My cell is full of shadows. Hanging naked from a wire in
the hall outside, a bulb casts light cut by rusted bars into
thin strips that snake along the concrete floor and up the
back wall. People like stains dissolve into the grayness.
I sit alone, the drying smell of a man’s insides burning
in my nostrils. Out of my imagination the footsteps of a
guard approach, become real when a darkness silhouettes
itself behind the bars and a shadow falls like blindness over
the shadows in the cell. I hear the man who had been heaving
scuttle into a corner, and then there is quiet.
The guard calls my name.
I hesitate before I rise to my feet and walk toward the
bars, my back straight and chin up but my elbows tucked
in close about the soft lower part of my rib cage. A hand
slides out of the guard’s silhouette, offering me something,
and I reach for it slowly, expecting it to be pulled back,
surprised when it is not. I take hold of it, feeling the envelope
smooth and sharp against my fingers. The guard walks
away, pausing only to raise his hand and pluck delicately
at the wire of the bulb, sending the light into an uneasy
shivering. Someone curses, and I shut my eyes against the
dizziness. When I open them again, the shadows are almost
still and I can make out the grime on my fingers against the
white of the envelope.
My name in the handwriting of a woman I know well.
I don’t read it, not even when I notice the damp imprints
my fingers begin to leave in the paper.