The Cardboard Lagoon

It must be an instinctive thing. I don't really understand it.

There's some people you just dislike as soon as you meet them. People
like Otis Rexland.

Otis Rexland with his hair and earrings and booming voice. I'd only
known him a month when he came charging in, so full of shit I thought
he would burst.

"Check ME out" he shouted from the doorway. He ran on over and sort of
shimmied in front of me. "What do you see?"

I let the breath escape through my lips with a whistle. "I see a fool
doing the samba." I said.

He smiled and shimmied again. "You ain't looking hard enough
homeboy!"

"What am I looking for Otis?"

"Something I'm wearing."

"New trainers?"

"New goddamn trainers! What's the matter with you? These are the same
damn pair of Fila's I been wearing for the last three weeks. You really
have got shit for brains homeboy. Look a bit higher"

"Jeans?"

"No"

"Belt?"

"No"

"Shirt?"

"Goddammit! This is getting painful. I'll be an old man before you
cotton on. It ain't the shirt. Its something on the shirt. LOOK!"

He pulled an area of his shirt towards me, just by the left side of his
chest. There was a badge there. I leaned a little closer, shading the
metal from the glare of the strip-lights above.

'SUPERVISOR' It said.

"That's right fool!" Otis cried. "I been promoted! I'm running this
aisle!"

I looked left then right. Twenty steel racks, ten feet high, each one
bearing five shelves. Each shelf bearing at least six boxes. Each box
containing at least forty books or annuals.

"This is my manor!" Otis enthused, "You know that!" He cackled with
laughter and hurried past me, bristling with energy.

I watched him go and thought of my parole officer, Keith. He found me
this job. He's a nice guy, well meaning in that middle-class guilt sort
of way.

"I want you to make this work Larry." He had said, blue eyes bright
with sympathy. "With your record this really is the Last Chance Saloon
for you now."

I liked that, "Last Chance Saloon" - like Desperate Dan, on the run
from the law. Its just a shame that the reality is less romantic, a
huge, grey warehouse on an industrial estate.

My brother Julius was shocked when I told him I was doing a
nine-to-five. I knew he'd have an opinion.

"Another ant for the ant colony" he said.

He's never lost for words. MC JuJu makes his living by rhyming. He's
never had to turn bad.

"A warehouse?" He looked incredulous.

"That's right J."

"A warehouse of what?" He asked, shaking his head.

"A warehouse full of paper and cardboard and printed words." My voice
came out almost in a whisper. "The parole man said it's the Last Chance
Saloon."

Julius' eyes sharpened.

"He said what?"

"That he doesn't think he can find me anything else, because of my
history. This job, for me, is the Last Chance Saloon."

He laughed, blew out a plume of smoke and started to sing, falsetto,
Marvin Gaye style.

"Times are tough,

Won't get out no more,

Don't get paid enough,

Money locks the door,

You on minimum wage,

In the Last Chance Saloon,

Your life is a page,

In the Cardboard Lagoon."

I had to laugh.

"You just make that up?"

"Of course mate!"

"Where'd you get the 'Cardboard Lagoon' from?"

"It just came to me, man. I guess there ain't too much to rhyme with
saloon, but you know that I'll rhyme anything. If you can say it, I'll
rhyme it."

I looked around for inspiration.

"Banana"

"Guarana."

"Ribena"

"Live cleaner"

"Tumbler"

"Be humbler"

I had to admit the boy is gifted.

Each day they give me a pick list, a sheet of numbers that tells me
what's got to be taken off the shelves. Then I go and get the stuff.
No.36(x4), No.8(x9), No.71(x2). Sometimes I'll stop and have a little
read of something I'm picking. 'Frank Bruno - A Life in Pictures' or
'The Weekend Book of British Humour'. Often there's some wannabe
big-shot like Otis Rexland walking up and down barking out
instructions.

"Make sure you initial your pick-lists!"

"Problems on the problem table!"

There are two sets of employees working in the Cardboard Lagoon. The
first lot are the guys like Otis, young and ambitious. Then there's the
rest, like myself, forced into this by Her Majesty and old Dave, a debt
crippled divorcee who reminds us constantly that before being laid off
he was, "manager of a warehouse bigger than this for fifteen
years."

All that keeps me from running out of the door is Zachary, my little
boy. He was born two months into my last sentence. I remember sitting
on my bunk poring through the pictures Sandra had sent me. 'He looks
just like his Daddy.' The letter said. He did as well, a little,
scrunched-up version of me peeping out over the blanket.

Zac was almost six before I finally saw him in the flesh. Sandra
refused to bring him in on a visit.

"I'm not bringing my baby son to jail." She said, one time, her breath
misting the safety glass between us, "I want to keep him away from this
kind of thing."

I couldn't argue with that really. So when I finally got to see him he
was already walking and talking and full of personality. Sandra knew I
was coming back and she was waiting for me, with Zac, on one of the
benches in the square in the middle of the estate. I walked down the
pathway between the two monolithic tower blocks and there they were,
mother and child.

He peered at me nervously around the curve of his mother's hip. I took
the football I had bought out of its bag and rolled it towards him.
Gingerly, he left his mother's side, bent down and picked it up.

"If you like I'll teach you how to play later." I ventured. He smiled
then, a big, face-cracking, perfect, white smile.

I often think of Zac during the day. I'll picture the way he runs when
I kick the ball to him or the expression he makes when Sandra tries to
make him eat something he doesn't like. If I'm caught day-dreaming then
it'll be,

"Hey homeboy, wake up!" Otis Rexland loves to make me jump.

"Wha?"

"You's a million miles away! Less dreaming, more working!"

"yeah&;#8230;yeah, OK"

"You got much of that order left to pick?"

"Half"

"Its taken you all morning to pick half the order! You better get on
the trolley sunshine! Stop being so damn dopey."

"Leave me alone Otis."

Then he'll kiss his teeth and strut off, shouting "Foreign orders in
airmail boxes!" or something similar, to anyone who might be
listening.

It was last week after just such an encounter that Dave shambled up
behind me, the bottoms of his trouser legs dragging on the floor.

"Don't worry about Otis." He said, so quietly I could barely hear. "His
bark's worse than his bite. There's nothing to be scared of."

I turned on him quickly, almost hit him.
"I'm not scared of him." I snarled. "I'm not scared of anything."

Dave backed off, shuffling, looking down. "Sorry" he said, tamely. His
fearful reaction reminded me of the old days.
I couldn't wait to get home that night. As soon as I got in, Zac came
running up, jumping all over me. Sandra stood in the door of the
kitchen, beaming.

"Its just what he needed, you know." She said over dinner. "He's so
much happier now he's got a father."

I nodded.

"I just hope we can bring him up right."
"He'll be just fine." I said.

"But there so much crazy business for boys to get mixed up in around
here. I don't want him to be involved in that."

"He'll be fine." I repeated.

"Or to get into some evil shit like you did."

That shocked me. I hadn't been expecting it. I stopped eating and threw
my fork down on the table with a crash.

"Will anyone let me forget?" I yelled.

I stormed out of the front door and ran up the stairs outside the flat.
Sandra lives on the twelfth floor. The block has eighteen. I was soon
on the roof of the apartments, beneath the night sky, looking out over
the city. Memories taunted me.

'Remember the old days Larry? Remember how it was? Now look, wasting
your time in that warehouse. No use to anyone. No
dignity&;#8230;&;#8230;.'

My self pity was interrupted by a tug on my trouser leg.

"Dad" a little voice said. Zac had followed me up, run from his
mother's arms up six flights to find me. "What are you doing?"

"I'm just looking" I said. "Come here."

Streets criss-crossed below us, stretching all the way to the horizon.
Tall buildings and gasometers shot up here and there, breaking up the
sky.

I picked him up. "You see that house Zac?" I pointed at a road
close-by.

"Which one?"

"Third from the left, with the black door."

"Yeah."

"That's where I grew up."

"And over there is where I used to go to school. You'll probably go
there one day. And you see that great big building there, with the
wide, grey roof."

"What's that?"

"That's where I work in the daytime, to make money for you and your
mother."

"What sort of place is it?"

I laughed. "It's a Cardboard Lagoon."

"What's a Cardboard Lagoon?"

"Just the place I work Zac, nothing more."

"Oh" He paused. We stood in silence for a while, gazing over the tiles
and chimneys.

"Dad?" He said eventually.

"Yeah"

"Why did they send you to prison?"

"Because I broke the law."

"Did you kill someone?"

"No"

"What did you do?"

I frowned, then laughed, then started to walk back to the stairs,
little Zac in my arms.

"Just like your mother" I said, with a sigh. "Always asking too many
questions!"

Otis Rexland grew a moustache after they made him Deputy Department
Manager. I think he thought it made him look authoritative.

"You know homeboy, my CV is gonna look so good when I leave here. I've
gone from agency worker to D.D.M. in less than a year." His furry lip
undulated.

"Yeah. That's great."

"I think one day I'll be running a place like this. Distribution
manager or something like that. That's when you start counting the big
bucks!"

"Mmmm&;#8230;"

"None of these suckers round here will see me for dust!"

"OK"

"You know" he carried on, "I used to be just like you. I used to mope
about, not interested in anything. But I wised up homeboy! If you want
to win, you gotta play with the cards you're dealt! Don't just throw in
your hand. Show some pride!"

"Leave me alone Otis." I said. He kissed his teeth and strutted
off.

"Make sure you put stock back under the right bin number!" He shouted,
to anyone who was listening.

Its funny how the Cardboard Lagoon draws you in. It attaches itself to
you, like a leech, until you absorb it, take on its greyness.

'I'm not going to end up like that' I thought to myself, checking the
dazed, slack expressions on the faces of the other agency workers. I
remember speaking to Dave after my first three hours or so.

"How long you been here mate?"

"Just over a year."

"Yeah?"

"Started last October. I got laid off by Wilson's. I was manager of a
warehouse twice this size for fifteen years."

Dave had lost all the hair from the top of his head. He had grown one
side long so he could comb it over.

"Wife left me then and all."

There was a wildness in his eyes. He looked like he might crack at any
minute.

"Oh right." I had said.

During the early days in prison I often used to think about escaping.
All sorts of dramatic plans formed in my mind. Tunnels, disguises,
violent revolt, pole-vaulting the wall in the exercise yard. It was a
way of passing the time more than anything else. In the Cardboard
Lagoon one idea keeps nagging. It lingers through my boredom, lodged
forever in reminiscence.

A new guy came up to me in aisle 15 yesterday, a fresh-faced, student
type. I was picking a copy of 'The Illustrated Encyclopaedia of Motor
Racing.'

"How long you been here mate?" He asked.

I turned to him slowly, glazed over and dull.

"Almost a year" I said, with a weak smile.

"Yeah?"

"Ever since I got out of jail."

"Oh."

"Yeah&;#8230; I've got a kid."

"Oh right." He looked a little embarrassed, the way somebody does when
they've just realised the person they're speaking to is not all
there.

"I'll leave you to it." He said.

That stirred me. If I went on like this I would end up like Dave.
Perhaps Otis had been right. I made a decision there and then, a
decision that would change my life.
It was time for a new attitude.

I went to see Keith at the parole office last night.

"Glad to hear you're still working." He said, "is it going
alright?"

"Couldn't be better." I said with a smile.

"I don't think I've ever seen you looking so happy Larry." He said,
pushing his floppy blonde hair back over his head.

"I'm feeling good you know, Keith."

"You see!" He seemed elated, triumphant. "A steady job for a while can
work wonders for your confidence."

"Yeah&;#8230; I really feel like I know who I am again now. A sense
of purpose you know."

"You feel like you have direction in your life?"

"Yeah&;#8230; Direction&;#8230; Exactly!"

"How's your son?"

"Oh, Zac's fine. We're getting along real good."

"I'm sure you're making him very proud."
I smiled at Keith. Smiled with all my heart.

As soon as I got back I went to see Julius. The smell of burning still
hung around his flat.

"How's things bruv?" He asked.

"Yeah, good J. Bit restless though."

"I know the feeling. It's a big night for me tomorrow night."

"How's that?"

"November 5th, bruv. Big party at The K Klub. Can't stop thinking about
it, you coming?"

"Don't think so you know, gonna spend some time with Zachary."

"You'll be missing a rough night!"

"That's the way it goes J"

"So what's got you so restless?"

"Ahh&;#8230; reality."

"Things at work getting you down?"

"I just feel like its time to take responsibility."

Julius looked concerned again, serious.
"If you're thinking what I think you're thinking, that's cool." He
said. "Don't be afraid to change, bruv. I'm always here for you."

I shook his hand and left, making my way up to Sandra's steadily. I
checked on Zac. He looked so secure and peaceful, asleep beneath the
duvet.

Today I stayed late at the Cardboard Lagoon. I worked until 8:30.
Myself and Otis Rexland were the last ones to leave.

"You've been on the case today homeboy!" Otis bellowed. "Man in all the
time I've been here I ain't never seen anyone work so hard. You picked
twelve massive orders single handed!"

"Yeah, you know that skipper!" I laughed and touched fists with him.
"I've decided to get on the trolley!"

"You know it makes sense!"

"I hear ya!" I said.

"Well that's enough for one day, man. You did good! Time to lock that
door and go."

"OK Otis. I'm right behind ya! Just gotta go to the toilet."

I smiled at him outside. " Tomorrow homeboy!" He said.

"Laters!" I replied and ran home, smiling all the way, satisfied with
my day and eager to see Zac. When I got in he bounced up to me.

"You worked late tonight, Dad", he said.
I patted his head, oozing pride.

"Yeah, well, sometimes things have to change Zachary. Come on!" I
gathered him up in my arms and ran up the stairs to the roof.

So here we are, looking out again over the concrete and bricks. I feel
filled with new hope.

"It's a very special day today" I say. "Do you know what day it is
today?"

"Its fireworks day!"

"That's right! Its also the first day of the rest of my life,
Zac"

Right on cue the fires dotted here and there, flickering in the night,
shower colour into the air. I pull Zac a little closer to me.

"We've got the best view in the city." I say.

Zac is open-mouthed, awe-struck.

"Wow" He says, "look at all the fires". The flames flicker in his
eyes.

"Beautiful, aren't they?"

"Yeah&;#8230;" I can see he shares my fascination.

"Look at that one." He says, pointing. "Its massive."

I follow the line of his finger to a huge, roaring blaze in the
middle-distance.

"That one" I say, as the flames burst through the wide, grey roof,
bringing it crashing down, "is the most beautiful of all."

Laughing, we stand and watch.

"Can we play football tomorrow Dad?" He asks.

"Yes, Zac" I say.

"Yes we can."