The desperate air of the prison cafeteria is, unshockingly, suffused with tension. Palpable tension. So thick it could be cut with a knife - if sharp, pointy objects were allowed, that is.
An epic staredown is in progress. On one side, an unconventional inmate named BB. And on the opposite side? A red tray of something masquerading as food.
"Um, BB?" Bob White, seated opposite, leans forward. "I know you're new around here and all. But I believe you will get more benefit from your food if you actually eat it. You know, instead of staring at it. Just some helpful advice."
"You mean there's food around here? Where?" BB, perched on the table, looks around. "Did I miss something? This stuff in front of me can't be food. I really don't think it's edible. It doesn't look fit for avian consumption."
"What? Come on. It's giblets. Dig in. Besides, it's all we're gonna get."
"Really, Bob White? Really?" BB is incredulous. And nauseated. "You really can't see why I might object to eating giblets? I can't eat this slop. I won't. It's making me sick to my gizzard just lookin' at it. Not to mention smellin' it."
Bob White shakes his head with a smirk. "Hey, I have an idea," he offers sarcastically. "Why don't you call the waiter and demand to see the manager? Or how about this --- just stiff him on the tip. After all, we are in a five-star restaurant, right? I mean ---"
"Alright, Bob White. I get it."
"No, I really don't think you do, BB. What --- just because you're different from the rest of us, you think you deserve special treatment? You are in for a rude awakening, my fine-feathered friend. That's not how it works in here."
A rude awakening. Funny how a particular phrase, or even a single word, can seem to glow with special significance. "A rude awakening," said Bob White. Awakening. Awakening. A-wake-e-ning. The word echoes in BB's bird brain. There's something about that sequence of letters. Something meaningful. Something that BB is unable to put his beak on at the moment. Perhaps the mystery will be cleared up in the near future...
Suddenly BB is jolted out of his reverie with a bang. Actually it's more of a boom. The tattooed knuckles of a scarfaced prisoner have slammed down on the table. The man bends down and evilly grins, showcasing rotting teeth and questionable breath. His massive frame bulges against his orange jumpsuit. Musclehead meets lovebird. Pecs versus peck.
Staring into the bloodshot eyes of this loathsome creature, BB suddenly finds his greasy heap of grub a little more attractive. He mumbles in Bob White's direction.
"Ok...this is awkward. What's happening here?"
But Bob White, avoiding all eye contact, seems inordinately focused on anything other than the developing situation. Clearly he wants no part of whatever is about to go down.
BB tries again. "C'mon, roomie. Help me out here."
Nothing.
"Bobby?"
Still nothing.
Finally, it speaks. "You gonna eat that?"
BB is fairly certain the man isn't attempting to kickstart a friendly conversation. But he doesn't have much of a choice except to play along.
"Well actually I ---" Before BB can finish his nervous reply, the muscle man buries his ugly mug into the pile of food. When he raises back up, the greasy giblets drip from his face. BB stares in disbelief.
Now Bob White decides to contribute a thought. "I think he's mocking the way a bird eats," he mutters. "In other words, you."
"Yeah, I got that," BB retorts. "Thanks."
The burly bully leans in even closer, wiping his face on BB's wing. Oh the humanity, thinks BB after getting an up-close-and-personal whiff of the prisoner's breath. And they say the animal kingdom is filled with stinky odors. Actually, BB begins to realize, this place is an animal kingdom of its own. A man-made one.
"I...don't...like...you." Well at least the man is pithy.
BB may be small. He may be a bird - and a lovebird at that. But he is also quick on his talons, ever ready and able to launch witty projectiles in any situation. Sometimes this characteristic doesn't serve him.
Perhaps now is one of those times.
Bob White, having been repeatedly subjected to the force of this jailbird's wit, can perceive trouble. He can see that BB, though trying to suppress it, is about to drip --- no, more like spew --- a sarcastic remark in Manzilla's direction. He realizes he must intervene.
"Don't do it, BB," he warns, barely speaking above a whisper. "Just don't do it. Resist it."
Bob White sees BB's beak beginning to open. He closes his eyes, bracing for Smarty McFly's response. He is pleasantly surprised, however, at the words which come out.
"I'm sorry to hear that, sir."
This is an unprecedented step for BB. But then again, he finds himself in an unprecedented circumstance. Whether he restrains himself out of fear, wisdom or simply wanting to live another day - no matter. Disaster averted. The man slowly straightens up to an upright stance and walks away.
Bob White is proud of his cellmate. And relieved.
BB hangs his head.
"Hey BB, don't be bittern." Bob White chuckles at his own joke.
"That's for calling you Bobby, isn't it?"
© Matt Decker
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