Authors: Jenni Merritt
Prison Nation (15 page)
“
So? So, so, so?” She sounded like a young child, bouncing up and down and repeatedly clamping and unclamping her hands.
So? So, so, so?” She sounded like a young child, bouncing up and down and repeatedly clamping and unclamping her hands.
“
I passed,” I said simply.
I passed,” I said simply.
“
Oh, Millie! I am so proud of you! I am so, so, so proud!” My mother moved to wrap her arms around me. I threw my hands up, stopping her mid-step.
Oh, Millie! I am so proud of you! I am so, so, so proud!” My mother moved to wrap her arms around me. I threw my hands up, stopping her mid-step.
“
Thanks,” I mumbled.
Thanks,” I mumbled.
My father sat down on the edge of the bed, his tired eyes watching my mother. Wondering what he was looking at, I turned my eyes to her. She stood where I had stopped her, her hands hanging limp at her sides. Tears were flooding down her face, her lower lip quivering as she sucked in a sharp breath.
“
M-Millie. I just wanted to hug you. Can’t I just hug my baby?”
M-Millie. I just wanted to hug you. Can’t I just hug my baby?”
The thought of her wrapping her arms around me caused my stomach to tighten. I could see her, covered in blood. I could see the photo of the man lying dead on the ground. I didn’t want to be touched anymore, by her, by anyone.
“
Is it true?” I blurted out, my voice suddenly full of anger. “Is it true that you don’t even regret it?”
Is it true?” I blurted out, my voice suddenly full of anger. “Is it true that you don’t even regret it?”
“
It?” she asked innocently, genuinely confused.
It?” she asked innocently, genuinely confused.
“
The men you killed! Remember that! The whole reason our family has been locked in this God awful place instead of living a normal life, free in the Nation! God Mom! You killed someone! Don’t you regret it?”
The men you killed! Remember that! The whole reason our family has been locked in this God awful place instead of living a normal life, free in the Nation! God Mom! You killed someone! Don’t you regret it?”
My mother watched me, the tears still streaming down her face. Regardless of her quivering lip and sniffing nose, her voice came out strong and sure. “I don’t regret a single stab.”
I wanted to scream. I wanted to shake her until her stupid crying stopped and she finally admitted that what she had done was wrong. My nails dug into my palms, the pain a welcome release from the thoughts that ran like angry fire through my mind.
“
You have to understand, Millie. Those men, they needed to die.”
You have to understand, Millie. Those men, they needed to die.”
“
Why, Mom? Why did they need to die?”
Why, Mom? Why did they need to die?”
She snapped her mouth shut, her eyes widening as she stared at me.
“
Because,” her voice was low, trembling slightly. “Because I didn’t like them.”
Because,” her voice was low, trembling slightly. “Because I didn’t like them.”
“
Mom,” I said, my voice barely audible. “My entire life I have known you were strange. But I loved you. I believed you were normal, somewhere deep down inside. But now I know.” I took a deep breath. “You really are the crazy monster everyone in here sees.”
Mom,” I said, my voice barely audible. “My entire life I have known you were strange. But I loved you. I believed you were normal, somewhere deep down inside. But now I know.” I took a deep breath. “You really are the crazy monster everyone in here sees.”
My mother choked on her tears. I could see my father lower his head, his hand rising to wipe at his face. He should have yelled at me. He should have leapt forward and slapped his insolent daughter who stood there and insulted his wife. But I knew he wouldn’t. He was just her shadow, her silent watch dog.
My mother raised her arms, her fingers reaching for me as a strangled squeak escaped her lips. I could see her retreating into her own world, the glaze taking over her tear-filled eyes. “Oh, my baby… my baby…” she took a step for me, her fingers pleading to let her hold me one last time.
I looked straight into her eyes. She stopped talking, her glazed eyes watching mine.
“
I never want to see you again.” My voice was barely audible. It held no humor, no side smile at the irony of the statement. I meant it with every inch of who I was.
I never want to see you again.” My voice was barely audible. It held no humor, no side smile at the irony of the statement. I meant it with every inch of who I was.
My mother began to shake, raking sobs taking over her entire body as she started to crumple to the ground. Darting forward, my father wrapped his arms around her and dragged her back to the bunk, laying her gently down. He cooed softly to her, whispering things I could not hear. She finally calmed, passing into a dead sleep.
I just stood there and watched. I wanted my last sight of my parents to be one of who they truly were. I felt like I didn’t know them. They were just a pair of crazy, random inmates who I had been forced to live with for the last eighteen years.
My father glanced at me, his eyes full of pain. I felt something in me reach for him, hating the look of betrayal in those tired eyes. But I forced it away, locking it behind a door deep inside of me. Without a word, he laid down next to my mother and closed his eyes, his bandaged arm wrapped tighter around her than usual.
The buzz cut through the air. I hadn’t even heard the first two warning buzzes. Behind me I could hear the door slide shut, locking me in for my last night.
I didn’t climb into my bunk. I walked just close enough to inch my notebook out from under my pillow, then settled down next to the door. Guards walked by, their boots pounding the ground as they checked each cell. The med cart rolled by, pushing the three cups under our door as soon as I answered their usual question. I stared at the cups, frozen in time, waiting for the walk to die down into night. Before long it fell into the usual nighttime murmur.
What is life?
I scribbled. Tying it to my shoelace, I threw it out from under the door and waited. As soon as I felt the tug, I reeled it back in.
I scribbled. Tying it to my shoelace, I threw it out from under the door and waited. As soon as I felt the tug, I reeled it back in.
It isn’t death. Did you pass?
I did.
I wrote.
This is my last night.
I wrote.
This is my last night.
I am so proud of you, Millie.
Orrin wrote, his handwriting clean and smooth
. You better be careful out there. I really mean it. I don’t want to see you rot away in a place like this.
Orrin wrote, his handwriting clean and smooth
. You better be careful out there. I really mean it. I don’t want to see you rot away in a place like this.
You haven’t ever seen me.
I wrote back.
I wrote back.
As soon as I threw it, I regretted the words. They were harsh. Orrin didn’t deserve my hostility. He had always been open with me. He had listened to me like a father should have, and had given me advice when I needed it the most.
Yet he had still refused to ever meet me.
I have. It’s hard to miss one of the only young women in this block, Millie. You stand out.
I read the words over again. Orrin knew who I was. He had seen me. And still he never had stopped to introduce himself.
I read the words over again. Orrin knew who I was. He had seen me. And still he never had stopped to introduce himself.
Why haven’t you told me that before?
Because you would ask why I didn’t say hello.
I smiled. He did know me
. You are magnetizing, Millie. A true beauty. Somehow this ruined life hasn’t affected you. I fear that others will see that, and try to ruin you. Please. Protect yourself.
I smiled. He did know me
. You are magnetizing, Millie. A true beauty. Somehow this ruined life hasn’t affected you. I fear that others will see that, and try to ruin you. Please. Protect yourself.
I remembered Carl. His broad grin, his hungry eyes. My pencil hovered above the paper, ready to tell Orrin about my encounters. But then I stopped myself. There was something about Carl. Something that made me scared to even mention him to Orrin. I didn’t want to put him at a risk that he could otherwise avoid. My throbbing cheek agreed.
I know. I will.
I finally wrote.
Tell me about the world. Where is your favorite place? Maybe I can go there?
I finally wrote.
Tell me about the world. Where is your favorite place? Maybe I can go there?
It took a while to feel the tug on the shoelace again. It was slow, meaningful.
It was the beach. I had a home on the beach, with my wife and boys. At night we would sit out on our porch and listen to the waves crash against the sandy shore. My sons would cuddle on my lap, their heads on my shoulders as they fell asleep, safe in my arms. I remember the smile on my wife’s face as she sat curled up in a blanket, hot cocoa in a warm mug in her delicate hands. She was beautiful.
When you walk along the beach, you feel a strange peace with the world. The ocean waves wash away your thoughts, letting you feel the sun on your back and the sand between your toes. It is truly a beautiful, breathtaking sight. I could sit for hours on the beach, watching the world disappear over the watery horizon, and never regret a single moment of the wasted time.
It sounds amazing.
I wrote.
I wrote.
I already knew though. I knew I would never get to see that sight. The Wall stretched along both coasts, blocking out the beach from everyone but the guards who patrolled. And the wealthy privileged with beach access. I felt a pang of sadness for Orrin. He knew this too. Even though he would spend the rest of his life behind these locked doors, the knowledge that the beauty of the beach was locked away even from the free must kill him.
I felt a tug on the shoelace. When I started to pull it back toward my cell, it felt oddly heavier than usual. As I pulled it into the dim light, I saw a strange lump in the folded paper.
I carefully lifted the edges of the note. There, sitting on top of Orrin’s neat handwriting, was a piece of glass. It was a soft green, looking almost frosted. Its edges were worn smooth, its surface almost sandy to the touch. I held it in the palm of my hand and stared at it. I had never seen anything like it. It was beautiful.
This is sea glass.
Orrin wrote.
When glass falls into the ocean, it gets tossed and beaten by the waves. After some time, all of the rolling and roughing smooths its surface. It loses its sharp, deadly edges, and becomes a thing of beauty. I used to spend hours scouring the beach for sea glass. I would bring it home to my wife, who would turn it into jewelry and centerpieces on tables. Her face lit up every time I would come in the door with my small handful of sea glass.
Orrin wrote.
When glass falls into the ocean, it gets tossed and beaten by the waves. After some time, all of the rolling and roughing smooths its surface. It loses its sharp, deadly edges, and becomes a thing of beauty. I used to spend hours scouring the beach for sea glass. I would bring it home to my wife, who would turn it into jewelry and centerpieces on tables. Her face lit up every time I would come in the door with my small handful of sea glass.
This was the last piece I found. The day they locked me away. I never even had time to give it to her, to my wife. I have held onto it since. It has been my only connection back to the life I lost. And now, Millie, I want you to have it. Think of it as my birthday present for you.
I can’t take this, Orrin.
I wrote.
I wrote.
I waited for his agreement, the glass now held softly in my hand. I couldn’t stop looking at it. It was so beautiful. It looked almost like a small rock, except for its clear green surface that glowed in the light.
You can’t give back presents, Millie. I want you to remember what I said about that glass. Can you do that? The world has a way of making even the most deadly, jagged shards into something beautiful. Let’s hope that someday it may do it to this Nation.
I could hear footsteps sounding down the walk. Tears stung my eyes as I realized I didn’t have time to send him one last note. Sitting back against the wall, I let the tears hit my cheek. The footsteps slowed, checking every cell as they passed. It almost felt as if they were taunting me, reminding me that I would never speak to Orrin again.
I was about to leave everything I ever knew. Everyone I knew. My life would be wiped clean and I would start new, in a world I didn’t know. I would never meet Orrin now. I might never see Jude again. I found myself weakly questioning my decision to leave.
Down the walk, in a loud whisper, I heard someone say my name. I crushed my face against the opening of the door, holding my breath.
“
Happy birthday, Millie,” the voice roughly whispered. The words carried down the quieting walk to my anxiously waiting ears. “I hope I never see you again.”
Happy birthday, Millie,” the voice roughly whispered. The words carried down the quieting walk to my anxiously waiting ears. “I hope I never see you again.”
Then it fell silent. I stood up, wiping the tears off my face with a shaking hand.
“
Goodbye Orrin,” I whispered.
Goodbye Orrin,” I whispered.
LIBERTY
I
finally stopped the tears.
finally stopped the tears.
Climbing up onto my bunk, my head hit the pillow, hard. I could hear my parents breathing below me, soft and even. Outside the cell, the murmur of the block nightlife continued. Occasionally the heavy stomp of guards passing in the dark echoed down the walk, only to disappear once again into the dull murmur. I held the sea glass firmly in my fist, letting it press hard against my palm. Every so often I would creep my fingers open, gently rubbing a fingertip along its smoothed surface. I could almost feel the sand and waves as they rolled over the glass. Then I would snap my fingers back shut, locking it away in the safety of my palm.
I heard the clink of the door unlocking. Sitting up, I turned and watched as the door slid all the way open. Light from a flashlight flooded the cell.
“
Millicent 942B?”
Millicent 942B?”
I nodded, feeling the bright flashlight flood my face.
“
It is ten minutes until midnight. Midnight marks the start of your eighteenth birthday. You have been cleared for release. Please gather your belongings and come with us.” I squinted, barely making out the silhouette of the deep-voiced guard. He tapped his foot.
It is ten minutes until midnight. Midnight marks the start of your eighteenth birthday. You have been cleared for release. Please gather your belongings and come with us.” I squinted, barely making out the silhouette of the deep-voiced guard. He tapped his foot.
I had thought I would leave when the lights came on. I had always assumed I would get one last glimpse of the prison waking up before I escaped to my freedom. But here they were, whisking me away in the dead of the night. I climbed down, pulling my notebook with me. As I reached up to grab my blanket and pillow, the hand of the officer firmly stopped me.
“
Those are prison property, 942B.”
Those are prison property, 942B.”
“
But, they have been mine since −”
But, they have been mine since −”
“
Those items are prison property,” he repeated. Motioning behind him, another officer stepped forward. The second officer stepped held out a small canvas bag. The first officer turned back to me as he grabbed the bag from his comrade and put it in my hands.
Those items are prison property,” he repeated. Motioning behind him, another officer stepped forward. The second officer stepped held out a small canvas bag. The first officer turned back to me as he grabbed the bag from his comrade and put it in my hands.
“
You are to only gather your clothing and personal items.” He watched me a moment as I stared dumbly at him. In exasperation, he tapped his wrist, his short nail clicking on his metal watch.
You are to only gather your clothing and personal items.” He watched me a moment as I stared dumbly at him. In exasperation, he tapped his wrist, his short nail clicking on his metal watch.
I spun and faced our small shelf. Pulling open the bag, I shoved my small pile of clothes inside. I glanced over my shoulder at the guards standing behind me. They were barely watching, their eyes tired and bored. Shielding my hands from their view, I tucked the sea glass into a sock then shoved it into the bag. Though it was not against the rules to have this small present, I felt a strange urge to keep it a secret. I wanted it to be only mine. For it to be all to myself. I stuff the remaining sock on top, then pushed my thinned notebook into the bag and cinched it shut.
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