Prison Nation Part 10

Visiting hours: 9 AM to 7 PM Please leave all personal belongings in the provided lockers.

Photo ID required.

No items may be pa.s.sed to inmates.

All visits are monitored and recorded.

This was a waiting room. A waiting room for visits.

No one inside had ever mentioned receiving visitors. I had always a.s.sumed that once you were locked away, that was it. The world disappeared from you. And you from it. I couldn't pull my eyes off of the sign. It seemed odd to me, that this waiting room still sat here. It was empty, the magazines looking brand new, the layer of dust hiding on top of the TV a sign that it this room was rarely used.

"942B, come with us."

I stood numbly, following the voice. The two officers were holding open a door across the room. The door opened to a gla.s.sed-in room, a white bench screwed along all four walls the only thing inside.

"You will wait in here until discharge."

"In here?" I asked, shocked. The lights were blazing bright, the benches solid wood. I knew I stood no chance of sleeping tonight.

The officer tightened his lips, obviously not wanting to repeat himself. I moved past him, avoiding eye contact as I entered the gla.s.sed-in room. Sitting down, I let the bag rest on the ground by my feet. The officer watched me until I had settled, then shut the door. I could hear the click of the lock as it sealed me in.

I waited.

Occasionally I could see an officer walk past. No one paused to check in on me. I would see their eyes flit to look in my direction, then quickly look away as they continued their uninterrupted walk. I felt invisible. Forgotten. My b.u.t.t hurt and my back was stiff from leaning against the low wall. I could feel my eyes burning.

Hours pa.s.sed. I could feel time ticking away.

My head finally drooped, my eyes too heavy to stay open any longer. In the darkness behind my closed eyelids I could see my father, his hand bleeding, his eyes lowered. He went to work, lining up along the other a.s.sembly line workers. n.o.body seemed to notice the blood dripping from his hand as he set to work, silently clicking sharp metal sheets together into something I couldn't recognize. I tried to see what he was making, but could only see the gash on his hand, blood dripping in a stream like a dying waterfall.

My father disappeared. In his place stood my mother. She was frozen. Alone. The room she stood in was empty, no windows, not even a door. I could see her face, still as stone. Only her eyes moved. They darted back and forth, searching every corner in sheer fright. Then I finally saw it. Her arms were bound tightly around her, her legs tied tight together. She couldn't move if she wanted.

I thought about stepping forward to help her. Just as my hand reached out, she started to scream. Her body thrashed in seizure-like jerks, her lips distorted and twisted. Spit flew from her mouth as she bared her teeth, her eyes manic. I didn't know this woman. She was a wild animal. I backed against the solid wall, trying to get away from her as her scream died into a low chuckle.

Just as fast as her attack started, it ended. She went back to her frozen stance, twigs and dirt falling from her hair, her lips slightly quivering as she whispered over and over, "My baby. My baby."

Everything went dark. Through my lids, I could see the faint glow of the white room that surrounded me. But here, hidden behind my closed eyelids, it was dark. I sighed a breath of relief, my head nodding down slightly as I welcomed the solitude.

Then I saw his face. It slowly appeared in the dark, barely visible. Shards of light hit his cheekbones, his furrowed brow, his straight nose. As he moved forward, my breath froze in my screaming lungs. His grin spread menacingly on his hungry face.

I snapped my eyes open. Gasping in a painful breath, I looked up to the ceiling. My heart beat hard in my chest, threatening to burst out. Breathing in deep again, I felt it finally slow. I was exhausted. But the need for sleep had been chased away by the fear of my dreams.

Lowering my eyes, I saw I wasn't alone in the room any more. A woman sat across from me, her hands cuffed tightly behind her back. The reek of beer stained her dirty clothing. Her hair was long and blonde, muddy at the tips with something dark. I watched her, her eyes glazed as she stared past me into the window behind my back.

"In or out?"

The sound of her slightly slurred voice jarred me. "What?" I asked.

"Going in or coming out?" she asked, her glazed eyes focusing onto me.

"Oh, uh, going out."

She scanned me with her eyes, a small hiccup escaping her chapped lips. "First release, huh?"

"How did you know?"

She laughed, her arms struggling a moment against the metal cuffs. "You scream it, hon. Just you wait. Prison Nation will chew you up and spit you right back out. It don't care."

That was the second time I had heard it called Prison Nation in the last day. It was a name I had never heard before. Everyone always reverently, respectfully called it The Nation. It was the great Nation. The good, the strong. This new name made no sense to me.

"Why did you call it that?" I asked. I stopped myself, surprised that I had asked this woman, who I had never met before, a question like that. Biting my lip, I nervously watched her.

"You kidding me?" She scanned me again, her lips curling in humor. "Well, 'course you ain't. You don't know. You're a Jail Baby huh? Born and raised in this great inst.i.tution. Proud of this Nation with its correcting, righteous ways." She let out a rough laugh, the end of it breaking into a cough. "Let me tell you something, hon. Whether you are in these walls, or out of them, you are still in this prison. Get it? They got you. They got all of us. And we ain't going nowhere."

The woman let out a chuckle, low and angry. Something else hinted it though. Something light, barely there. As the angry chuckle died out, I could hear the hint of desperation on every breath she gasped in.

I watched her. She squirmed in her seat, her head lolling back a moment. I didn't know if I could believe a single word she was saying. It was obvious she was under more influence than just the alcohol whose stink had infiltrated the once clean air in this room. Her body was too skinny, bones sticking out where her bulky coat and baggy jeans didn't cover. She began to shake.

In a soft voice, distant as if talking to someone long gone, the woman whispered, "At least in here I can sleep."

The door swung open.

"942B." A new officer, a woman this time, stood at the door. Her bulky body fit tightly into her uniform, showing off her pudgy rolls. I stood up, grabbing my pack in a shaky hand. "Come on then." She glanced over at the handcuffed woman, then ushered me out and slammed the door. I could hear the woman chuckle lightly as the door clicked shut.

The officer led me to a new room, filled only with a bench and a small desk. A woman sat behind the desk, her clothing neatly pressed and clean. I took in her deep purple shirt, squirming in my own worn white t-shirt. It seemed to scratch me even more, reminding me that it would never be as smooth or soft as that woman's top. The officer led me to the bench, motioning for me to sit.

The woman at the desk looked up and offered me a small smile. "First off, let me congratulate you on your coming release into our great Nation." She glanced again at the screen of the computer that sat on her desk. "Millicent. Quite a name. Is there a story behind it?"

No one ever called me Millicent except when they looked at my paper work. I hated that name. It felt ugly on my tongue. I had no idea why my mother chose that name, but in the last few days I had come to realize she probably didn't have any reason. She didn't need one.

"My mother is crazy. She probably was told she needed a name and picked the first lame one that came to mind." I bit my lip. I didn't know why I kept saying things like that. I never had before. Looking at the woman, I saw her chuckle to herself.

"I'm a name buff myself. Every name has a meaning, did you know that?" She smiled at me. I could feel the tension as she tried to keep up the casual conversation. "Your name means 'mild strength.' Maybe your mother was trying to bless you."

I shrugged. I suddenly just wanted this woman in the deep purple shirt to stop trying. "Yeah. Maybe." I muttered.

The woman cleared her throat, glancing down at my paperwork. When she looked back up, I could see the attempted warmth had fizzled in her eyes. "Do you prefer Millicent or Millie?" she carefully asked.

"Millie," I answered softly.

"Very well. Your official ID will now read Millie 942B." A machine buzzed behind her. Something heavy dropped into a small tray. Without looking, she reached behind her and picked it up. Holding it out, she waited for the guard to come grab it from her. The guard looked at it a moment, then handed it to me.

It was small plastic card, my black and white photo printed on its surface. My face stared blankly back at me. Next to my photo was my name, printed in plain block letters. Under that was my birthday, eye color, and height. The only other thing on the card was a barcode.

The woman was typing. I could hear her fingers picking out the letters quickly, obviously well practiced at whatever she was doing. As she typed, she casually spoke to me. "That is your ID. Do not lose it. If you do, you will be charged for a reprint. You must have it on you at all times. You will not be paid if you do not have it. You cannot purchase food or other items if you do not have it." She stopped a moment and smiled at me. "So don't lose it, okay?"

I nodded.

Something in her smile made me want to apologize for my brashness before. I couldn't form the words. Instead, I just watched her.

The woman glanced at the computer screen. "According to your records, you have enough points for a total of two hundred dollars, after we have deducted your discharge fees. Would you like that in credit or cash?"

I had never held money in my life. I had heard others talk about it, but in prison, currency wasn't needed. Out of sheer curiosity, I answered, "Cash, please."

"Very well," she said. She nodded to the officer, who disappeared out the door. A moment later she returned, carrying an envelope and a small box. Handing the two items to me, she backed away again to her silent post.

"Inside the envelope is your cash," the woman continued, still typing. "The box contains one extra change of clothes, a razor, a bar of soap, a towel, and one box of sanitary napkins." I peeked inside the box while she spoke, pushing around the contents. The envelope sat fat in my hand. I felt myself strangely afraid to lose it and gripped my fingers tighter around its thin paper. Maybe I should have asked for it in credit.

"Do you have any questions?"

I shook my head.

"Very good." The woman looked at the screen again. "You have been a.s.signed your probationary job. The Nation looks forward to your steady and loyal work. Your employer is waiting outside to pick you up and bring you to your new residence until your probationary month is over." Leaning back, she looked at me again. Her eyes flitted down to the metal bracelet on my wrist. "The ID bracelet will remain on until the month is over. If there are no more questions, then this is it." The woman stood, flattening her black pencil skirt against her toned legs. She smiled and held out a hand.

I stood, slinging the pack over my shoulder and tucking the envelope and box under one arm. I took a step toward her, my hand shaking as I held it out to her. She firmly gripped it a moment, watching me before offering one last warm smile. "Welcome to the Nation, citizen."

The officer placed a hand on my back, softly pushing me toward the door at the other end of the room. My feet stumbled underneath me as I made my way over to it. The officer pulled the small hand held device out of her pocket, scanned my wrist, and waited for the beep. As soon as the small beep sounded, she swiped a card across a panel near the door.

The door buzzed once, then swung open.

Sunlight spilled in, crisp with the fresh morning air. I squinted as we stepped out, taking in the pale blue sky dotted with drifting white clouds. In front of me stretched a parking lot. No razor wire topped fences. No guards patrolling. Just a normal parking lot with a few scattered cars resting in the morning light.

The guard walked me around the corner. Beds of neatly trimmed flowers lined the walk, their buds opening with dew. I could almost taste the dew on my tongue, full of the morning sun. We walked until we got to a small covered area. The guard stopped, motioning to someone in the distance.

I could hear the rumble of an engine. Looking around, I saw an old truck making its way toward us. Its paint was chipped, rust splattered across its once bright yellow surface. I could see a large dent on one side, bending the metal in at a strange, striking angle.

The truck pulled in under the covered waiting area. Without a word, the officer pulled open the pa.s.senger door, nodding once at me. I tightened my grip on my small bag and took a step forward. Still squinting from the bright light, I looked into the cab.

There, sitting behind the wheel, fist held tightly to lips, was Oscar Ramos.

12.

I had never been in a vehicle before. My fingers gripped the worn handle on the door, nails digging into the soft plastic. My whole body bounced up and down as the truck pulled out of the lot and onto the worn road beyond.

The outside world was amazing. I had stood outside before, as near to the fence as I dared. I would stand and look at the world outside the fence, trying to forget the men up on the walks who always watched with guns held tight, making sure I didn't attempt an escape. Beyond the prison's fence, there was nothing else. Just a rolling expanse of tall gra.s.s. It would sway in the light breeze, always dried and crisp in the ever heated air. For miles I could see the waves of gra.s.s, only interrupted occasionally by a lone, shriveled tree.

As we drove down the road, the gra.s.s rising on either side, I felt sick. I turned my head, looking out the dusty window to my right. The prison was huge. I had always known it was large, but seeing it now from the outside took my breath away. It stretched away on either side, disappearing with the gra.s.s into the horizon. Spokane had no beginning, and no end.

I felt strange, knowing that hidden somewhere inside those dark rising walls and razor wire topped fences were the people I had known my entire life. They were at work, or sleeping in cells, or standing alone in the yard watching the gra.s.s bend and sway. My eyes suddenly stung, unexpected tears trying hard to find their way out.

I pulled my eyes away from the prison, turning in my seat to face forward again.

Oscar glanced over to me, both of his hands firmly gripping the steering wheel. "Buckle up," he said, his accent so strong I could barely understand his words.

"What?" I asked, confused.

"Buckle up. Uh, there." He pointed to a strap hanging at my right, then to a small metal buckle down by my left hip. I reached and grabbed the strap, pulling it across my body and toward the buckle. Glancing up at him, I raised my eyebrows in question. Oscar nodded.

I pushed the buckles together until they let out a light click. The strap tightened against me, pulling me firmly against the seat. I stared at the buckle a moment. I didn't like the feel of the strap confining me, pulling me tight into the worn seat. My lap was full with my box, bag, and envelope carefully balanced on top and I struggled to keep it all together as the truck bounced down the road. Glancing over to Oscar, I shoved the envelope of money into the bag, cinched it tightly shut then wrapped one arm securely around the small pile.

The car rumbled loudly down the road. Small buildings started to appear. Paint chipped off of their wooden walls, the windows boarded tightly shut against the empty air. Soon they grew closer together, their worn paint becoming nicer looking and their windows gradually opening. Gla.s.s panes shone in the sunlight, curtains on the inside masking whatever lay beyond. I saw people walking down the street along a thin concrete walk, casually talking or glancing into shops.

My eyes burned as I refused to blink. I felt the fear of the rumbling truck disappear with amazement at the life that now appeared before my eyes. Small children gripped parent's hands, tugging and laughing. A store pa.s.sed, toys propped carefully in its clean window. An old man sitting on a wooden chair outside a shop raised his hand and waved.

Oscar nodded to him, pa.s.sing without a pause. We soon were out of the small strip of buildings, turning onto a dirt road. The truck bounced haphazardly as it hit the deep potholes that were scattered everywhere. I felt my stomach churning with nausea. Focusing my eyes out of the dusty windshield, I worked hard to bite it back as I dug my nails harder into the plastic handle.

Ahead of us rose a tall building. In the distance, just beyond the building, were perfectly matching smaller buildings, neatly lined and carefully painted. Oscar pulled up in front of the large building and turned the truck off. Its engine sputtered once, then went silent. He glanced at me a moment, then pushed open his door and climbed out.

I figured he wanted me to do the same. My legs shook as I climbed out. I threw the pack over my shoulder, then wrapped my arms tightly around the small box and hurried to catch up to Oscar, who was already making his way down a cobble lined path.

We pa.s.sed the large building. I gazed up at it, taking in its tall white walls and neatly cleaned windows lined with white lace curtains. The front door was a bright red, an apple neatly carved into its wooden surface.

Oscar made his way to the smaller buildings around back. People ambled by, their clothing dusty but neat. A few sat in the entrances to the buildings, casually talking as they ate food or whittled at pieces of wood. Oscar nodded to people as they pa.s.sed, occasionally mumbling something I couldn't understand.

We finally reached one of the small buildings. Oscar stopped, pulled out a paper from his shirt pocket and glanced at it. Nodding to himself, he looked back at me and motioned me forward.

I stepped up to the small building. "This is your... uh... living s.p.a.ce," Oscar said, obviously searching for words in his thick accent.

A woman walked out. Her skin was the same golden tone as Oscar's, her dark hair pulled into a single loose braid that hung down her back. She seemed to be only a few years older than me, her face still young and vibrant. Seeing Oscar, she let a bright white smile spread on her suntanned face.

"Hola Oscar," she said, leaning against the open doorway.

"Hola Maria," he answered quickly. "Este es Millie. La chica nueva." Maria looked over at me, then nodded and smiled at Oscar again.

"Hola Millie," she said, still smiling. Her teeth seemed to sparkle in the sunlight.

"Um. Hi." I knew that they were speaking Spanish. There were gangs of inmates who only spoke Spanish in the prison. I had always avoided them. They would watch me with slitted eyes every time I had to pa.s.s, murmuring even more strange words in their language I could never understand. Standing here now, in front of Maria and Oscar, I found myself wishing they would speak English. Not knowing what they were saying as they stood watching me sent my stomach into knots.

"Donde este Reed?" Oscar asked Maria.

Maria shrugged. Oscar sighed, glancing over at me again. I could tell he wanted to pa.s.s me on to someone else and be done with the job of my escort. His hands clenched into fists, one twitching as he fought it from rising to his lips.

"Te da miedo la bonita chica nueva?" Maria asked, her lips curling into a smile at the corners.

Oscar glanced at me, his fingers twitching again as they fought to rub against to his lips. "Uh, Maria... No se..."

Maria sighed and took a step forward.

"Go on Oscar. I got her." Oscar glanced to Maria, then back to me. Maria shooed at him with her hands. "Si, Oscar. andale."

Oscar nodded, letting out a relieved sigh. Turning to me, he nodded again, then took off to the large building. Maria motioned me forward. Wrapping my arms tighter around my small box, I stepped up the small building, following her inside. She carelessly swished her hips as she walked down the narrow hall, her tight shirt showing off her figure underneath.

"Don't mind Oscar," she called behind her. Her voice was hinted with the same accent, though not nearly as thick as Oscar's. "He is always nervous when new ones move in. We have had trouble, in the past you know. But you won't be trouble, I can tell." She stopped and smiled at me, tapping her head. "I can see you are a good girl."