Life in High Def

by Kimberly Cooper Griffin

  “I’m not sure I could have done that. You’re a better person than I am, Drew.”

  Drew shrugged as if she didn’t quite believe her.

  “I’m sure that you came out of prison a little more self-aware than you were going in.”

  Reilly had to think about that a little. It was true. She had done a lot of soul-searching, mostly about how she wanted to live her life when she got out. “I guess I did.”

  “Prison certainly gives you a lot of time to think.”

  “You said that you were in for twenty-nine months, three days, and nineteen hours. I counted the time down to the hours, too. Minutes actually.”

  “Time is different inside.”

  “It is,” nodded Reilly, feeling a little surreal about bonding over the concept of prison time with Drew—something she would never have guessed that she’d be doing.

  It Was Survival

  REILLY STRETCHED ALONG DREW’S SIDE and smiled when Drew hugged her close. Once she had finished telling Reilly the story of how she’d gone to prison, Drew had visibly relaxed, and while they both seemed to be lighter for having talked about it, a tired heaviness had fallen over both of them. Drew had put her empty tea cup on the bedside table, crawled over to Reilly, stretched out beside her, and they’d simply held each other for several minutes, absorbing the information.

  “You don’t have the feel of someone who’s been in prison,” said Reilly after a while.

  “You don’t either,” said Drew.

  “Sure I do. I have an edge… a wariness that wasn’t there before,” said Reilly, recalling some of what she had read about herself in the press. She’d agreed with what she read.

  Drew surprised her by laughing.

  “Honey, I hate to tell you, but you don’t own that particular swagger. You might have an edge that you didn’t have before, but no one would mistake you for a hardened convict.”

  “Despite the fact that the entire world knows otherwise, I’m glad that I don’t show the effects of my stay,” said Reilly, feeling a weird mix of relief and disappointment at Drew’s observation. The emotional and psychological scars were a part of her, and that part wanted the world to see the evidence of having survived them. Reilly tilted her head to look up at Drew. “Look at you, though. You don’t look damaged the way that people who have done time do. You’re too gentle. Serene. How did you survive in there like that? The other inmates sniff that kind of thing out and take advantage of it.”

  “I haven’t always been this way,” said Drew, and Reilly could tell that she was thinking back to a time long before they met. “I’ve searched a long time for it, and some days, it’s still hard to find. But when I first entered prison, I wasn’t even close to gentle or serene.”

  “I don’t believe it, but I won’t argue with you. You had to have done something right to get out of there in one piece,” said Reilly. She wondered if Drew had dealt with her own version of Twist, and a band tightened across her heart.

  “I didn’t give anyone the opportunity to get at me. I found the toughest woman there and struck an alliance.”

  “What kind of—” Reilly started to ask, but when Drew raised an eyebrow, she knew. “Oh.”

  “Does that disgust you?”

  “No,” said Reilly. She meant it, too. It was still hard to imagine Drew in prison, but she knew how it was. You did what you had to do to get through it. “At one time it might have. But having done my own bit, and having learned how to sleep with one eye open and always keeping your back to the wall, I think it was smart. I never even thought of doing that. But then again, the toughest woman in my bay was a psychopath, so I’m not sure that would have worked for me.”

  They were quiet for a moment, each of them lost in thoughts from a time that no regular person would want to revisit.

  Reilly had witnessed various types of alliances while she was in prison, and while she had somehow been successful at remaining a loner, she had still developed a few of her own, although none of them had been sexual. She might have gone that route had circumstances been different—or had she had no choice.

  Of the alliances Reilly had entered into, the first had been one of the most unlikely. She remembered how it had started.

  Reilly had been in the infirmary for a week after the attack in the chow hall by Twist and her goons. She’d sustained two concussions in less than a month, and the prison doctor had wanted to monitor her before they discharged her. A week after being discharged, she no longer had to work the kitchen detail, and her new job in the library had been going well. Being a half-hour late for chow every day after taking a late shower meant that the only food left after the rest of the population had gone through was the stuff that even the hardiest of inmates wouldn’t eat. Her semi-private shower time had been worth it, though.

  Her damp hair had hung down her back, and she’d grabbed a tray, placed the rubber spork and cup that she’d been issued at in-processing on it, then pushed it down the stainless steel counter. She’d frowned at the remains in the steam table trays. A fresh loogie dripped down the Plexiglas sneeze guard over the almost-full tray of creamed lima beans and she’d held back a gag.

  “I see Tiny Tanya showed Bird what she thought of the lima beans, huh?” chuckled Bren, one of the women who did laundry detail, and who, like Reilly, also came to dinner late after showers.

  “I was trying to ignore that,” laughed Roberts, Bren’s laundry detail partner.

  At the time, Reilly didn’t know Bren and Roberts very well. All she knew were the well-defined muscles she saw in the showers. So, that day, she’d just stood behind them listening. She remembered the smell of laundry soap that wafted from their work shirts, which was a nice change from the everyday scents of too many women living too closely together. They’d waited for Bird to come back to the line and serve them. The inmates that worked chow had already loaded their trays and had been eating among the others.

  “What’s it gonna be, ladies?” Bird barked as she came out of the back storeroom and approached the serving station. She wiped her hands dry on the front of the stained apron she wore.

  “Is that bacon in the greens, Bird?” asked the one called Bren, a tall, short-haired brunette.

  “Yup.”

  “Fuck me,” mumbled Bren. “Got anything without pork in it?”

  “The eggplant and lima beans don’t got any. But I’m pretty sure that the Jew god can’t see through these cinderblock walls to see who’s keeping kosher.”

  “I’ll pretend that I didn’t hear that, Bird,” sighed Bren. “I’ll take the lima beans and eggplant.”

  “I’ll take a little of whatever you got, Bird,” said Roberts, tossing back damp blonde curls with a shake of her head.

  “I guess everything she eats ain’t kosher, if she don’t care about you eating the pork, eh, Roberts?” Bird laughed at her own crude joke and spooned a generous amount of food onto each of their plates.

  Reilly felt a kinship to her late-shift companions when she heard Bird’s reference to Bren and Roberts’ possible romantic relationship. Compared to others on the inside, they seemed more—real. And that gave Reilly a weird sort of hope.

  “Funny lady,” said Bren wryly as she and Roberts took their trays into the dining area.

  “I guess I’ll take a little of everything, too,” said Reilly, and she pushed her tray down the rail.

  “Here you go,” said Bird. She handed Reilly a ready-made plate of food that she had pulled from under the counter.

  “What’s this?”

  “Food. What’s it look like?”

  Reilly stared at the plate that Bird had given to her. On it was a little of everything that had been served that night, even the food that had been finished off. There was even a cookie. Reilly was unsure how she should react. A gift was never just a gift. She hadn’t been there long, but that was one of the first things she’d learned. Either Bird had done something to the food, or she was going to ask for something in return.


  “Don’t worry,” nodded the crusty old woman, tossing the over-sized serving spoon she’d been holding into a steam dish that contained the remnants of canned green beans. She put one hand on her hip and adjusted her hairnet with the other as she considered Reilly’s expression. “You earned it. You back up your words with your fists—even though you can’t take a punch.”

  “I don’t under—“

  Bird had stopped her with an impatient sigh.

  “It’s not hard to process, princess. You’ll have a plate waiting as long as I’m galley queen. You got rid of some shit for me. That’s all.”

  Reilly hadn’t seen Twist or her minions since she’d left the infirmary. She’d kept her eyes open, but she’d noticed that the three women who had put her down hadn’t been around. Since her new job meant that she didn’t have to do yard time or communal showers any more, she’d figured that they just weren’t crossing paths as much.

  “Get the fuckin’ lead out, princess! Dining hall closes in five minutes, even for you.”

  That had been the first alliance Reilly had made. Shortly after, she had made one with Bren and Roberts, too. In the beginning, Reilly had been wary of the laundry dykes—the endearment bestowed on the two women by the rest of the inmates—and kept out of their way. Aside from the regular gym time, the heavy work of hauling laundry made the muscles stand out on their arms and shoulders, and they were both tall and intense. But, one day, Bren had asked if Reilly would reserve a book on appliance repair for her, and soon she was taking their library requests and giving them first shot at the new books Reilly had started to receive after finding out there was a budget for the languishing library. In return, they would replace her worn clothing with new, so that she didn’t have to spend the paltry amount of money she earned doing her library job on replacing her state issued uniform.

  Reilly’s alliances seemed to happen gradually and without anyone being on the losing end of an unsavory agreement. Alliances involving sex were different, though. Reilly didn’t know how they were brokered, and she assumed that most of them were coerced. She couldn’t imagine Drew being a part of something so demeaning—or more aptly, she didn’t want to. In her mind, Drew wouldn’t force it, and almost worse, she hoped that it hadn’t been forced upon her. She had to know, but part of her was reluctant to find out. She asked anyway.

  “How does that work? Did you just go up and tell her you wanted to… to…?”

  She couldn’t finish the question, and when Drew hesitated, Reilly wondered if she had crossed a line.

  “The woman had her sights set on me already. So rather than wait for her to turn me out, I approached her. It was the only way I could think of to be safe. I found out that she branded people—”

  “That must be a common thing. There was a woman in my wing that did that too,” interjected Reilly, shuddering at the memory of Twist telling her that she would put her mark on her.

  “Twist,” said Drew

  “Yes, Twist. You knew her?” asked Reilly, surprised.

  Drew didn’t answer immediately, and by the time she did, Reilly had started to put it together.

  “You mean—?” Reilly couldn’t say it.

  “Yes, Twist is how I survived my time there.”

  Reilly felt the realization hit her hard. It was almost physical.

  “Holy shit… how could you… I mean… she’s so…” struggled Reilly, trying to get out of bed feeling confined. Drew loosened her embrace to let her go, but then Reilly didn’t want to get up. Instead she sat up so she could face Drew.

  “It was survival.”

  “And she branded you?” asked Reilly, her heart folding in on itself, knowing that Drew had born the pretzel shaped image that Twist had called her mark. She remembered the childish drawing she had seen on Twist’s hip in the shower that first day.

  “Not the way you think,” answered Drew, and she must have read the confusion on Reilly’s face, so she started to explain. “Rather than have her and her goons—”

  “Thing One and Thing Two,” said Reilly. She heard the contempt coat her words.

  “That’s a good description of them,” said Drew, but she didn’t smile. “I found out that she had her eyes on me. Let me rephrase that: she told me that she had her eyes on me.”

  “So you just—” Reilly couldn’t finish the sentence. Echoes of being called fish as she fled the showers whispered in her memory.

  “Rather than wait for them to jump me and leave the mark, I had my cellmate put it on me. It was the only thing I could think of. So Sal took a stickpin and a ballpoint pen and gave me the mark. I let Twist see it in the shower. I figured she couldn’t mark me if I did it to myself.”

  “That was pretty smart. Did it work?”

  “Kind of. At first, I think she thought that I was some sort of stalker. I think I scared her. But she still liked it and, well… I didn’t have to… it didn’t happen very often,” explained Drew, appearing to be unable to elaborate on her half of the alliance. “It turns out that when Twist doesn’t have to force herself on someone, she loses interest. Plus, I think that being the one to beat everyone else to the new fish was enough for her. So it sort of worked out for me. Fergie’s yoga class helped, too. At first it was just a place to go where Twist couldn’t get to me, but it wasn’t long before I immersed myself in it. It changed my life. Maybe even saved it.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” said Reilly, vacillating between awe and distaste after hearing what Drew had been through. Drew’s experience made hers seem like a cakewalk. Drew may have avoided the beatings, but she had had to endure Twist and her goons for two and a half years. Reilly knew that she would never have come out alive if it had been her. She wanted to make Drew feel better, but she of all people had learned that you couldn’t undo your past. All you can do is manage your reaction to it and keep on living your life the best that you can. Drew seemed to have found the secret.

  “Some things defy a response,” said Drew with a small laugh, shrugging her shoulders.

  “Your experience deserves more than just a response. Look at you. Prison breaks people. You managed to survive prison on your own terms,” said Reilly. “Now, you have a great business, and you’re the most serene and balanced person I have ever met.”

  “It wasn’t always on my own terms. Twist felt the need to remind me who was in charge once in a while. I still have nightmares about some of the things that she did to me,” said Drew with a shudder, and Reilly wished that she had done more than leave a scar on Twist’s face for what she had done to Drew. “But worse than that, I lost my license.”

  “License?” asked Reilly, relieved to turn the conversation away from Twist.

  Drew didn’t answer immediately, and Reilly saw strong emotion play across her beautiful face.

  “I had just passed my medical exams,” said Drew.

  “Medical exams, as in medical doctor?”

  Drew nodded.

  “I’m a chiropractor. At least I have the degree. I can’t practice, though. Never got to start.”

  “Wow,” said Reilly, having no other words. She remembered the massage and the adjustment that Drew had given her. “That explains a few things.”

  “Yeah.” Drew just nodded again, seeming to read Reilly’s mind. “That’s why I don’t do massage professionally, either. I tried. It’s too close to working with patients and I can’t bear to be reminded. My mother is the one who suggested that I try instructing yoga after I got out of prison. Yoga saved my life. I was living in the converted garage behind her house, filling my days with gardening and attending yoga at the YMCA. One day she suggested that I become an instructor and convert my place into a studio. She gave me the money to do it. I had received my certification and was almost done with the remodel when she died.”

  “I’m so sorry, baby,” said Reilly, entwining their fingers and squeezing.

  “It was sudden. She was so healthy. She had a mole removed from her back, and the incision got infected.
The antibiotics couldn’t treat it and she died when the infection spread to her lungs. It was a freak thing and turned my life on its head, probably more than prison did.”

  “I had almost given up on pursuing the yoga studio when I ran into Fergie at a farmer’s market. It was such a shock to see her away from the prison. I barely knew her, but she was so relaxed and friendly. It was weird, but it helped. We went to get a cup of coffee, and I told her about how inspiring her classes had been for me and about my plans for the studio, but that my mother’s death had sort of taken the wind out of my sails. She listened and then gave me encouragement to keep going. We’ve been friends ever since.”

  Reilly fell silent for a moment as she absorbed the information and couldn’t help thinking about her relationship with her own mother. It made her wonder if she should try harder with her own.

  She was in deep thought when Drew pulled her back to the conversation.

  “I’m sorry if what I’ve told you is too much. Fergie is a good friend. I shouldn’t have—“

  “No. No, it’s not too much. It’s a lot to take in, but not too much. That last bit about your mother. It just got me to thinking about mine. We’ve kind of grown apart over the last couple of years, but I’m not ready to lose her. As much as she drives me crazy, she’s still my mom, you know? I’m glad that Fergie re-entered your life when she did.”

  They were quiet for a few moments and Reilly moved back to her position close to Drew, resting her head on her chest.

  “You said earlier that over time it got too hard to tell me. I kind of get that, but why didn’t you tell me any of this before then? In the beginning?” asked Reilly.

  “It was six years ago, and I don’t talk about it much. Then, after a while it seemed like I’d waited too long to tell you some of it, and then it had felt impossible to bring up.” Drew shrugged and glanced up at Reilly. Her eyes were bright with tears. “But honestly? I guess I was just afraid that you’d think less of me. Or not want to see me anymore.”