by Susanne Beck
The pitcher dug down deep and struck out our last batter to end the inning, but I’d done my job, helping us to go up by one run. Now all we had to do is hold them for three more outs and the game would be ours.
Unfortunately, Sandra Pierce wasn’t privy to that plan. Stepping up to the plate, she blasted a left-field home-run that went so high and so far that I think even now, seven years later, it’s still floating somewhere in the stratosphere.
Phyllis stepped up to the plate next and, taking a page from Sandra’s book, blasted a hit to left field. Trey had a bead on it, however, and showed us all just why the Lady Vols were so devastated when she left. In a leap the height of which I’d never seen a human produce before, she reached up and snagged the ball just as it was about to sail over the fence. While the rest of us looked on in open-mouthed awe, she casually tossed the ball in to the pitcher and straightened a non-existent crease on her uniform shirt.
Grinning and shaking my head, I returned my attention back to the game, secretly wondering in my heart of hearts why a woman who had taken the life of another deserved to feel so good. I shook off the feeling quickly before it ruined what this day had become, figuring that sometimes, things just are and it’s best to leave it at that.
The next two outs were routine grounders that we had no trouble handling and then it was time to run off the field and hope for the best in the bottom of the last inning of the game.
It was also the bottom of our line-up, where our weakest batters were. All three were looking nervous as they realized the positions they were in. We all did our best to calm them down as the chanting and cheering of the crowd reached an almost deafening crescendo.
Our first batter stepped up and dug in. I could see her legs shaking from my spot behind the batter’s cage and swallowed hard in empathy. The first pitch came, sinking fast into the dirt and she swung at it for strike one. The second one blew by her before she was fully into her stance for strike two. She pounded the head of the bat into the dirt in frustration, then settled again. The next pitch was perfect and she swung for the fences. It shot down the first-base line, skittering off the glove of the woman defending the bag and rolled onward, allowing her a stand-up double.
In the dugout, we all went crazy, seeing a possible light at the end of this particular tunnel. The next batter was a quick out, leaving our baserunner on second, but the next was a hard grounder that saw both women safe on their respective bases.
Flustered and tired, the pitcher then walked the bases loaded and our weakest batter stepped up to the plate. Three swings later, she stepped away from the plate, swinging her bat dejectedly and apologizing to us all as she stepped back into the dugout.
It was one of the situations every ballplayer, from Little League to the Majors, dreams of. Bases loaded, bottom of the last inning with the score tied and two outs. It’s also the situation every player dreads.
Two quick pitches and she was in the hole, the rest of us right along with her. But she wasn’t our lead-off batter for nothing, and so she simply squared her shoulders and waited patiently for the next pitch.
Three more pitches and the count was full. The yard went silent as we all, prisoners and guards alike, leaned forward for what promised to be the final pitch of the game. Even the birds went quiet, as if knowing the somewhat dubious importance of this event about to transpire but respecting it nonetheless.
Our batter stared at the pitcher. The pitcher stared back, not quite so cocky as before. She fiddled with the ball nervously before putting it behind her back and leaning forward to catch the signal from the catcher.
Every eye in the yard followed the ball as it rose up in a majestic arc through the hazy air. We watched as it hit the pinnacle of its trajectory and then began to give in to gravity’s unbreakable summons. It finished its graceful ballet by landing cleanly in the catcher’s glove. Our batter had never removed the bat from her shoulder.
All eyes then turned to the umpire, awaiting her fateful decision. Small eternities were born and crumbled to dust under the weight of her pregnant pause. Her jaw moved, forming words we all fought to hear.
"BALL FOUR!!"
Ok. So it wasn’t the most exciting way to win a game, but it counted. The batter smugly dropped her bat in the dirt and trotted over to first base, bringing the runner on third home. When she crossed the plate, the yard erupted and a frenzy of cheers and we all piled on the hapless runner to get in on the action.
Forgetting for the moment that they were our keepers, the guards jumped into the crowd of bodies, laughing and shouting with the rest of us. For a moment, we weren’t prisoners and guards forced by circumstances to co-inhabit a stinking pit in a far-away corner of nowhere. For that brief moment of time, the weight of our crimes broke under the exhilarating feeling of freedom. We were just two teams battling it out on a lazy summer’s day. The prison, and our places in it, felt far away as we whooped and danced around like crazy idiots, hugging one another and slapping each others’ backs and butts.
I chanced a look up at the red-brick building. It seemed smaller somehow. As if its very existence fed off the fright and guilt of the women it housed and when those emotions weren’t there, it shrunk in upon itself like a flower that wilts from lack of sunlight.
I stuck my tongue out at the building, then turned as something smooth and cool was slipped into my hand. Looking down, I saw a bottle of sparkling grape juice waiting for me and, grinning wildly, I shook it, then popped the plastic cork, spraying guards and teammates alike with the chilled, sticky liquid. Corks popped across the field and we laughed like children as we doused everyone within reach.
In the midst of the revelry, I took the time out to commit the scene and its feelings to memory, knowing that there’d someday be cause to draw it out like a treasured photo when the nights were long and freedom seemed ten lifetimes away.
When the celebration began to wind down, I looked back over the yard which was awash in orange, brown and white, looking for a hint of black hair and blue eyes; disappointed when I didn’t find them. I indulged myself in a brief but harmless fantasy of receiving a more private congratulations, then snorted softly at my foolishness. Snapping out of my reverie when I felt a companionable arm slip over my shoulders, I looked up to see Sandra standing next to me, clinking my bottle of ersatz champagne against her own.
"Hell of a game, Angel. They should sign you up for the Majors with that triple play you turned."
"Ah, that was easy. I think that homerun you hit landed in Harrisburg somewhere."
She laughed, then knocked back a swig of her grape juice. "That felt good. Been a long time since I’ve had fun like this, though. Thanks."
"No. Thank you. For the first time in a couple years, those bars didn’t seem quite so close."
There was a moment of companionable silence as we watched the inmates and guards slowly walk back into the prison. "Where’s Ice? Figured she’d be here to congratulate you personally."
I know my blush was evident as she regarded me with twinkling eyes. Then I snorted. "Who knows? She’s probably off preventing another riot or delivering a baby or beating the snot out of someone. Or something."
Sandra threw back her head and laughed, squeezing my shoulders in a comradely hug. "That’s our Ice." She released my shoulders and turned to face me fully, her expression suddenly serious. "Underneath all that bluff and bravado, Ice is a good woman, Angel. I know you know that, but sometimes it’s hard to remember when she closes herself up in that shell of hers. She’s made a lot of mistakes, but they don’t change the person she is underneath." A sad smile bowed her lips as she reached out and laid a gentle hand on my forearm. "You’ve been good for her, Angel. I really thought we’d lost her after all that time in the hole, you know."
Swallowing hard, I nodded. "Yeah, I know. I thought so too. That was . . .scary."
Returning my nod, Sandra squeezed my arm. "I don’t know the whole story behind it and I don’t wanna know. But she was just . . .dead
inside. But when that idiot Derby got her mitts around your neck, you should have seen the spark that came back into her eyes. God, it was a beautiful thing."
"Sorry I missed it," came my droll reply. "I think I was almost unconscious at the time."
She laughed, then released my arm. "Ready to go back?"
"No, but that’s where the showers are, so I suppose I have to. God, I’m a mess."
"You and me both, kiddo. I’ve got grape juice in places the good Lord didn’t intend grapes to go."
I took one last long look around the yard, watching as the last few stragglers made their way back into the building. Empty bottles littered the base pads bearing mute testimony to the celebration just passed. I felt a bit of melancholy steal through me and so I blinked the image away. "Sure. Let’s go."
* * *
Though I intended to head directly to the showers to wash the grape-juice, dirt and sweat from my suddenly tired and aching body, my plans took a sudden detour when an inmate came to me, tears streaming down her face, begging for my help. Her baby daughter had gotten sick and was rushed to the hospital, but the baby’s father, who was watching over her, wouldn’t give her any information and she was frantic.
I pulled her over to the guards’ room and called in a favor, which was the use of their phone. There were three pay phones situated throughout the prison for inmate use, but I wasn’t carrying around any spare change and hospitals usually don’t like to accept collect calls. But, as I’ve said, most of our guards are a compassionate bunch, even if we did just kick their butts in softball, and I was waved into the room with nary a murmur.
Half a dozen calls later and the problem was solved. The baby had been taken to Pittsburgh Children’s Hospital with febrile seizures and was released back to her father and grandparents after some Tylenol had taken care of the problem.
After enduring her thanks for what seemed like hours, I was finally able to affect my escape to the showers, knowing that by now most of my teammates had probably gone on to the somewhat greener pastures of the mess hall and common room.
Shrugging my shoulders, I made my way down to the showers, happy to hear that at least one person was inside by the sound of the water. Quickly stripping out of my sticky clothes with a sigh of profound relief, I slipped into my flip-flops, grabbed a towel, and made my way into the shower proper.
And stopped, frozen, before I’d even gotten a foot into the room.
There, facing me, her hair slicked back and tumbling over her shoulders like freshly spilled ink, stood Ice. Her body glistened from the water pouring down from the showerhead and her neck arched back to wash the last bit of shampoo from her hair, thrusting her wet and shining breasts out toward me, the nipples hard and tight.
My mouth actually watered at the sight as the towel slithered from suddenly nerveless fingers to land in a heap at my feet.
She straightened back up, but her eyes were still closed, and I continued to take the opportunity to play voyeur as my own eyes feasted on the perfection of her body. From the way she wore her jumpsuit, from the way she carried herself with athletic grace, I would have expected all slashing angles, and to be truthful, there were. Her musculature was long and lean, like a hunting cat’s, with long lines of ropy, veined muscles stretching across her shoulders and down her arms. Her legs were especially developed and I watched them flex and relax as she shifted under the spray of water.
But what intrigued me the most was the lush femininity also present within that same body. Though not especially large, her breasts were full and proud. Her hips flared out slightly from a well-tapered waist in very pleasing curves that drew in my eyes and held them for a timeless moment.
I swallowed hard, shocked with my body’s response to another woman, even given what Ice and I had already shared. But it was as if this woman, this body, had been made just for me, given my own responses to it. It was as if someone or something had pulled the vision from the realms of my deepest subconscious, from a place so deep within me that I didn’t even know it existed.
Regardless, my body was sending me some very definite and urgent signals and my feet followed along for the ride, moving me closer to the vision beneath the stinging water, my towel forgotten behind me.
Azure eyes opened and froze me once again, mere steps from my goal. She blinked once, freeing beaded water from her long lashes, then smiled slightly. "Like what you see?" Her voice was a sensual purr and the summons became all the more urgent.
"God yes," I replied, my hands aching to do . . .I didn’t know what . . .but something.
"So do I." I could feel the heat of her gaze as it traveled a leisurely path over my own equally naked body. My arousal was building by the moment from a simple look. I didn’t know if I’d possibly be able to live with what looked to be the final consummation of the feelings between us.
I took another step forward, only to be stopped by Ice’s upraised palms. "This probably isn’t the best place to be doing this."
The memories of that morning in the cafeteria flashed through my mind and I nodded, biting on my lip. "Um . . .yeah. I . . .I guess you’re right."
She smiled crookedly, then stepped out from beneath the shower. "Why don’t you get cleaned up. I’m sure we can find a more private place to . . .continue this discussion."
I nodded again and she slipped past me, allowing our bodies to brush against each other just slightly. The feeling of her water-slicked smooth skin sliding briefly against my own almost did me in as I felt the strength in my muscles begin to flee. I braced one hand against the tiled wall as the other fumbled with the knob. For the first time since I’d come to the Bog, the icy cold spray was a welcome relief.
Though the chill dampened my raging lust somewhat, my mind was free to wander. And wander it did, with the speed of a tornado. Anxiety, performance and otherwise, displaced hormones and my body trembled with it. I didn’t remember being that nervous on my wedding night, and that was going some.
While I had my hopes, I realized truthfully that I had no idea where this all would lead. All I did know was that I had no desire to be another nameless, faceless assignation in some broom-closet somewhere. My feelings for Ice ran much deeper than that and I resolved that, burning body or no, if she didn’t return them in at least some measure, I would suffer the consequences of lonely nights and a broken heart. Whatever else, I still had to live within the shell of my own body and look at myself in the mirror every morning.
My resolve thus fortified, I set about the task of removing the grime from my hair and body and did so in record time. As I turned off the water, I noticed that sometime during my mental perambulations, Ice had returned to place a fresh towel over a neighboring showerhead. Though it made me feel a bit uneasy that I hadn’t heard her approach, I felt pleased that she had at least noticed and helped in this small way.
Drying off, I wrapped the towel around my body and stepped into the changing room to find Ice, fully dressed and sitting on one of the benches, her hands clasped loosely between her knees. She smiled at me, then turned her head prudently as I snagged a clean jumpsuit from the pile by the bench and dropped my towel to dress.
Once fully clothed, I realized I didn’t have a comb to run through my hair and could have kicked myself. As if reading my mind, she handed me a black comb. "It’s clean. I washed it when I brought over your towel."
I accepted it gratefully, wincing as I pulled the fine toothed implement through my tangled hair. "I swear. One of these days, this is all coming off."
"It’s very beautiful."
Suddenly, combing out the tangles didn’t seem to be so much of a chore. "You really like it?" Yes, it was lame in the extreme, but I was fishing for conversation here.
"Yes. It reminds me of a sunset in Phoenix."
"You’ve been to Phoenix?" Two for two. I was doing better here than during the game.
"Yes, many times."
Finishing my task, I handed the comb back to her, then pressed my palms down th
e front of my uniform, feeling like a new bride.
"You ready?"
Oh, that particular question covered a whole myriad of bases, sticking for the moment to the softball analogy here. "Uh . . .yeah. Sure. I guess." How was that for a decisive answer?
If she read anything into my hesitancy, she didn’t show it. Instead, she stood and beckoned me to follow her. "C’mon."
As we stepped out of the shower room, who should I almost run straight into, but my ever-present shadow, Digger. Her face lit up into a smile as she saw me. "Hey, Angel! I was looking all over for you. They’re showing Wuthering Heights in the common room tonight and I remember you telling me you liked the book. You wanna go with me?"
"Oh . . .hi, Digger. I’d . . .um . . .love to go but I’m kind of busy right now." I gestured to the tall woman standing at my side.
"Oh. Ok. I understand. Next time then, alright?"
"Yeah. That sounds great."
"Well . . . see ya!" With a jaunty wave, she walked off.
I turned to see a very amused Ice smirking down at me, one eyebrow held aloft.
"What?"
"Next time?"
"Hey!" I said, poking her in the side. "You try living with a shadow every minute of every day who doesn’t seem to know the meaning of the word ‘no’ and we’ll see how you handle it."
"Thanks, but I’ll pass. Let’s go."
My assumption that we were heading for the stairs to Ice’s cell was put to rest as she passed them by and instead continued into the long series of branching corridors that lead to the shops. Within moments, we were in the room with all the doors and getting patted down by the guards once again.
Satisfied that we weren’t carrying any concealed weaponry, the guard let us into the auto shop. Not bothering to turn on the lights, Ice led us down to the ‘chop-shop’ door in the darkness and ushered me through, flipping on one set of those lights. I looked around as I stepped inside, noticing both bays were empty.
Ice walked over to a barren, battle-scarred desk sitting off to one side and settled her long frame down on it, patting the top for me to join her, which I did. My nervousness, which had subsided somewhat during the walk, came back with a vengeance and I resisted the urge to fidget with it. Silence bloomed between us suddenly, heavy and oppressive as a living thing.
