by Kim Cano
On break out on the yard, Kristen threw herself into the workout class, paying closer attention to the other students and seeing where they needed help. Afterward, there were murmurings of gossip about Tanya, that once she got put back into the mix she was getting shanked. Kristen couldn’t care less. The world might be a better place if she were gone anyway. At least then she wouldn’t have to worry she’d get stuck rooming with her.
Not long after, that very situation was addressed. Kristen had been assigned a new cellmate. An older woman named Debbie.
After an uneventful introduction, the guard left them to get acquainted. Kristen offered her the top bunk as she’d been accustomed to the lower one and prepared herself for the inevitable night of conversation. She wasn’t in the mood for talking, or listening.
Debbie had just arrived from local jail and didn’t seem as ruffled as Kristen had been when she got here. Kristen wondered what her crime was. She looked like someone’s harmless aunt who was known for baking great cookies.
Out of the blue, the newbie said, “I’m in for murder, in case you’re wondering.”
A chill went down Kristen’s spine, but she kept a straight face, revealing nothing. She hoped Debbie wasn’t another psycho like Tanya. She almost wished she could take back her earlier thought. Had she jinxed herself?
Debbie smiled and added, “My husband used to beat me. I got tired of it one day and killed him in self-defense.”
Kristen relaxed. She hadn’t even noticed she’d tensed all her muscles.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said.
Kristen didn’t know what to make of this new one.
“Me too,” Debbie said. “I used to love him once upon a time, but the recurring blows to the head knocked some sense into me. I realized it couldn’t be love and that he was sick.”
Kristen immediately felt sorry for her. She’d heard about people like this but hadn’t known anyone in her close circle of friends. “Couldn’t you get help? Like from the police?” she asked.
Debbie sat down, crossing her legs and getting comfortable. “You don’t know many battered women, do you?”
“No. I don’t. You’re the first one I’ve met. I mean, there are others here, but I don’t know them well.”
Debbie sighed. “Well, I’m glad to hear you don’t know anyone. That’s wonderful. I wish I could say the same. And yes, there is help available. You can file a report, get a restraining order, but it doesn’t work. Sometimes it makes the situation worse.”
Forgetting her own problems for the moment, Kristen asked, “How long were you married?”
Debbie sighed. “Ten years.”
“Wow.” Kristen paused, then asked, “And the abuse? Was it the whole time?”
“No,” Debbie said, looking like it was exhausting to discuss. “It began slowly. First, he was normal, albeit jealous, which I thought was romantic. Then he began wanting to know where I was all the time, going so far as to put a tracking app on my smart phone. He could tell when I was at work and when I went on lunch break. He’d know if it was close by or if I had left and gone somewhere else, like the bank or the store. Then he’d always call to check up on me.”
“Creepy,” Kristen said.
“Yeah. Then he started telling me what to do and what to wear. We’d go to the clothing store to shop and instead of hanging out to give his opinion like a normal guy, he’d make selections for me and force me to try on outfits that weren’t my style. If I liked a dress he didn’t care for he’d say, ‘I think that one’s a pass.’”
“That would piss me off,” Kristen said. “I don’t like people telling me what to buy when I shop.”
“I know. I didn’t like it either. He acted like he owned me.”
Debbie rolled her eyes, which made Kristen smile. She was starting to like her. She had a bit of an attitude.
Sighing, Debbie continued. “Look, I didn’t plan on telling my life story to a stranger. Sorry. It’s just that I like to get it out of the way, you know? I can stop…”
“No, please. Keep going. I mean, if you want to. I’ve got nothing else to do at the moment.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. In time, it got worse. He grew moodier. He never told me he was upset about anything or said there were problems we should work on, he was just always tense and uptight. Then one day we had a minor disagreement and he pushed me, and it escalated from there. Next time, it was a backhanded slap for something minor, like me accidentally cutting someone off in traffic. He’d tell me I was stupid and have me pull over and let him drive.”
“God. That’s awful. I’m so sorry,” Kristen said.
“Thanks.”
Debbie stretched her arms over her head and continued. “Eventually, he wouldn’t let me go anywhere without him. No girl’s night out. No manicures without him tagging along. If I wanted to do anything with someone else, he’d get enraged if he wasn’t invited. And then he started to accuse me of cheating on him. I wasn’t. In fact, that was the last thing on my mind. After a few years with him, I could’ve used a break from men just to be alone for a while.”
“For real,” Kristen agreed. “What a nightmare.”
“Yeah. Anyway, it got to the point where I didn’t love him anymore but was afraid to leave him. I tried to get help, like you mentioned, but the beatings grew more severe as I attempted to pull away. I was afraid he would kill me. In the end, out of self-preservation, I killed him.”
It was like a bad movie, Kristen thought, and so sad. She wondered what she’d do if she were in the same situation. Although she abhorred violence, she was known to have a temper. She didn’t put up with anyone’s shit. Still, she couldn’t picture it.
“How much time did you get?”
“Five years. The judge could see it was self-defense but wasn’t going to let me get away with murder. I understand, and I accept it. If I knew beforehand I’d have to spend half a decade here to be a free woman I’d do it again. I didn’t tell the judge that, of course, but I’m telling you. If I hadn’t killed him, and if I had managed to survive somehow, the rest of my life would have been more of the same. At least now I have a life.”
It was hard to believe she could think this was a life. To Kristen, there was nothing worse.
“Do you have children?” Kristen asked.
“No. And I’m thankful for that.”
“You have savings?” Kristen quickly calculated the woman would be retirement age when she got out, same as her.
“A little. And I’ll have Social Security. Plus I can work part time. Or who knows? Maybe I’ll take my meager stash and leave the country. Live a totally different life somewhere.”
Kristen eyed Debbie. Not only did she have attitude, she was adventurous. “You’re a strong woman.”
Debbie shrugged. “Haven’t always been, but I learned to be.”
The rest of the night, they discussed Kristen’s situation. What she was in for, how she regretted what she’d done. They also chatted about Kristen’s family and personal life. Debbie was in disbelief at the length of her sentence in relation to the crime.
“You should appeal it. Try to get your sentence reduced,” Debbie suggested.
“I’ve tried. It was rejected. Now I’m hoping for a miracle. My sister-in-law said she saw an article about Florida’s prisons being overpopulated and that they’re short on cash. She said they’re thinking of letting some of the less violent inmates out earlier.”
“That sounds promising,” Debbie said.
After they’d gotten to know each other, Kristen gave her the run down on most of the other women. What to expect and whom to avoid. She explained the exercise routine and what meals would be like, about the garden, the library, and Megan. Once they’d breezed over every topic, it was time for lights out.
As Kristen lay in bed, she thought about how in men’s prison the inmates were separated by threat level, but in women’s prison everyone was lumped together, re
gardless of the crime. At first, this scared the daylights out of her. Then, in time, she realized most of her fellow inmates were women who had made bad choices, like her. Or like Debbie, who had killed in self-defense.
Of course there were a few true nutjobs. Kristen shuddered to think of them. Even hardened criminals stayed away from them. You couldn’t turn your back on them for a minute.
Right before Kristen drifted off, she thanked God she got someone decent as her new cellmate. She was relieved it wasn’t Tanya. And with that final thought, she drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep.
Chapter 14
Jess sat on the floor of her cell, bored while Abigail read a historical romance novel, one with a worn cover featuring a muscle-bound man holding a helpless-looking young woman in a flowing dress. Jess had been playing Solitaire but was losing interest. She gathered up her playing cards and set them aside, then began tapping her foot with her hands clasped behind her neck.
“Is that book any good?” Jess asked.
Abigail poked her head up. “Oh yeah. The duke is about to embark on a journey cross country to find his lost love. There’s a rumor she didn’t die.”
Jess scrunched her face. She might vomit, it sounded so awful. Abigail frowned. “I see it doesn’t appeal to you.”
“No,” Jess lied. “It sounds all right. It’s just not my thing. I like thrillers.”
Abigail set her book down, turning in the page so she wouldn’t lose her place. “Which ones?”
“Lee Child. James Patterson.”
“I guess those are good,” Abigail agreed. “I just prefer romance.”
“I’ll still take my thrillers, thank you. I used to read them out loud to my mom,” she said. “She loved it.”
“Aw…What a nice daughter. No wonder she visits all the time.”
“Yeah. She’s great. Hey, if you want to give your eyes a break, I can read the next chapter to you.”
“Really? Are you sure?”
“Yeah. It’s no problem. I was getting bored anyway. Can only play cards for so long.”
Abigail looked thrilled. She bunched her pillow up and got comfortable on one side of the lower bunk. Jess took the book and sat upright on the opposite side, leaning against the wall.
She cleared her throat and began reading. For the male voices, she made her own sound deeper and for the female ones, she raised her pitch. If the scene was wrought with conflict, the struggle was reflected in her tone. And when it was a softer, more romantic moment, she was able to express that sentiment too.
When the chapter came to an end, Jess paused, set the book in her lap and looked at Abigail.
“Don’t stop!” Abigail said with a smile. “It’s wonderful. You’re a natural at this.”
Jess saw how much it pleased her, and she wanted nothing more than to continue. She picked it back up and turned the page.
If it made her beloved happy, she would read all night.
Jess finished another chapter within an hour, and then took a sip of water to soothe her dry throat. “So tell me why they told the duke she was dead.”
“It’s because she was a peasant girl, and he wouldn’t be able to marry her,” she explained, obviously entranced by the story. “He had to choose someone of noble origin. She was paid to disappear. Well, actually she was told to leave with the money or suffer the consequences.”
Jess enjoyed the book more than she let on. Maybe she just hadn’t given the genre a chance. The plot wasn’t half bad. Or maybe she just liked it because Abigail did.
“You must be tired. I can read for a while if you want,” Abigail offered.
Jess would have been happy to continue but didn’t want to deny Abigail the chance to read. “Okay,” she said. “You’re next.”
Abigail sat up, and Jess took her spot, lounging with the pillow.
“She walked along the moor, fog hanging low, in the cool, misty evening. Would they ever meet again, she wondered. Would she ever kiss his lips? The memory of their last embrace burned in her mind…”
Jess sat mesmerized, listening to Abigail’s soft voice as she narrated the tale, her expression wistful to match the scene. She began daydreaming, visualizing Abigail walking near the moor, wearing what the character was wearing. As she listened, her mind trailed off, wondering if she would ever get to kiss Abigail’s lips, like the duke and the peasant girl.
Abigail paused. “I’m no good at this. I should stop.”
Jess looked up. “What? No. You’re doing great. Please continue.”
Jess hadn’t realized it was so obvious she’d zoned out. She sat up and listened more intently.
A little bit later, when a scene came for Abigail to sound like a man, she botched it. “I refuse to do as you say, sir. And if you force me, I will draw my sword.”
Jess burst into a fit of laughter. Abigail couldn’t get her voice to go low enough and it sounded hysterically unconvincing.
Spurred on by the bad performance, Abigail repeated the line, this time going overboard with an even deeper voice. It sounded awful, like she had gravel lodged in her throat.
Jess jumped up. “Gimme that.”
“No,” Abigail said, pulling her hand back.
Jess tackled her. “Gimme the book. You’re ruining it.”
Abigail wouldn’t let go of the book so Jess began tickling her.
“Ahhhh!” she screamed in a fit of laughter, writhing to make it stop, the book dropping to the ground.
Jess lunged for it and jumped back, trying to locate the correct page. Abigail was still recovering from the onslaught, then made one last attempt to snatch it back and failed.
Jess smirked. “Would you just let me read to you, woman? Why don’t you sit down, get comfortable and let me do what I do best.”
“Yes sir,” Abigail joked, saluting Jess. Then she reclined to her original position and calmed down.
“I refuse to do as you say, sir. And if you force me, I will draw my sword,” Jess continued where they’d left off, sounding just like a man.
Jess kept reading, doing all the roles perfectly like she had before. When she finished the chapter, she saw Abigail staring at her.
“What?” Jess asked, dying to know what was on her mind.
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean nothing?”
Abigail sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I was just thinking I didn’t expect to ever have fun again.”
Jess’ heart almost burst from her chest. She couldn’t hide how happy she felt. Trying to play it down she said, “C’mon Ab. Gotta have some fun. Can’t be all doom and gloom.”
The look on Abigail’s face grew somber again. “It is for me.”
“I thought you just said you were having fun.” Jess couldn’t understand how quickly her mood could change. She was so mercurial.
Abigail smiled again, although it looked forced. “I am. It’s not you. It’s me.” She pointed to her head. “All doom and gloom in here.”
Jess set the book aside. “You know I’m here if you want to talk.”
“Huh,” Abigail laughed blackly. “I wouldn’t subject you to the horror.”
Jess stared into her eyes, desperately wanting to know what caused her so much suffering. “You know you can talk to me. I’m your friend.”
“Thanks,” Abigail replied. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Jess had grown frustrated with Abigail’s unwillingness to share. She had shared so many stories with her, from childhood, and from her teen years. Abigail always listened with interest and responded without ever revealing much about herself. When something did slip, Jess felt like she’d discovered gold. She hung onto the find like it was treasure, trying to get Abigail to talk more, which unfortunately had the opposite effect.
Jess decided this time would be different.
“Why don’t you tell me something that makes you happy. A good memory.”
Abigail looked like she was considering it. “Hmm,” she answered. “I’ll have to dig deep
on that one.” She tilted her head and said, “I liked going sailing with my parents as a child. My dad didn’t see patients on the weekends, and we’d hit the open sea. He’d let me steer for a while, supervising of course, but it was fun. They liked fishing too, and we’d always manage to catch something and bring it home for dinner. My mom is quite a good cook.”
Jess smiled at her. “See. Was that so hard?”
“I guess not.” Abigail pouted, like she’d been scolded and had survived.
“How about another? That can’t be the only happy memory you can think of.”
Abigail sat up. “Okay. You asked for it. I was a ballerina.”
“You were?” Jess asked, but could easily believe it. She still had a dancer’s figure.
Abigail grinned. “I was.” Then she stood up, got into a position with her heels touching, feet turned slightly out and raised her arms in a graceful arc.
Jess admired her, nodding approval. Then Abigail bent down into a squat, rose and spun around, landing back on her feet, with her long red hair in a swirl still catching up.
“Whoa,” Abigail gasped. “I haven’t done that in a while. I’m already out of breath.”
Jess sat transfixed. She was out of breath too.
“I’m as uncoordinated as a drunkard with two left feet. I’m so out of practice.”
“You looked like a pro to me,” Jess managed to say. “Too bad we don’t have more room. You make it look so easy.”
Obviously enjoying the praise, Abigail said, “Why, thank you.” Then she got into position again and bowed, the way dancers do at the end of a performance.
When she sat down, Jess said, “What? No more. You’re all done?”
“For tonight I am. I’m pooped. And I don’t have my tap shoes.”
“You tap dance too?”
“Yep. Ballet. Tap. Hip Hop. If there was a dance class, I took it.”
Jess immediately took an interest in the words “hip hop,” with memories of ass-shaking rap videos tucked in the corner of her mind.
“How long did you take classes?” she asked, trying to appear friendly and casual, not wanting her inner lustful feelings to show.