Gladiator School

The whole time I was in county jail, I heard over and over, “Don’t go to Clallum Bay, it’s a gladiator school.” 

Outwardly I exuded this great confidence, a real I don’t give a fuck attitude. They haven’t seen a real gladiator yet! 

Inwardly, I was scared to death! Sixteen years old, in an adult jail, facing an adult murder charge, with real adults all around me. I was just a kid, I didn’t belong there. I still had three more growth spurts before I reached the height I am now. Those people were career criminals and some were actual killers. What would’ve happen if they found out I wasn’t trying kill anybody? I’m not a real killer. I feel bad enough I assaulted a man for his wallet! My world turned upside down – as did my stomach – when I found out that that same man died in the hospital three days later from my actions. It was an accident, I was a fake, a fraud. I didn’t mean to kill anybody.

Adapt and overcome, right? I put on a facade, pretended nothing bothered me, practiced my thousand-yard stare in the mirror, and kept quiet. Pretend until the end, that was my motto. Just don’t go to Clallum Bay! I wasn’t a gladiator. I couldn’t even grow a mustache yet. How were these people buying my act? Or were they? Was I as dumb as I’ve always been told and was falling perfectly into a trap? 

I never found out if there was a trap because my thousand-yard stare had its desired effect. Someone told a guard he felt intimated by me, so I was put in solitary confinement. Which is just big words that meant I was in a cell by myself rather than around a bunch of scary people I didn’t want to be around anyway. Two birds and I didn’t even have to throw a stone. The only thing left; don’t go to Clallum Bay.

So, going through the entrance to Clallum Bay after a four hour prison bus transport, all I could think about was getting beat up, or stabbed, or worse. Getting off the bus and going into a small building where we (the other prisoners and I) were instructed to quickly get undressed and put on clothes they handed us, I got real familiar with what the ceiling looked like. I didn’t want to be the one known to have wandering eyes. One of the things I was told in jail was that I would be “tested” right away by someone wanting to fight, to see if I will stand up for myself. Now I’m clothed and entering the main living unit, I see two guys get up and start to walk my way. OK, I thought, here we go. I balled up my fist, said a silent prayer that I wouldn’t get beat up too bad, looked right at the bigger one and asked what the fuck was he looking at! He just gave me a weird look and said he was going over to use the phone. 

I was so confused, and relieved. This place was either less hard as what I was lead to believe, or I had my fear hidden perfectly. Either way, I entered the school of gladiators and survived. I am a gladiator.