“Alan 942B,” Carl continued. “As of today, you have been reassigned to Assembly. You will be expected to work five days per week. If you accomplish this, your points will be increased per week as well. You begin today.”
I could see my father nod, trying to mask the sudden confusion that flooded his face. “Leann 942B, when not in your therapy course, classes, or on assigned cell rest, you have been assigned laundry room duty. You begin today as well.”
My mother started to stammer, the words mixing together in confused chaos under her suddenly thick tongue. My father stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. As if drawing peace from his touch, my mother calmed and nodded. “Thank you, GF,” she said, her voice lacking any of its often distant loftiness. “It will be grand to work again.”
Carl chuckled. “We must make sure that all of our inmates are properly taken care of. As you both are.” I could feel him look at me, his words slow and meaningful. I swallowed the lump in my throat. Clenching my eyes shut, I tried to keep my breathing even. Dr. Eriks must have done this. She was telling me that my parents weren’t my responsibility anymore.
I should have been relieved. Instead, I suddenly felt sick.
I could hear the rustle of paper. “Alan 942B, when your daughter wakes up from her sleep, would you please make sure she gets her agenda. It is needed to prepare for the Finals.”
My father must have nodded his acknowledgement. I could hear Carl’s clipped boot falls as he left the cell, joining with the morning flow. Creeping my eyes open just enough to see my parents again through my hooded eyelashes, I watched as my father glanced over the paper then softly laid it on my bunk next to me. His hand lingered a moment, then he curled his fingers up and pulled them away.
“Alan, Alan! You got a new job!” my mother chirped happily. In a very dramatic voice, her hand painting the word out in front of her in the air, she proudly announced, “Assembly.”
My father just nodded again, falling back into his usual shadow existence. Smiling, my mother bounced past him and turned on the sink, splashing the water on her face and into her hair. She paused to look at her face in the mirror, pulling back the wrinkles in her forehead with a finger. “And it is about time they gave me a job. I am just stir crazy!”
You are something crazy, I thought.
My mother tried to run her fingers through her matted hair. Disgruntled, she let out a huff, her face wrinkling up like a child’s. “I think I will go take a shower before my new day begins!” she chirped.
Grabbing her rarely used towel and a stack of clean clothing, which I had washed and folded and never been thanked for, she bounced toward the cell door. Just before she passed through the door I saw her pause, her chin turning slightly towards me, her back stiff in anticipation. I didn’t move. Her shoulders sagged, a heavy sigh escaping through her lips. She paused a moment longer, then suddenly perked up again and bounced away down the walk towards the showers. My father grabbed his own stack of clothing and quickly followed, not even bothering to pause.
As soon as I was sure they were gone, I sat up and snatched the paper. I wished that I didn’t feel so secluded from them. I could feel myself longing for the ability to let the fog permanently take away the newfound memory of my mother’s unremorseful words. But I couldn’t. When I saw her face, I saw a murderer.
I blinked my eyes then looked down, forcing them to focus on the white page in my hands.
Discharge Procedures
Spokane
Nation Prison No.4
0500 – Lights on
0530 – Breakfast
0800 – Report to Exam Room
0830 – Begin Exam
0930 – End Exam, Dismiss
1300 – Report for Parole Board
TBD
Reminder: Exam will be delivered orally and
before the five listed parole board members.
Be prompt and prepared.
Warden Frank Binns
Honorable Judge Albert Wood
Reverend Rolan Smitson
Dr. Marta Eriks
Oscar Ramos
I read the list again. I hated seeing Dr. Eriks’ listed, but I knew there was no way they wouldn’t include her in this decision. The Judge and Reverend meant nothing to me, and the Warden was to be expected. I had no idea who Oscar Ramos was.
I had heard that many times they would pull in a random citizen from one of the nearby farms to sit in. They thought it helped the inmate feel like the decision was fair, being as one of the five was of no power. That must be who Oscar was. A powerless nobody.
I laid the paper aside and pulled out my textbook. With nothing better to do for the next two days, I figured I might as well brush up on the material that my brain needed to remember in order to pass. Before standing in front of the parole board, it was required for all Jail Babies to take an oral exam. I would need to prove that I had the history of our Nation drilled so well into my head that I could recite it in my sleep.
Which I could.
I cracked the book open and began to read the same pages I had been reading my entire life.
I knew every word before I even read it. When I had turned six, this exact book had been assigned to me. Ever since then, I had read it, cover to cover, at least twice a week. The pages were full of the history of the great Nation. Why the Nation had to do what it did to save itself. How we needed to be the good, the strong, to bring the Nation back to its greatness. I hated reading it. The words were dull and boring, often repeating themselves every few pages. But twice a week, while I still attended school, we had to sit quietly in the cold schoolroom and read the book cover to cover.
No one ever failed the exam. And no Jail Baby was ever denied parole.
That knowledge only made me even more nervous.
The nerves I felt twisting in my stomach at the thought of the coming Exam wasn’t only fear of the test itself. It was of the results. How I did on the test would put a stamp on me. It would decide where I would be placed after my release. It decided who I would become.
If they liked me, and if I proved to be a promising citizen, then my life outside would be easy. But if I got a bad label, one bad note, I would be watched. I would be doubted. And, as many of the younger convicts here, I would finally wind right back up where I did not want to be. I had seen it happen, too many times. I needed to prove that I was the good, the strong.
Realizing my mind had drifted, yet again, I slammed the book open until the spine cracked and started reading from the beginning.
7
I finished reading my textbook, then flipped it back to the first page and began again. By now I wasn’t actually reading. My mind had become a thick mess of solid fog. I could feel my eyes swimming uselessly, barely focused on the pages. They seemed to be moving more out of memorized motion than out of actual need.
Every time I heard someone pass outside my cell, my entire body tensed. Their shuffled steps, soft from the same worn sneakers that we all wore, would finally calm me. Then I would hear movement again, and tense back up. I felt completely ridiculous. I hadn’t been this uneasy since I was little.
I felt on edge, and no matter what I tried, I couldn’t seem to calm myself down.
A few times I heard the clipped, heavy steps of boots as the patrolling guards passed. They wouldn’t even pause as they walked past my quiet cell. As the day wore on, that changed. Every time I heard the heavy boot falls, I would glance out of the corner of my eye at the open door. The boots would slow as they approached my cell, pausing a fraction of a second in the light of the opening before moving on down the walk.
Each time, I could see Carl’s darkly smiling face take me in.
The boots approached again. Even though I already knew who I would see, I still found my eyes trailing over to the door, my breath freezing in my lungs.
Carl stood in the door, grinning at me.
“Good day, Millie,” he said coolly. “Studying hard?”
I didn’t a
nswer. Carl chuckled to himself, eyeing my entire cell before taking me in once more. Nodding his head, he disappeared back to his patrol.
I licked my lips, forcing myself to take a deep breath. My fingers shook as they turned the page of my worn book. The next time the heavy sound of boots approached, I didn’t look up.
My parents didn’t reappear all day. The glow of our window started to dim, and they still didn’t return. I should have felt worried. I knew I should have been peeking outside the cell, looking for their familiar faces. Instead, in my mind, I found myself hoping that they had done something wrong and were sitting alone in the Hole. I didn’t want to face them.
My internal clock told me that lights out was only minutes away. I finally gave in and sat up, leaning over the edge of the bunk to peer out the door. Inmates were shuffling by, pushing to get to their cells before the series of buzzers screamed at them.
The first buzz sounded. Just as it died into the static noise, I saw my mother duck into the doorway, my father close behind her. They walked straight to the shelf, jamming their dirty clothes onto the bottom shelf next to mine. My father washed his hands, running one over his tired face. I could see his hands shaking.
I stayed hanging over the edge of the bunk, carefully watching them. They always wound down the same way. Aside from the days where they just gave up and crashed into bed, there was a routine my parents did that never changed.
After turning off the water, my father drank a sip out of the metal cup, swishing it in his mouth and spitting it into the sink. Then he backed out of the way, hand coming to rest on the small of my mother’s back as he beckoned her forward. She repeated exactly what he had done, first rinsing her hands, then her face, then swishing the water and spitting it back out.
My father followed my mother to the bed. The bunk underneath creaked as they both sank their weight into it. I could barely see them from where I leaned over the edge. They slowly untied their shoes and pulled them off, my father letting out a soft grunt. Tucking their socks deep down into the toes, they carefully lined the shoes along the bottom of the bunk. I could hear my father groan as they laid down, side by side, on the flat mat. Without having to look, I knew he had his arm draped over my mother, her body nestled against him.
The only thing different today was the silence. Usually my mother would chatter about trees or dinner or, when the moments took over, her swaying repetition of ‘baby.’ It was a wind-down noise I had grown used to. I had heard it my entire life. My father would grunt and mutter single words occasionally as my mother went on and on. Then they would fall silent together, drifting into sleep.
I don’t know if it was because of work, or because of me, but tonight the cell was silent.
I sat back, realizing for the first time that my father wasn’t as inexistent as I always had seen him to be. He rarely spoke. His body was always stooped and I had seen one too many guards and inmates push him around. Those were the only things I had ever noticed before.
Tonight I saw what I had always missed. His constant following of my mother wasn’t because he was a shadow. He was a guard. His hand rested on the small of her back, calmed her shoulder, held her close against the nightmares I never knew. He let her talk instead of shutting her up, as much as that would have been appreciated.
There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that my father loved my mother.
And, I suppose, he was the perfect one to love her. For he was just as much of a murderer as she was.
The strange softness for my father that had overcome me quickly disappeared as I remembered the truth about him. I could see him, his large hands clamped around a defenseless man’s throat, squeezing tighter and tighter. The man fought, then finally slowed as his lips turned blue and his eyes bulged. Did my father ever think of stopping? Did he hate the feeling of draining life one second at a time from another living, struggling to breathe human being?
Or had he been like my mother, enjoying every second of it.
I slammed my head back against my pillow, trying to chase away the thoughts. I hated the anger that boiled inside. I wanted to hurt them. I wanted them to stop pretending. I wanted to see the true monsters they were.
Was I a monster too, for wanting that?
I could hear the snoring of my father rise up from the bunk beneath. Climbing down, I silently paced the floor. My bare feet softly slapped the concrete, becoming more ice-cold with every step.
They created me. I was a part of them. Was I doomed to the same insanity I saw engulf my mother and shroud my father? The thoughts hurt my head. I could feel the headache grow, banging angrily on the inside of my throbbing head. Laying down flat on my back, I let the coolness of the floor chill me. I welcomed the shivers that fought against the always present sweat.
“942B, is everything alright?”
I blinked my eyes. The nurse’s voice sounded harsh and loud, causing me to crinkle my face up in pain.
“Uh, headache,” I said, barely loud enough.
I heard the nurse shuffle some papers. Her foot tapped the ground impatiently as the papers flipped. “I’m sorry 942B, but you are not approved for any sort of pain medication.”
“It’s just a headache, can’t you just −”
“I am sorry 942B, but you are not −”
“Okay, I get it.” I wiped my hand over my face, my headache flaring.
I heard the nurse shuffle outside. “Is everything else alright tonight?”
“Yeah,” I mumbled. “It’s just great.”
The three cups were shoved under the door. Before I could even look, the nurse hurried away, her shadow disappearing down the walk. Angry, I swiped at the cups, spilling all three across the ground. The pills rolled into the shadows, scattering across the cell floor. Laying one hand across my eyes, I let the darkness engulf me.
“Millie? You awake?”
Without moving, I reached and wiggled my fingers underneath the door. I could hear Jude crouch down outside. The light of his flashlight shot into my cell.
“Is everything alright?” he asked, his voice suddenly panicked.
Rolling onto my side, I looked through the opening. Jude’s face was lit by the light, his eyes searching and worried.
“I’m fine,” I said, trying to smile. “Killer headache.”
“Here,” Jude said, fishing into his pocket. He pulled out a little plastic container, dumping a white pill into the palm of his hand. I reached out and took it. Without asking, I threw it into my mouth and swallowed.
“Jude.” My voice came out even and solid. “My parents are criminals.”
I could hear Jude laugh. “And you just realized this?”
“No, Jude, really. They are crazy. They should be in here, and they should never leave.” I swallowed hard. “They are monsters.”
No response. I could hear Jude breathing, so I knew he was still there. I let the silence grow between us. I wanted so badly to voice the fears that now ran rampant in my mind. I wanted to scream out my anger. I wanted to cry in heavy tears my utter disappointment.
Instead, I just lay there.
Jude finally cleared his throat. In a weak voice, he tentatively asked, “So… have you been studying?”
I nodded, then realized that he couldn’t see me. “Yes,” I said simply.
“Good.” I could hear him squirm in his spot. Something was wrong. He cleared his throat again. “Millie, they changed my schedule. This is my last night on night patrol. I had been hoping… you know… to catch up a bit before you disappear into the Nation. But, well, it looks like tonight is it.”
“Oh.” I suddenly felt empty again. My headache was disappearing thanks to the pill Jude had given me. Now I just felt numb.
“You be good, okay?”
“I will.”
“And you better pass that test with some crazy flying colors.”
I felt a chuckle tickle my lips. “You know I will.”
Jude took in a deep breath, leaning his head against the door. “I
’m going to miss you, Millie. You’re a good friend you know… Jail Baby and all.”
“I’ll miss you too, Jude. GF and all.”
In the distance I could hear the sound of boots. Jude sighed, then sat up. I could hear him part his lips to say something, then snap them back shut. Without another word, he stood and began to walk away. I pushed up against the door, trying to catch a glimpse of him through the small opening along the bottom. I only saw the beam of his flashlight as he swung it back and forth, pausing at each cell to shine it in.
Just as he disappeared from sight, I faintly heard his voice, lightly humming.
I crawled back into my bunk, my eyes suddenly heavy and burning.
I begged for the fog to take me. As if to spite me, it hid out of my reach. Everything was messed up now. I should be feeling elated to be so close to my release day. Instead, I had found that my entire life I had been sleeping above monsters. I would never talk to Jude again. Orrin was only a cell or two away, but always unreachable. Every one of the people I had let in as friends I had always kept at an untouchable distance, and now they were about to disappear.
Tears stung my eyes and I angrily wiped them away, turning on my side to face the dark wall. Crying wouldn’t get to get me anywhere. Letting out a shuddering sigh, I felt the words of Jude’s song form on my lips.
“And any time you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain. Don’t carry the world upon your shoulders…” I softly sang into the wall. I could feel my voice crack, but kept going, the words burned into my head from the time Jude and I had laid on the ground just the other night and played it over and over.
Before I knew it, I was asleep.
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Prison Nation Page 7
