18 Nov 08

Real Prison Fight: Warrior v Big E. (by Warrior Part 4)

Warrior - Serving fourteen years for kidnapping and aggravated assault. Half Hispanic and Scottish-Irish with family still in Mexico. Brought up by a family steeped in drug commerce.

Part 3 left off with Warrior defeating Big E. with a chokehold.

Holding his throat, Big E. hacked. He gave me a dirty look, then stormed out, back to his cell.
I’d noticed his left eye was bloodshot from a popped vessel. His upper lip was bloody, and he was bruised around his eye sockets.
I began to leave as well, but Gangster stopped me: “Hey, loco, you gotta wash the blood off.”
I hadn’t realised how badly cut I was. Blood was trickling out of my cheek onto my chest. I touched the gash, and blood covered my fingers. “Fuck!” I went to the showerhead and turned on the water. I rinsed myself off, shook JJ’s hand, and then headed to my cell with Gangster in tow.
The C.O. hadn’t noticed a thing.

I entered my cell, and reached for my mirror to assess the damage.
Gangster sat on my bunk, all excited. “Damn, dawg! That was some down-ass shit! Where you learn all that! That some UFC shit right there!”
“I use to mess around and fight my brothers a lot growing up.” I didn’t want anyone to know I knew a thing or two, so I tried to downplay it.
“Nah, you bullshitting. That’s some Bruce Lee shit right there!” he said.
To change the subject, I said, “How does my cheek look?” I was cut below my right eye, a good half inch. It was starting to bruise into a black eye. “That’s gonna leave a mark,” I said jokingly.
We both laughed.
“It’s deep, huh?” I said.
Gangster rose to take a look. “It looks like it needs stitches. Hey, at least chicks dig scars.”
“Fuck, man! Hey, homey is there any superglue around here?”
“Nah, what for?” Gangster asked.
“It’ll close the cut.”
“No shit!”
“Yeah. Long as it ain’t too deep. What about Band-Aids? You got some?”
“Yeah, I’ll go get ’em.” Gangster got up to retrieve them.
“Hey, do you got some of that state-issue Freshmint toothpaste too?”
“Yeah.”
“Bring that too.”
“Aiiight.”

Gangster returned with everything.
I broke apart a disposable razor blade to cut the Band-Aids into little butterfly strips. I cleaned then closed the cut. Then put a smidge of toothpaste where I thought I’d bruise.
“What’s the toothpaste for?” Gangster asked.
“It lifts the color out of the bruise.”
“Right, right.”
I fixed myself as best as possible. When I find myself battered and bruised, I always tell myself it could be worse. This time was no different.
Gangster and I chatted for a little bit. Then he went to his cell.

I caught up with Gangster later that day at chow. He said the fight was the talk of the yard. I’d earned not only respect, but the reputation as a good fighter. I also found out that Big E. was so upset about losing, he wanted to go a second round with some steel (shanks), but a couple of OG’s stepped and told him to take his beating like a man, and if he made a move on me again, his ass would feel steel. Big E. humbled himself after that.

I always reflect on the day’s events as each one comes to a close. On this day, I laid on my bunk, mirror in hand, staring at my wound. All I could think about was how when I was younger, all I wanted to do was to continue in martial arts to be a cage fighter.
Then I remembered something I heard somewhere, exactly where I can’t recall: Always be careful what you wish for because it just might come true.
Not always how we imagine though, everyone can vouch to that.

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Shaun P. Attwood