a doctor,' said another Latino in English.
'Ain't no doctor now, just a nurse. What she gonna do?'
'What if somethin's broke? What if he's bleedin' inside. They really put it to him, mano.'
The sound of leather shoes approached. 'Turn on the lights,' called out the officer. There was light. 'Let me see him,' said the officer.
'I'm okay,' I insisted best I could. I tried again to stand using just my good leg and withstanding the pain in my sides and gut.
The officer felt my forehead. 'Okay, get him back in bed and clean up the mess.'
'Tell him what happened!' whispered Benjamin. I didn't reply.
They helped me back to my bunk and lifted me onto it. I heard someone mopping up. No one said a word. The lights went back out.
'You best keep yo' mouth shut o' you'll get stuck wi' sumpin' a lot sharper than my dick.' It was Calvin.
'Fuck you, faggot!' Now I hated. I'd never give in. I was going to find a way to make them pay for what they had done.
Strangely, I was able to sleep. The same officer who provided the mop the night before came to my bunk when the lights came on at five thirty in the morning. 'You still sick?'
I hadn't tried to sit up yet. I couldn't. It just hurt too much to move.
The officer called out, 'Write up Molina for the infirmary.' Then he spoke to my bunkmate, 'Calvin, help him down.'
The biggest of the Latinos, a fifteen year old named Juan Carlos, probably the boy who had helped me the night before, pushed Calvin back. 'I got him, officer.'
He picked me up gently and carried me out to the corridor. My ribs were killing me.
The officer in the hall asked, 'Why can't he walk? What's wrong with him?'
'I fell outta bed when I got sick. I hurt my knee and my side.' I wasn't going to tell the cops anything. I would take care of the bastards who had hurt me.
The officer looked at me then pulled up my T shirt. 'This ain't from no fall. Who was hitting on you?'
'Nobody, I fell.' I couldn't see the bruises that had to be there. It hurt too much to move even a little bit. But don't worry, officer, I said to myself, I'll take care of this, somehow, someday.
'Fuck you then. Take him to the infirmary, Juan Carlos.'
We went on the elevator. No guard accompanied us.
'You did right in not saying nothing,' said Juan Carlos in Spanish, 'but you haven't seen yourself. You got bruises all over and you knee is ugly. You're hurt bad all over and you don't know what might have happened inside you. You might be bleeding. You better tell the doc everything. Just say you don't know who it was. Say you couldn't see nothing.'
He stopped talking when the doors opened and carried me to the infirmary. After putting me on the bed, he quickly left after telling the doctor my name and section.
'What happened to you?'
The doctor cut off my T shirt when it hurt too much to raise my arms.
He touched several places, all of which made me wince.
I was put on a stretcher and cuffed to it. An officer rode in the back of the van that took me to a hospital where X-rays were taken and I was examined more thoroughly.