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cmk418First, a clarification, all five stories deal with Peter coping with his rape by Adebisi. I thought the best way to handle this was to take Peter through the five stages of grief. The first story takes place in the infirmary immediately after the incident, the second and third take place in the mental ward, and the last two take place after Peter's return to EmCity.
Feedback is always appreciated.
DENIAL
There is the lightest touch on my forehead. I open my eyes. Mom is here, looking down at me.
“What happened?” I ask. My voice sounds funny, like it belongs to someone else.
“You were hurt, Petey.”
I remember now. Chasing the fly ball out into the street. Hearing the squeal of brakes, coming too late. Feeling the impact, then nothing, until the touch of Mom’s hand brushing back my hair.
“Was I hurt bad?”
I look over at my mother. She’s crying. I reach out and take her hand in mine. There’s no way I can let her see that she’s scaring me with the way she’s carrying on. I have to be the strong one here.
“It’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna be okay.” I just have to keep saying that until I believe it.
ANGER
Sometimes the medication wears off. The numbness goes away. It starts low, like the gas on one of the kitchen stoves, a quiet hiss filtering softly under the medication and then just like that, my hatred toward the world - my world – ignites. I want to set fire to the world, to strike back at those people who are responsible for this situation and for me being here. I want to hurt them so much it scares me.
I see Adebisi. I imagine chopping his dick off with the biggest kitchen knife I can find and then dicing it into teeny tiny pieces. I imagine him watching me as I mutilate him right there on that same spot in the kitchen where he --.
I imagine killing him, driving a shank so deep into his heart that it comes out the other side. And even then, I’m barely satisfied.
I see Pancamo, my trusted friend. Ha! He’s been looking for an opportunity to make this move against me since the poisoning. He sees himself as the leader, not me, or else he would have done more to protect me. At least, out of respect for my father, rest in peace, Chuckie should have done more to protect me. Enforcer, my ass. But now, everybody goes along with him, leaving me here, forgotten.
I see the Warden. Just because he found a way to get out of our arrangement doesn’t mean he should just ignore what happened. Has anyone been here to investigate? Has anything been done to punish Adebisi for what he did? I shouldn’t have to talk, shouldn’t have to tell him what happened. He knows what happened. They all know what happened and nobody does dick about it. I hate Leo Glynn and the whole fucked-up system he represents.
I see my father. The man who got me into the business. The man that got me into prison. The man who was killed and forced me to seek revenge on Adebisi. The man who is responsible for the whole mess that is my life. Adebisi’s voice is in my head, calling me “Little Nino”. That implicates Pop, makes him part of this whole thing. I would never have been a target if it wasn’t for him.
And, yeah, sometimes I see myself. I think, “If I only acted sooner, then none of this would have happened.” I resent that I held back, didn’t take out Adebisi and that sneaky fuck O’Reily the moment I set foot in this place. If I did, maybe things would be better now.
I hit the “call” button, hoping that the nurse will get here soon with some more drugs. Funny, isn’t it? I used to live my life feeding off my hatred and now I can barely stand to feel anything.
BARGAINING
The first time it happened, I wasn’t prepared. I’ll admit, I freaked out a little bit. Not everyone knows how to handle getting a visit from a dead man, but I’ve got it under control now. It’s just a matter of being ready.
I don’t pray. I haven’t since I was a boy. So I’m not going through that “third stage of grief” that Sister Pete talks about like it’s textbook or something. I’m not like those assholes that I have to listen to in group. Let them go to God. I’ve got other options.
I take the blue pill, the one I’ve been saving since they cut off my supply weeks ago. This is my last shot. This little blue tablet can help me in ways not listed in the medical books. It brings me the way to regain my place in the world.
I close my eyes, just for a moment. I focus on my breath, feeling the drug take effect. I’m aware of everything. Including not being alone. I open my eyes.
The figure, lounging in the chair near the bed, is not who I expect. Dino Ortolani faces me, as intimidating in death as he was in life. “What the fuck do you want?”
“Where’s my father?” I’m a little pissed off. Surely Pop could have made one last visit.
Dino shrugged. “He sent me.”
Maybe I don’t have as much control over these visions as I thought. I really don’t want Dino here. He’s always acted like the one with the power but he was nothing but a hanger-on, trying to climb Pop’s coattails all the way to the top.
“And I succeeded,” stated Dino, reading my mind.
Do I really need to deal with this? Yes, yes, I do. I take a deep breath. “I need an ask.”
“I can’t get you a new asshole, Petey.”
If he wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him. I’d wipe that growing smirk off his face.
“What is it?” asks Dino.
“I go back to Em City soon. I want back in. You know a way I can make that happen in a hurry? I'll do anything.”
Dino appears to think about it for a moment, then shakes his head. “There’s nothing you can do to erase what’s already happened. You took one up the ass, Petey. That’s not going to go away.”
The rage builds up inside me, struggling to burst free. I have to stay calm. If I can’t stay calm, I’ll be stuck here even longer. “First of all, I didn’t take anything. I was knocked out. I was unconscious. You think I’d let it happen if I knew it was happening? Fucking Pancamo was no help, yet nobody’s after him for not watching my back. I didn’t take it. And I’ll kill anyone who says otherwise.”
“Either way, you were fucked, and now you’re fucked. That’s just the way it is.”
“Fuck you, Dino.” He’s a ghost, a vision. He can’t hurt me. All he can do is...
Disappear. And that's what he does. I am, as I always have been, on my own.
But I know, it’ll only take one significant act for them to stand up and take notice of me. All I have to do is to wait for the moment to present itself. I will be going back to EmCity. The opportunity will come soon enough.
DEPRESSION
I can’t do this. It’s too hard. I walk into the kitchen for the first time in three years and even though everything was new and different, it was still the kitchen. The memories come flooding back. I go immediately outside and puke. So much for progress. So much for being over everything.
Today, I can’t do anything right, not even my job in the kitchen. My hands shake so badly that I keep dropping things. One of the bikers grabs me and tries to pull me over the counter because I dropped scrambled eggs on his boots. Pancamo steps in to break things up. Thanks, Chuckie. Too little, too late.
I don’t say anything to anyone, not even the guys. I just sit and wait. Everyone here knows I was locked up in the psych ward for years. As I pass through the corridors with the lunch cart, I can hear them whispering about me. The folks in solitary shout it to the rafters, “Here comes the nut case.” Those fucks in there shouldn’t talk. They’re crazier than I’ll ever be.
Sister Pete wants me to go to group therapy as if that will make everything better. Listen to a bunch of psychological bullshit while sitting in a room with a bunch of butt-boys. Peter Schibetta, king of the prags, that’s me.
Look at me, thinking of leading a gang of bitches. Sad to think that’s all I could lead at this moment. And they don’t even want me. No one wants me.
There’s nothing I can do to claim my place. There’s nothing I can do to make my father proud of me. Nothing.
ACCEPTANCE
I was raped. It’s in the past. I’m not at fault for what happened. I’m going forward with my life. Dealing with this situation makes me a stronger person. I am able to handle anything that comes my way.
This is my mantra. I tell it to myself every night before going to sleep and every morning when I wake up, and at least half a dozen times between morning count and lights out.
I was raped. It’s in the past.
I throw myself into my job. Believe it or not, I enjoy being in the kitchen again. People have actually complimented me on the food. It’s just because I know what to order. Even on the shitty prison budget we have to work with, the right ingredients make all the difference. None of the other kitchen staff care that much about what we get, they’d defrost chicken nuggets every day if it meant they didn’t have to work as hard.
I’m not at fault for what happened.
I have lots of good ideas, not just for working in the kitchen, but in my dealings with my crew. They don’t see yet but I have plans, big plans, to take care of the Aryans. Let them see that the Italians are a force to be reckoned with. Once I do this, all this shit is finally gonna be behind me. And I’m a strong person. I can do it myself, without help. They’ll know that Peter Schibetta’s back in charge.
I’m going forward with my life.
There’s just some basic job-related shit I have to take care of first. There’s a toaster that’s been in the repair shop for two weeks that I have to pick up. I really wish I could trust one of the other workers to get it, but if I let them out the door, they’re gone and the lunch shift will be over by the time they get back. I don’t mind, it’s good sometimes to get out of there for a little while.
Dealing with this situation makes me a stronger person.
As I walk through the halls to the repair shop, I can feel it. Optimism. For the first time in three years, things are looking up.
I am able to handle anything that comes my way.
----------------------------------------------
DENIAL
There is the lightest touch on my forehead. I open my eyes. Mom is here, looking down at me.
Feedback is always appreciated.
DENIAL
There is the lightest touch on my forehead. I open my eyes. Mom is here, looking down at me.
“What happened?” I ask. My voice sounds funny, like it belongs to someone else.
“You were hurt, Petey.”
I remember now. Chasing the fly ball out into the street. Hearing the squeal of brakes, coming too late. Feeling the impact, then nothing, until the touch of Mom’s hand brushing back my hair.
“Was I hurt bad?”
I look over at my mother. She’s crying. I reach out and take her hand in mine. There’s no way I can let her see that she’s scaring me with the way she’s carrying on. I have to be the strong one here.
“It’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna be okay.” I just have to keep saying that until I believe it.
ANGER
Sometimes the medication wears off. The numbness goes away. It starts low, like the gas on one of the kitchen stoves, a quiet hiss filtering softly under the medication and then just like that, my hatred toward the world - my world – ignites. I want to set fire to the world, to strike back at those people who are responsible for this situation and for me being here. I want to hurt them so much it scares me.
I see Adebisi. I imagine chopping his dick off with the biggest kitchen knife I can find and then dicing it into teeny tiny pieces. I imagine him watching me as I mutilate him right there on that same spot in the kitchen where he --.
I imagine killing him, driving a shank so deep into his heart that it comes out the other side. And even then, I’m barely satisfied.
I see Pancamo, my trusted friend. Ha! He’s been looking for an opportunity to make this move against me since the poisoning. He sees himself as the leader, not me, or else he would have done more to protect me. At least, out of respect for my father, rest in peace, Chuckie should have done more to protect me. Enforcer, my ass. But now, everybody goes along with him, leaving me here, forgotten.
I see the Warden. Just because he found a way to get out of our arrangement doesn’t mean he should just ignore what happened. Has anyone been here to investigate? Has anything been done to punish Adebisi for what he did? I shouldn’t have to talk, shouldn’t have to tell him what happened. He knows what happened. They all know what happened and nobody does dick about it. I hate Leo Glynn and the whole fucked-up system he represents.
I see my father. The man who got me into the business. The man that got me into prison. The man who was killed and forced me to seek revenge on Adebisi. The man who is responsible for the whole mess that is my life. Adebisi’s voice is in my head, calling me “Little Nino”. That implicates Pop, makes him part of this whole thing. I would never have been a target if it wasn’t for him.
And, yeah, sometimes I see myself. I think, “If I only acted sooner, then none of this would have happened.” I resent that I held back, didn’t take out Adebisi and that sneaky fuck O’Reily the moment I set foot in this place. If I did, maybe things would be better now.
I hit the “call” button, hoping that the nurse will get here soon with some more drugs. Funny, isn’t it? I used to live my life feeding off my hatred and now I can barely stand to feel anything.
BARGAINING
The first time it happened, I wasn’t prepared. I’ll admit, I freaked out a little bit. Not everyone knows how to handle getting a visit from a dead man, but I’ve got it under control now. It’s just a matter of being ready.
I don’t pray. I haven’t since I was a boy. So I’m not going through that “third stage of grief” that Sister Pete talks about like it’s textbook or something. I’m not like those assholes that I have to listen to in group. Let them go to God. I’ve got other options.
I take the blue pill, the one I’ve been saving since they cut off my supply weeks ago. This is my last shot. This little blue tablet can help me in ways not listed in the medical books. It brings me the way to regain my place in the world.
I close my eyes, just for a moment. I focus on my breath, feeling the drug take effect. I’m aware of everything. Including not being alone. I open my eyes.
The figure, lounging in the chair near the bed, is not who I expect. Dino Ortolani faces me, as intimidating in death as he was in life. “What the fuck do you want?”
“Where’s my father?” I’m a little pissed off. Surely Pop could have made one last visit.
Dino shrugged. “He sent me.”
Maybe I don’t have as much control over these visions as I thought. I really don’t want Dino here. He’s always acted like the one with the power but he was nothing but a hanger-on, trying to climb Pop’s coattails all the way to the top.
“And I succeeded,” stated Dino, reading my mind.
Do I really need to deal with this? Yes, yes, I do. I take a deep breath. “I need an ask.”
“I can’t get you a new asshole, Petey.”
If he wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him. I’d wipe that growing smirk off his face.
“What is it?” asks Dino.
“I go back to Em City soon. I want back in. You know a way I can make that happen in a hurry? I'll do anything.”
Dino appears to think about it for a moment, then shakes his head. “There’s nothing you can do to erase what’s already happened. You took one up the ass, Petey. That’s not going to go away.”
The rage builds up inside me, struggling to burst free. I have to stay calm. If I can’t stay calm, I’ll be stuck here even longer. “First of all, I didn’t take anything. I was knocked out. I was unconscious. You think I’d let it happen if I knew it was happening? Fucking Pancamo was no help, yet nobody’s after him for not watching my back. I didn’t take it. And I’ll kill anyone who says otherwise.”
“Either way, you were fucked, and now you’re fucked. That’s just the way it is.”
“Fuck you, Dino.” He’s a ghost, a vision. He can’t hurt me. All he can do is...
Disappear. And that's what he does. I am, as I always have been, on my own.
But I know, it’ll only take one significant act for them to stand up and take notice of me. All I have to do is to wait for the moment to present itself. I will be going back to EmCity. The opportunity will come soon enough.
DEPRESSION
I can’t do this. It’s too hard. I walk into the kitchen for the first time in three years and even though everything was new and different, it was still the kitchen. The memories come flooding back. I go immediately outside and puke. So much for progress. So much for being over everything.
Today, I can’t do anything right, not even my job in the kitchen. My hands shake so badly that I keep dropping things. One of the bikers grabs me and tries to pull me over the counter because I dropped scrambled eggs on his boots. Pancamo steps in to break things up. Thanks, Chuckie. Too little, too late.
I don’t say anything to anyone, not even the guys. I just sit and wait. Everyone here knows I was locked up in the psych ward for years. As I pass through the corridors with the lunch cart, I can hear them whispering about me. The folks in solitary shout it to the rafters, “Here comes the nut case.” Those fucks in there shouldn’t talk. They’re crazier than I’ll ever be.
Sister Pete wants me to go to group therapy as if that will make everything better. Listen to a bunch of psychological bullshit while sitting in a room with a bunch of butt-boys. Peter Schibetta, king of the prags, that’s me.
Look at me, thinking of leading a gang of bitches. Sad to think that’s all I could lead at this moment. And they don’t even want me. No one wants me.
There’s nothing I can do to claim my place. There’s nothing I can do to make my father proud of me. Nothing.
ACCEPTANCE
I was raped. It’s in the past. I’m not at fault for what happened. I’m going forward with my life. Dealing with this situation makes me a stronger person. I am able to handle anything that comes my way.
This is my mantra. I tell it to myself every night before going to sleep and every morning when I wake up, and at least half a dozen times between morning count and lights out.
I was raped. It’s in the past.
I throw myself into my job. Believe it or not, I enjoy being in the kitchen again. People have actually complimented me on the food. It’s just because I know what to order. Even on the shitty prison budget we have to work with, the right ingredients make all the difference. None of the other kitchen staff care that much about what we get, they’d defrost chicken nuggets every day if it meant they didn’t have to work as hard.
I’m not at fault for what happened.
I have lots of good ideas, not just for working in the kitchen, but in my dealings with my crew. They don’t see yet but I have plans, big plans, to take care of the Aryans. Let them see that the Italians are a force to be reckoned with. Once I do this, all this shit is finally gonna be behind me. And I’m a strong person. I can do it myself, without help. They’ll know that Peter Schibetta’s back in charge.
I’m going forward with my life.
There’s just some basic job-related shit I have to take care of first. There’s a toaster that’s been in the repair shop for two weeks that I have to pick up. I really wish I could trust one of the other workers to get it, but if I let them out the door, they’re gone and the lunch shift will be over by the time they get back. I don’t mind, it’s good sometimes to get out of there for a little while.
Dealing with this situation makes me a stronger person.
As I walk through the halls to the repair shop, I can feel it. Optimism. For the first time in three years, things are looking up.
I am able to handle anything that comes my way.
----------------------------------------------
DENIAL
There is the lightest touch on my forehead. I open my eyes. Mom is here, looking down at me.
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