Savannah S. Miller

Audubon

He laid low. That’s what one of the other inmates had told him that day at lunch. “JJ, you’re a quiet motherfucker, you know that.” He had been worried the sentence had come as the precursor to another attack, unprompted like in his first few weeks, but the inmate just smiled. The others around them had laughed, and James had smirked, not bothering to express his distaste for that nickname. Saying little gave them little to hate. An unfortunate side effect was that it also gave them little to like. 

It was two o’clock, which meant that the prisoners were allowed in the yard for their first of two mandatory outside hours. The sky around Wash Max was the same dreary kind of gray it usually was, but that didn’t stop James from looking at it. He had always had a fascination with the sky. He and his mother had laid on the grass outside their little duplex and made shapes out of the cumulus clouds until the hours passed and they all blended together. In college art classes, he would paint the view outside his dorm room window, partly because it was beautiful and partly because it was something he could do without having to venture into the Seattle smog. His first week in, his wife had mailed him some photos from their house, one of which was of a bright blue sky speckled with the most featherlight cirrus clouds he had ever seen. He had found a way to tape it on the ceiling of his cell. That was before she had forgotten him so fully that she couldn’t even be bothered with papers.

James looked forward to outside hours because it gave him time to survey: the clouds, the sky, the ever-dying grass, the other inmates. He saw them bunched up in groups, keen on surviving through safety in numbers. There were gangs he recognized, but he didn’t belong to any. He knew what everyone said, how prisoners were always beating each other up and assaulting each other and this and that. That did happen at Wash Max far too frequently, but he had managed to skirt around it somehow. He reckoned the inmates lacked the energy for fighting someone as inconsequential as him. 

James had a roommate—Colton, multiple violent rapes with a deadly weapon, seventeen years—but they didn’t speak. His first day in, Colton had gotten looped into some neo-Nazi group. That had squashed all the desire for conversation James might have had. Despite their differences, they had somehow managed to coexist peacefully—albeit quietly—in the same cell for a while now. James suspected his roommate was just doing what he thought he had to, but James also knew from unfortunate experience that didn’t make it right. Now, eighteen months in, he was a free agent, undrafted, wafting through the halls of the prison like a bird on the breeze. 

James liked outside hours. He could walk the outskirts of the prison yard, watch other people and peer into the woods just several yards away from the fence, pretending he was a part of something bigger. He could imagine he was one with the squirrel that scurried up the tree or friends with Boss, the unofficial head of the Latino gang in Wash Max, but he could do both those things from a safe distance. He could observe the world and at least pretend to be living while most of him had already died. 

That’s what he was doing on the edge of the perimeter that afternoon in May. It was technically spring, but since it was Washington, the air still felt bitter on his skin. He paid it no mind, stopping to investigate the woods in hopes that he could spot something new, some woodland creature to use as a voyeur into the outside world. 

“You gotta problem, inmate?” 

He turned around and saw one of the guards, Officer A. Kellis, according to the name badge ironed onto his uniform, standing just a few feet away, hand reflexively on the baton at his side. James looked from the officer’s face to the stick and back again before shaking his head. 

“Every fucking day I see you at this fence looking out.” He spat dark red saliva over his shoulder. “It’s getting suspicious.” 

“Suspicious?” James was startled at the sound of his own voice. 

“Only people look outside are the people who think they gonna be back there one day.” Sometimes people happen into jobs, but some people have no other option. James could tell Kellis was the kind of man who deliberately sought out this kind of work, this kind of brutality. He had watched the guard be first in the cafeteria to break up a fight between prisoners. He had seen him throw unnecessary punches, blowing off steam. Once, he had gotten in the middle of a brawl involving a makeshift shank, and somehow both inmates ended up with stab wounds—but not Kellis. There was a suspicious amount of violence that followed Kellis or Kellis happened to “stumble upon” in the prison yard. The other inmates hated him, but James also suspected they respected him for it. Either way, Kellis probably enjoyed the reputation he carried. 

James shrugged. “I’m not trying to be suspicious, sir. I just like to look at the woods.” 

“You some kinda fruitcake or something?” Kellis looked down his eyebrows questioningly. 

“No, sir.”

“You ain’t ever with any of the others.” 

James looked briefly back towards the prison building and the concrete part of the yard. Bunches of folks sitting together and talking, working out or plotting out the best way to steal cigarettes for trade currency, speckled the area. No other prisoners were even close to him. Again, James shrugged. “I don’t know.” 

It was then that the siren blared, signaling that it was time for the prisoners to go back inside. James knew that it was time for the afternoon work shift, where he would be tasked with stamping holes into belt strips for the nearby leather goods company. It paid him a dollar an hour, and it afforded him his weekly bottle of Dr. Pepper. 

Kellis nodded toward the building. “Go on, get.” 

James obediently went back to the building and inside. 

Later, at six, during the second outside hour of the day, James noticed the prison guard floating near him. He wasn’t close enough to warrant conversation, but his presence was certainly felt. When James moved along the perimeter of the fence, the guard moved silently behind him. When James turned to look at the wind blowing through the trees—so far from his reach—the guard would look at him with an expression that James interpreted as nothing but quizzical. Kellis was trying to size him up, he realized. He was trying to make sense of him, to fit him into preconceptions of what inmates were supposed to be. Kellis probably thought the prisoners were violent or dumb, not nature-loving monks who may as well have taken a vow of silence. He had managed to shock someone by just existing. James smiled to himself. 

Later, after the siren blared again and James went back inside, he realized he had been so caught up in the guard’s presence that he had forgotten to be lonely.

It continued like this for a month, which passes like two days in prison. Still, James got used to the quiet companionship the nosy guard provided. He began to make up stories in his mind about Kellis and the person he was. Maybe Kellis was an upstanding citizen, a PTA member who took out his fatherly frustrations on the prisoners. Maybe he had always wanted to kill someone, and he thought James, the perpetual loner, would be his best option—someone who wouldn’t be missed. He began to wonder what Kellis wanted to happen. Maybe he thought today would be the day James hopped the fence, made a run for it. Maybe he was so worried about James’s state of mind that he’d unofficially assigned himself to suicide watch. There were so many options. It almost made James want to write to his wife about it. 

It was a Saturday in June when James felt the urge to break the routine. He had been writing so many stories in his head that he felt his brain would burst if he didn’t. He was by the fence as he always was, maybe five feet away from it, so as not to warrant extra eyes from the other guards. He turned his gaze upward away from the trees and to the sky. He noticed Kellis watching him again, only a few yards behind. 

“Does that one look like the Michelin Man?” 

It took a moment for the guard to register that James was talking to him. When he did, his expression became something so unknown that James briefly found himself afraid. The expression and the feeling passed just as quickly. 

“What you say?” The guard said it in his tough guy voice. 

“I said, does that cloud look like the Michelin Man?” For emphasis, he pointed at a large round entity that he thought vaguely mimicked the mascot. 

Kellis looked at James for a long time, seemingly trying to decide the correct course of action. Did prison guards look at the sky? Did they ever not look at the inmate mere feet from them? Kellis must have decided he didn’t care. He looked up at the sky, following the line created by James’ finger. 

He smacked his lips. “I don’t know. Looks more like the Pillsbury Dough Boy to me.” 

“Same difference.” 

James was conscious of a thawing, an easing into commiseration. He allowed the words to sit in the air, and he smiled despite himself, satisfied with only those few words. It was a start. He resumed his staring at the sky. 

It was a few minutes later that the prison guard decided that must not be enough. “Ya know, I read your file.” James looked back at the guard, but the guard wasn’t looking at him. He was still staring at the sky. Kellis glanced over at him and saw James’ questioning stare. The guard pointed at the sky in a different direction. “That one kind of looks like a polar bear.” James didn’t look. 

“What do you mean you read my file?” 

Kellis shrugged, an action that didn’t seem to fit him. “I read your file. I didn’t know you had that in you.” 

James pursed his lips, resisted the urge to stare at his feet. 

“Some guys in here, I look at them, and I see it. I can tell they’re murderers, rapists, whatnot. You ain’t look like that type.” 

“I’m not that type.” It spilled out of James. He couldn’t help it. 

“Crime of passion, huh.” It wasn’t a question. 

“If you read my file, you know that already.” 

Kellis turned to look at him, his hand finding his way to his waist. “Watch your tone with me, inmate.” 

James turned his head fully away from the guard. He let the silence descend.

The next couple days, Kellis kept more of a distance from James, but the guard’s eyes were still on him. While James walked the perimeter of the fence, Kellis stood just under the observation tower. He seemed to only be observing James, following the pattern he set as he walked. James tried not to notice that Kellis’ hand was constantly on his baton. 

The next Wednesday, it felt like something had shifted in the air again. At lunch, James accidentally made eye contact with Kellis from across the cafeteria. When two o’clock rolled around, the guard was back, just a few feet away from him. This was a new form of torture for James. At least when he was alone, he didn’t have to confront the knowledge of what he’d done. He’d spent his first few years doing that, hating himself, thinking about ending himself, but he hadn’t. He had learned how to exist as a bad person. The key was in being able to not think at all. 

“You studied environmental science.” 

James did not look at Kellis. If he didn’t look at Kellis, then maybe he would go away, like some bedroom monster. 

He kept going. “You studied environmental science. That why you like looking at the trees and shit?” 

James did not respond. 

“I asked you a question, inmate.” 

“I was surprised by the question, is all.” 

“I’m full of surprises.” Kellis spat again, and James realized that the dark color of his saliva must be from tobacco. 

James looked at the woods. “I focused on ecosystems and urban development.” 

“What that mean?” 

“It’s like how cities affect the wildlife. Vice versa.”

“Can you do anything with that?” 

“Of course,” James said, indignant despite himself. “Urban planners need people like that to make sure we’re not destroying the planet.” 

“Watch your tone,” Kellis replied quickly. “You think I’m stupid?” 

“No, I don’t think you’re stupid.” With that, James swore he would shut up. They walked separately in silence until the siren blasted. James tried not to make eye contact with the other prisoners, who looked at him under hooded eyes with cocked heads, not understanding exactly what they had just witnessed and disliking every minute of it. James laid low. This new attention wasn’t just nerve-racking; it was dangerous, too. 

Unfortunately, it happened again. At six, Kellis came and began to walk beside him, close enough that James could smell a hint of aftershave for the first time. 

“Ain’t Seattle already built?” 

James didn’t quite follow the question. “What?” 

“You said you wanted to work with urban planners or whatever. Ain’t Seattle already planned though.” 

He checked himself before responding, making sure his tone wasn’t accusatory. “Yes, but it’s always changing. People buy buildings to knock them down and set up new ones. Sometimes billionaires feel like doing a good deed and put a park where a skyscraper used to be. Then, they go to people like me, who can tell them how to get the most bang for their buck, environmentally speaking.” 

Kellis let that sit with him for a minute. “You only like twenty-seven.” 

“I’m guessing you know that from my file.” James could still feel the pain in his heart. “You land yourself in a place like this, you don’t get any secrets.”

James looked at the prison guard, but he couldn’t find any malice in the man’s expression. He was just stating a fact.  

“Don’t let the inmates see you talking to me. They’ll think you’re going soft.” Kellis scoffed. “Don’t let them see you talking to me. They’ll think you switching sides.” 

“I’m not on a side.” 

“You’re on this side of the fence.” 

James looked to his right at the trees just out of reach. “Yes, I guess I’m on this side of the fence.” 

He looked about thirty, with sandy blonde hair spread across his head and in an ill-formed goatee. The aftershave or cologne that James smelt before was recognizable from his more social high school peers. Over time, little details about Kellis began to stick out to James: the odd crease on the side of his uniform pants, the slight dent in his baton, the way his left eye drooped more than his right. James knew better than to call this uneasy cohabitation friendship, but he did find himself coming to appreciate the camaraderie he found in his twice daily walks with Officer A. Kellis. 

“What’s the A for?” he asked one day during the evening outside hour. 

“What are you talking about?” 

James gestured briefly to Kellis’ nametag, and Kellis jumped back. James had forgotten that, technically, he was still a prisoner and considered violent. He tried hard not to be offended. In the last few weeks, he and Kellis had been together so frequently the other inmates had begun to say things under their breath about James. None of them had been provoked to action yet, but James could tell some thought he was a traitor. He wasn’t sure what they wanted him to do. If he pissed off Kellis, it was bad. If he pissed other inmates off, it was bad. It was a lose-lose situation, but as much as he hated to admit it, James was coming to look forward to these brief moments of conversation each day, even if they did feel like walking a tightrope. Couldn’t Kellis see he was different? James wasn’t the kind of inmate around which you had to be on edge. Right? 

“Oh,” Kellis said. James swore he heard a tone of apology. 

“What’s the A stand for?” he asked again. 

Kellis was silent for a moment before shaking his head. “Just call me Kellis.” 

“I will. I have to,” James reminded him. “I was just curious.” 

“It don’t matter.” Kellis spoke in a way that let James know to drop the subject. 

James was on a roll now, though. “It was a crime of passion. It really was.” 

Kellis looked at him, taking a moment to get there. “I know. I read your statement.” 

“Then you know he was hurting my mom. He was more than hurting my mom. He was, I don’t know, doing all this—” 

“I don’t need to know details.” Kellis stopped him. “You say he was hurting your mama. I believe you. I get it. You can’t do what you did though.” The last sentence seemed to be an afterthought. 

James shook his head. “I watched him do it too much, you know. He would hit her in front of me.” 

Kellis nodded his head like he understood somehow. They walked for a few moments in silence, letting the air become thick with tension, with questions not being asked. “Eighteen times though,” Kellis said. Maybe it was meant to be a question. 

“I already said everything in my statement.”

“You speak better than you write.” 

“I studied science in school, not English,” James responded, watching the briefest of smiles float over Kellis’ lips. “I thought when I left, mom would have more money, get herself out, get a better job. Instead, she found this man at some church. Next thing I know, he’s moved into the same rundown house I grew up in, telling her he’s going to fix it up nice for her. He doesn’t do anything but hit her, crawling up on her in the middle of the night. She would call me and tell me, breaking down…I didn’t plan on doing it. I swear I didn’t. I brought the knife to dinner because I cooked the turkey that year.” 

The silence settled back in. James hadn’t thought about what happened with his stepfather in several months, hadn’t spoken about it in even longer, probably since he pled guilty. In a way, he felt a relief in confessing once more. And seeing Kellis nod along as he told his story made him feel justified, even falsely, in the things he had done. He wondered if this was what forgiving yourself could feel like. 

“My name is Audubon.” 

James turned towards the guard. “What?” 

“The A. Kellis. My name is Audubon. A-U-D-U-B-O-N. Audubon.” 

It took James a minute to figure out where he had heard that word before. “Like that thing with birds?” 

“Fuck. I knew I shouldn’t have told you.” 

“No, I’m just asking. I know I’ve heard it before, is all.” 

Kellis turned away and looked back out at the woods. The silence stretched until James couldn’t take it anymore.

“It’s a good name,” James said. Kellis looked back at him with a mixture of anger and incredulity. James continued. “I think so. It sounds fancy. It makes it sound like your family was really distinguished. Like, your parents were paleontologists or anthropologists or something real technical like that.” 

Kellis spat that dark red saliva again, this time far too close to James’ feet for comfort. “We weren’t none of that shit. Mom was an addict who named her baby after a random word she found in the encyclopedia in her dopey rich guy dealer’s house. She probably paid for her stash by sleeping with him, so he may be my daddy. Who knows.” 

James allowed the information to sit with him.  

“It’s not a bad name, Kellis. I don’t think so.” 

“Only good nickname for Audubon is Audi, but then people are walking around calling you a fucking car, so.” 

James wasn’t sure what possessed him to ask his next question. 

“Is that why you’re here?” 

“What?” 

“Working here. Because of your mom?” 

Emotions played out on Kellis’ face: confusion, then anger, then something that James couldn’t name. 

“No, I’m here ‘cause of me.” 

The siren blasted through the air. Kellis placed his hand on his baton and nodded back towards the prison building. It was time to go back inside. 

It happened in August. James had felt something was wrong the moment he entered the cafeteria. When he walked in, heads shot up and turned to look at him, leering at him as he made his way with his tray. James tried to ignore it, choosing to sit at a table on the outskirts of the room with two fellows named Mitch and Dre. They were friendly, but they didn’t say much to James, and that was okay. 

It was halfway through the lunch hour when a prisoner James didn’t recognize stood up, another inmate beside him, and walked over. 

“Who you think you are?” the man said. 

James didn’t realize he was talking to him. “What?” 

“You a rat?” 

James looked from one prisoner to the other. Then, he turned his head towards Mitch and Dre. They weren’t looking at him. In fact, they had scooted further down the table. James shook his head. “Not a rat, no.” 

The second prisoner leaned down over the table, putting his face right in front of James. He smelled his breath, pungent. 

“You got some fucked up friends, don’t you?” 

James noticed Kellis in the corner of the cafeteria, his hand on his baton, his eyes turned toward the interaction at James’ lunch table. They made eye contact. James willed the officer to come over, to do something. 

Kellis looked away. 

“Hey man.” It was a new voice. Colton, his roommate. He had walked over and put a hand up. “It ain’t worth it.” 

“You defendin’ this motherfucker?” the first man asked. “You in love with him or something?” 

“Hey, watch it! Miss me—”

“I’ll watch what I wanna—” 

The words blurred together, escalating in volume, until Colton’s fist came down on the man’s nose. 

The brawl was immediate and total. Once one punch was thrown, others began to join in based on various allegiances. James was slow to move. He watched Colton get his head bashed by a lunch tray, his forehead cut, and Colton began to bleed over his eyes. It was the sight of a stray chair hitting Mitch’s back that spurred James to action, and he began running as fast as he could, avoiding the two prisoners who had come over to him in the first place. He knew the door would be unlocked, even though no one was supposed to leave the cafeteria until the hour was over. He didn’t feel it at first. 

He just felt himself go down. It was when he was on the ground that the pain started. It was like screaming, the pain in his arm, as if something had torn from the root. On the ground, he laid on his back looking straight up before cocking his head to the side. 

Kellis was making eye contact with him, a horrified expression on his face and his trusted baton in his hand. The seconds spread like minutes as the two stared at each other. James watched Kellis’ face, a complex machine that he still didn’t understand. Suddenly, there was a sharp sound, something breaking, maybe a table. And Kellis brought his baton back down on James’ head. 

James woke up a couple hours later in the infirmary, his shoulder bandaged. A couple of the other beds were occupied with other inmates. They all seemed to be asleep. 

“You’re awake.” Kellis was at the door to the infirmary. James did not look at him.

“That was a nasty one.” Kellis paused waiting for James to say something, but when he didn’t, he stumbled on. “Ramirez said someone beat up on one of his lackeys real bad. Either way, that’ll be another ten years for him, easy. He took a guy’s eye out.” 

Instead, he managed to say, “Why did you do it?” 

Kellis looked at him, almost sadly. It didn’t last long. “You want me to say sorry? You ran through an active brawl. Shit like that is gonna get you hurt.” 

“Was I supposed to stay and wait for them to come to me?” 

“They weren’t gonna come for you. They didn’t even know you were there.” 

“Whatever.” 

“Excuse me?” Kellis had his hand back on his baton, but now that he had felt it, James was no longer scared of the silly stick. “Watch who you’re talking to.” 

James was silent and turned his head away. 

“I swear, you’re all the same. What if I hadn’t hit you, huh? You think they would’ve stopped after today? They think you’re telling me their secrets. You leave with no bruises, they’ll be sure of it.” 

“Don’t pretend there wasn’t a part of you that didn’t enjoy it.” 

“Oh, so righteous, asshole.” Kellis laughed, an ugly sound that James had never heard before. “The fact is that some people do such shitty things that you don’t got to call them human anymore.” 

“And what about me, Audubon? Am I human to you?” 

For a terrifying moment, at the mention of his first name, Kellis’ hand gripped the baton and pulled it out, ready to swing again on James. James braced himself. He was ready to take it.

Moments passed. Minutes passed. Then, Kellis just looked at him as he sheathed the stick back in its holster. He turned around and left, the air ringing with finality. 

Summer ended, and James’ arm healed as best it could. When he raised it over his shoulder, he could still feel a twinge of pain at his shoulder blades, but for the most part, he had left his encounter with Kellis unscathed. Kellis never left the bottom of the observation tower during outside hours, and James never felt his eyes from the fence. Whatever makeshift relationship the two had developed was over with the swing of a baton. It was as simple as that. 

In November, James wrote a letter to his wife. The next week, he sent her papers for an official divorce. Whether she returned them or not, he felt that they both knew it was over. How could it not be? She had been informed of his injury and hadn’t even visited. When he received an envelope later that month, he waited to open it, dismissing it as the final nail in his façade of a relationship’s coffin. The letter laid under his pillow for two days until he got bored and decided to read it. 

He was being transferred. In two weeks, he would be leaving Washington Maximum Security Prison and moving to the lower-security city prison in Seattle, only ten blocks from where he had painted the sky out his dorm window. He didn’t know much about it, but he knew it had to be easier than Wash Max. The inmates there got to spend entire afternoons outside, moving in and out during free time. He wasn’t sure why he was being transferred; most of the people in the city had nonviolent offenses, easy offenses, the kind of offenses that meant that maybe one day they could move on with their lives. Yet, here he was, with what felt like a golden ticket to some semblance of his old self.

The next two weeks did not pass like days. James counted hours, pacing the perimeter of the yard during outside time, careful of his aching shoulder. His last day in Wash Max, he was standing still, looking over at the forest, when he felt a presence not too far behind him. It had been months, but he still knew. 

“I’m leaving.” 

“I know. Overcrowding.” Kellis’ voice was rough as ever. “You’ve been a good inmate. You were a natural choice.” 

“Choice?” 

Kellis didn’t say anything. 

“You think this makes everything alright now? Is that it?” James couldn’t explain his fury. 

“I don’t think that.” Something in his voice sounded genuine. 

“Sure.” 

James sat silently, waiting for Kellis to leave. He waited to hear the rustle of the grass that never came. Finally, he turned around, looking at the prison guard long and hard, hoping maybe that would send a message. Instead, Kellis just looked down and opened his mouth. 

“Listen, my stepdaddy sounds a lot like yours was. You can’t imagine the amount of time I wished I could get him in the heart eighteen times.” 

He couldn’t help himself. “Fuck you, Kellis.” 

James braced himself, waiting for something, waiting to be hit or berated. Maybe he would even get his transfer revoked. Yet, the look in Kellis’ eyes wasn’t one of malice. If anything, it was one of sadness—deep, irreparable sadness. The prison guard nodded in agreement before turning around and walking away.

James turned back to the woods briefly as the siren blared—the last siren he would hear at Wash Max—and watched as a fledgling white bird landed on the tree closest to the fence. It sat for a moment, preened its wings, and took off again into a cloudless sky.