I wish I could say I was strong. In the world I grew up in, a person had to know how to act strong. I knew how to throw on the tough face, how to push through the crowds, how to put the glare in my eyes that warned others to leave me alone. But inside, every time I found myself forced to act strong, I shook in utter fright. My heart sped and my eyes threatened at any moment to leak the tears that built so strong behind them. I could only act for so long.
The next day, I decided that acting strong was the last thing I wanted to do.
I could see the worried looks on my parent’s faces as they got ready for their new jobs that morning. I still hadn’t spoken a word to them. As they dressed and prepared to go, I just laid in my bed and stared at the ceiling. They kept glancing at me, obviously trying to decide if talking was even worth the try. I hoped that my cold presence gave them the answer.
Maybe I was acting immature. I was sure that is what Dr. Eriks would have said. She would say that even though they were convicted criminals, they were my parents, and blocking them out mere days before I would leave was causing more damage than good. I didn’t care about damage. At that moment, as I lay frozen on my bunk, I didn’t care about anything.
That was my day. I didn’t bother to eat. Or even stand. I just laid on my bed and listened to the prison. Everything was ticking, every footstep and thud another second gone. There was no music. Just the clock of prison life ticking slowly until I was finally gone.
I fell back asleep before my parents even returned. No dreams came to me, nothing but blackness and silence. When I woke up again, the prison was already awake and moving. My body hurt worse than ever before, the entire day spent laying on my back on the cement bunk causing my muscles to lock up in pain.
I slowly climbed down off the bunk, willing my knees to bend and my back to straighten. Standing in the center of my cell, I squatted up and down a few times, feeling the joints pop and protest with every bend. My neck felt stiff, my eyes suddenly throbbing.
Realizing that my only other set of clothing was still dirty, I pulled on my old sneakers and bent down to the bottom of the bookshelf with a groan. All of the dirty clothes were gone. My mother hadn’t done the laundry at all for the last year, if not longer. My breath caught in my throat. I knew I should have felt relieved. The woman really didn’t need me. Instead, I felt a sudden sting of tears threaten my eyes.
My notebook sat near the edge of my bunk, its worn pages hanging over, threatening to fall out and scatter across the cell floor. I grabbed it and flipped it open to my schedule.
“Crap,” I hissed, looking at the scribble of writing telling me that today was my last appointment with Dr. Eriks. And it was about to begin.
I shoved my journal under my pillow, ran my fingers quickly through my mess of hair, then booked it down the walkway. A few inmates, lounging along the walls or in their open cells, glanced up at me as I hurried past. No one ever hurried here. There was nothing ever worth hurrying for, aside from the lock of your cell door at lights out.
Luckily the hallway was empty as I ran toward Dr. Eriks’ office. I paused just long enough for the guard at the hallway door to scan my bracelet. It felt like it took forever for the little device to beep.
I had no idea what time it actually was. I usually timed my day mentally from the moment the lights flashed on. When I missed that one event, I always felt off for the rest of the day. I silently begged that I wasn’t late this time. Nothing would look worse than showing up late for the last appointment.
I should have known better.
I abruptly drew to a stop in front of the secretary’s desk. She didn’t even bother to look up at me, just waved her hand to motion me to go ahead in. I thought I could see her glance briefly out of the corner of her eye at me as I passed, but I never looked back to see.
“You are late, Millie.”
My heart sank. I could feel my pulse racing, throbbing in my head and chest. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest at the sudden burst of movement and I could hear a distant ringing in the back of my head. Clenching my eyes shut a moment, I nodded. “I’m sorry Dr. Eriks. I overslept.”
I slowly peeked my eyes back open. Dr. Eriks was eyeing me. “I told you to bring your journal today. Where is it?”
“I…uh…” It was my last session, and I was already messing up. I bit the inside of my cheek before looking down to the ground. “I forgot it.”
“Sit down.”
I ducked into my usual seat, thankful to see that there were no added chairs today. Dr. Eriks deftly picked up her notepad then took her usual seat across from me, crossing her legs under her stiff brown skirt. I found myself wondering if she owned anything else in her wardrobe other than that brown skirt. In every meeting I had with her, she always wore the same type of dull brown skirt that fit just tight enough to show her lack of hips. Looking down at my own clothes, I took in my worn jeans and crumpled white shirt, dirty from wear. They were the same items of clothing I wore every single day, without choice. I suddenly longed for the choice, the feeling sweeping over me in a way I had never felt before. As I looked back up at her skirt, I made a mental note to never buy a white t-shirt for myself again.
“How are you doing today, Millie?”
I shrugged. “Alright I guess.”
“I see that you failed to attend any meals yesterday.”
My mouth went dry. “I… I wasn’t hungry.” As if denying my statement, my stomach growled loudly. Dr. Eriks raised an eyebrow, watching me closely with her lips pursed. I lowered my head. “I wasn’t hungry,” I repeated softly.
“Millie, are you angry at your parents?”
I stared at my hands. I already knew what she would say. I had already repeated it over and over to myself the last day, and it still didn’t make any difference. Without saying anything, I let my head slowly nod.
“Good. You should be.”
I wondered if I had heard her correctly. Lifting my eyes, I saw no humor on her face. Just a perfect mask of stern seriousness.
“Your parents are criminals, Millie. They killed two men and attempted to murder the last. If he hadn’t been able to get away and find authorities, they may have gotten away with it. You have watched your parents. You know they are… strange.” Dr. Eriks flipped open her notepad. “You have told me that you are the only one who does the laundry; that you must remind your own mother to bathe herself. Your father rarely speaks. At our last meeting, you stated you were ‘needed here.’ Do you still feel this way?”
I couldn’t answer. I could sense the fog creeping in, and I wanted so badly to dive into it and disappear from this sudden interrogation. Dr. Eriks watched me a moment, then picked up a slim folder that sat on the table next to her. She pulled out a paper, skimming it for a moment with her eyes before looking back at me. With one hand, her eyes still locked on me, she pulled the table around, setting it between us.
“Your mother is unstable. She suffers from self-imposed ‘amnesia,’ psychosis, and bi-polar disorder. I am sure that you have seen the moments, where her reality slips.” She paused. When her voice spoke again, it came out gentle, almost soothing. “This is the only safe place for her, Millie. Spokane sees to all her needs, while guaranteeing that her crimes cannot be repeated out in the Nation.”
Dr. Eriks reached into the folder and pulled out a small stack of photos. She laid them out in front of me on the small table, one at a time. The first was my father’s mug shot. His hair looked as disheveled as ever, but his face was young and barely hinted with stubble. His eyes were bloodshot, heavy with dark bags. The next was my mother’s mug shot. She was beautiful. Her skin glowed. Even though it was knotted with twigs, her hair somehow managed to still flow in honey waves around her slim face. Her eyes, though focused and intense, were blood shot, the stain of tears still evident on her cheeks.
Dr. Eriks watched me carefully as she laid down the next photo. A shot of a knife laying on the ground, a number propped next to it. Dark blood covered the dirty knife. I could feel
my stomach twist, but I couldn’t close my eyes.
Another photo. This one of a man, his face a chalky blue, bruises dark and painful around his swollen throat. Dr. Eriks carefully laid down the last photo, her hand resting on it a moment before uncovering it for my eyes to see.
A man lay sprawled on the ground, dirt smudged over his body, twigs stuck in his hair. His face was frozen in a grimace, his eyes wide open. The rest of his body was red. Dark, blood red. I tore my eyes away, biting hard against the nausea that fought to take me over.
“Your parents are criminals, Millie,” Dr. Eriks said slowly, carefully emphasizing each word. “But you are not. You owe these criminals nothing. You owe the Nation everything. The Nation needs you. You are good and strong and loyal. Aren’t you, Millie?”
I still clenched my eyes shut. My lips pressed harder together, biting back the waves of nausea that beat against every inch of my body. I barely managed a nod. The soft shuffle of papers let me know that Dr. Eriks had put away the photos. I found myself silently grateful that I hadn’t eaten for the last day. I inched my eyes open.
“I hope you have studied hard for the Exam tomorrow, Millie. It would be a shame to find my assessment of you has been wrong.” Dr. Eriks sat back and watched me, the smile growing on her face. She looked so smug, so strangely content.
“Is there anything you would like to discuss, Millie?”
I shook my head.
“Anything about the fogs?”
My eyes shot up to meet hers. I had never told her about the moments the fog took me over.
Dr. Eriks leaned forward in her chair, her thin wrists dangling loosely off her knees. “Your mother experiences moments where, as she says, a ‘fog’ takes over and sets her free. It would be natural for you to notice. Maybe even experience them yourself. It is simply your subconscious, in its untrained way, trying to ‘protect’ you. But you know you need no protection, from us, don’t you Millie?”
Her eyes pierced into me, as if daring me to argue.
I nodded.
Fogs. My mother had fogs. My crazy mother, who murdered a man with her own hands and now escaped into her own world in a snap, had fogs. And so did I. My mouth went dry.
Dr. Eriks grinned once more, then settled back in her chair. “You may go, Millie.”
Without a pause, I stood and hurried out the door. I could feel those photos behind me. They taunted me, screaming at me to look them in the face. I needed to get as far away from them as possible. As I walked through the door, I looked up to see Carl standing in my path.
“What…” I could feel my tongue freeze stupidly in my mouth.
The secretary glanced up at me, then over to Carl. “I called for escort again. The last session is always the hardest.” Her voice sounded doubtful. I could see her watching Carl, her brows slowly knitting together. “But maybe −”
“No,” Carl cut off her. “Procedure is procedure. Besides, I’m already here.” He grinned at me, then moved aside and beckoned me forward. “Well, let’s get going.”
The secretary watched me walk past her desk, her face still knotted in sudden anxiety. I looked away from her, walking quickly past and headed down the hall without pausing. I had always thought that walking away from this office for the last time would be liberating. But now as I moved down the hall I felt thicker and slower than ever before.
Carl hurried to walk next to me. As we rounded a corner and finally disappeared from the secretary’s stare, Carl grabbed my arm and slammed me hard into the nearest doorway.
8
My faced smacked hard into the metal door before I even had time to throw my hands up. I blinked. A small grunt escaped my lips as my head spun madly, my cheek already throbbing in instant pain. Carl grabbed me by the shoulders and spun me around, driving my back into the wall of the doorway.
“So,” he hissed in a low voice, “this is what I am thinking. I think you should apply for a job here. I think it would be a very good choice on your part.”
He held me tight by my shoulders. I cringed in pain as his fingers clamped harder into my flesh. I could feel the wall behind me, grinding against my spine as he shoved me harder against its cold surface.
A few inmates walked by, glancing a moment into the doorway. As soon as they saw us, they quickly lowered their eyes and scurried away. To them it looked like a guard punishing a fellow inmate who had acted up, nothing more. They didn’t want to chance their own actions becoming noticed as well.
“Wh-why?” I forced out, my lungs still gasping for breath. I could feel the headache throbbing behind my eyes and the burn of pain flaring on my cheek.
Carl chuckled. He leaned in closer. I could feel his hot touch as it grazed my flesh. He rose up slowly, his breath on my neck, my cheek, my ear. Stopping at my hair, he slowly drew a breath in. I could see his lips part in a grin.
“I like you, Millie.”
My body tightened, chills running down my raked spine.
“Carl…”
Carl slammed me again against the wall. I couldn’t breathe. My head threw back, the back of it smacking dully against the wall. Foggy patches swam in front of my eyes. Trying to blink them away, I felt the sting of painful tears. Carl’s eyes bore into mine, something unstable and dangerous floating across their icy blue.
“Don’t. Interrupt. Me.” he said, his voice low and growling. I could see the anger in his eyes flare. Then, as quickly as it grew, it disappeared. He smiled again, so close I could see the hint of stubble on his upper lip. “I said I like you. I have for some time. Why the hell else would I volunteer to come work down here? I needed to be near you, Millie. I needed to make sure that you…” He breathed me in again. “I needed to guarantee I would get you. I get what I want Millie. And I like you.”
He pressed harder against me. “Please, Carl, you’re hurting me,” I managed to force out.
He just ignored me. “So, I think you need to ask for a job here. In the upper blocks, where I will be transferring back to very soon. I have tried to suggest it nicely. But obviously nice just didn’t get my point across.” He pushed harder against me. “If you don’t accept… well… I really, really think you should accept.” He looked into my eyes, his eyes dark and icy.
“Carl GF4, what is the issue here?” The sound of another man’s voice startled both of us. Carl loosened his iron grip as he backed away a few inches. Another guard stood in the center of the hall, watching us.
“Inmate was being resistant,” Carl said coolly. “I was just reminding her to stay in place.”
The other guard watched him a moment, then let his eyes slide over to me. I knew my cheek was red and I couldn’t calm my gasps for air. “Well, it looks like she got it. Cool it a bit, GF.”
“Yes sir,” Carl said, his voice oddly submissive.
“Well, come on then. You can help me with patrols.” The guard glanced at me again, his face bored. “I recommend you find your way to your cell, Inmate.”
I couldn’t even bring myself to nod.
Carl looked at me once more. His eyes screamed a million words to me, all of which managed to only make me shake worse. Then the grin spread on his lips again. A second later he turned away, joining the guard as they made their way down the hall.
I couldn’t move. I sucked in air in ragged gasps, colors swimming before my eyes. A few inmates walked by. I could see them glance at me, taking me in. My face must have been white. I could feel the cool perspiration on my cheeks, contrasting the hot pain that throbbed in my tender cheek.
Finally shaking away the shock enough to shuffle my feet, I made my way back to my cell. Crawling into my bunk, I pulled my thin blanket over my shoulders. I would have given anything at that moment to see the door slam shut, locking me safely inside my cell. Alone. I had never been handled that way in my life. The sight of the wall flying at my face made me flinch again, even as I huddled under my blanket in the dark cell.
I didn’t realize I was crying until a sudden shuddering gasp wretch
ed out of my throat. Tears streamed down my face. Carl’s words replayed in my head. He liked me. I had always thought that someone liking you would make you feel warm, comfortable. Happy. But the low rumble of his voice, the grasp he had as he clenched my shoulders tight against the wall, I knew this wasn’t right. I wasn’t liked. He didn’t want me for who I was.
He wanted me for something else. Something I couldn’t fathom.
| | |
My parents returned to the cell just before the buzz of lights out. I stared numbly at the ceiling, my face still throbbing. A few times I had thought to climb down and look to see if there was a bruise, but the thought of standing in the open doorway where anyone could see me glued me immediately back onto the bunk.
There was no talking, again. Along the walk the mumble of the Lifers echoed as they prepared for yet another night in the prison that had claimed them. But here, in my family’s cell, it was silent.
My parents looked exhausted. My mother’s eyes were glazed, giving away that she was already lost in a distant trance. Her hair stood in every direction, parts still sudsy from the vile laundry room soap. I could see her hands as she shakily took off her shoes. They were red and raw, small cracks in the worn flesh still lightly bleeding.
My father barely moved. He came into the cell far enough to pull off his shoes and line them along the bunk. Then I heard the thud and gush of breath as he landed hard onto the bunk. Everything fell completely silent. I almost leaned over to check on him, wondering if he still was still breathing, but stopped myself.
My mother stood in the center of the cell, swaying back and forth. I could see the side of her face, the exhausted droop of her lips tugging her face down. With my father asleep, no one would guide to her to bed now. When I was young, I would sometimes wake in the night to her standing just as she was now, mechanically swaying back and forth, for hours. I would lay and watch her, mesmerized by the clockwork of her movement. I thought it was beautiful. Like a dance to hidden music I had never been allowed to hear.
Prison Nation Page 8
