When it was time to return to the cell block, we filed inside. There were several bathrooms with showers down the hall where we cleaned up one at a time. It was messed up, but there was a risk of molestation if the inmates weren’t kept separate at shower time. In the handbook they gave us, sexual abuse by another inmate or staff was termed bad touch. At my turn for the bathroom, I hurried through my shower, knowing I was being timed and wanting to make the most of it.
Before we were locked into our cells for the night, the staff checked for weapons. As we lined up against a wall with several guards surveying us, one guard yelled, “Pants!” In compliance, we each grabbed our pant legs and pulled them above our ankles. After a minute, the same guard yelled, “Shoes!” and we kicked them off, held them upside down, then whacked them together. The slapping noises continued for a few seconds until the guards were satisfied. I put my shoes back on and smoothed back my damp hair.
A guard holding the stack of mail called the names of several inmates, including Ian and myself. When he said, “Caleb Morrison!” I moved forward to take the letter he extended. Flipping it over, I saw it was from my girl.
Finally!
A guard locked us into our cell and Ian climbed onto his bunk, breathing a dramatic sigh. “Now you can stop whining like a little bitch.”
Ignoring him, I laid down on the bottom bunk. A rustling of papers could be heard from where Ian relaxed up above. He hadn’t mentioned who his letter was from and despite not wanting to be, I was slightly curious. “Who wrote you?” I hoped his dad had sent him the letter.
“The shrink signed me up for some pen pal program with a church youth group. Some bible thumper chick sent her first letter. I wonder if she’ll try to save my eternal soul through the mail.”
I remembered the program he referred to. I’d declined participating and was surprised Ian hadn’t done the same. Flipping Gianna’s letter through my fingers, I listened to him talk. I was both anxious and afraid at the same time to open her letter. “Not even Jesus could save your soul, Ian.”
“Get this,” Ian started then in a girly voice continued, “Reading your profile, I realize you need a spiritual friend.” He stopped to snicker. “Caleb, do you need a spiritual friend?”
I didn’t remind him I’d started attending the Sunday morning church services given by a non-denominational preacher they brought in. I laughed along with him, but I wasn’t feeling it. I was preoccupied with Gianna’s sloppy handwriting on the white envelope. For a girl, her penmanship sucked.
Ian continued to read his letter aloud. “Blah, blah, blah. I’m fifteen years old. Blah, blah, blah. My favorite band is Paramore. I live downtown Denver with my grandmother and older sister.” He went quiet for a moment. “Listen to this. I’m not allowed to tell you my last name because you’re a criminal.” Sounding offended, Ian complained, “And this is supposed to lift my spirits?”
“What’s her first name?” I asked, only half caring.
“Alexandra,” Ian answered. He went quiet again, possibly more interested in the letter than he’d admit. Knowing him, his new life’s mission was to get her last name out of her. Give Ian a rule and he was bound to break it eventually.
Finally mustering the courage, I tore open the envelope and slid out Gianna’s letter. Written on binder paper in blue pen, I questioned the uncharacteristically sloppy handwriting. My eyes flicked to the pictures taped above me before I started reading.
Dear Caleb,
I’m sorry if this is hard to read, but I still have the cast on my right wrist. So I’m writing this using my left hand and I suck at it. My jaw is completely healed now and I invited Cece over yesterday to see my dad’s new house in Englewood. We just moved in a couple days ago. It’s weird living south of Denver now, but I like the change.
Chance is still with my mom, but my dad plans to pick him up most weekends. I’ll miss living with Chance, but I’m glad for the break from my mom. I agreed to come to her house at least one night a week for dinner. Even if we don’t agree on how I live my life, she’s still my mom and I love her.
I miss you so much, Caleb. I’m sorry I didn’t write you sooner, but I’ve been so busy with everything. Getting registered at my new school and moving into the new house was stressful. Until my left cast came off, it was impossible to write.
By the way, I wrote my new cell number on the bottom of this page. You can call me whenever they let you and if I’m able to, I’ll answer.
Like I said, Cece came over yesterday and gave me the letters you sent through Dante. With this letter, you’ll have my new address and can write me directly here. Don’t worry, my dad won’t have a problem with you sending letters to his house. He isn’t totally approving of you being locked up, but he realizes what drove you to violence.