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Human beings are genetically predisposed to crave calorically dense foods. Cookies, cakes, candies. Sugar activates the brain’s pleasure center the same spot as cocaine. More is better. That’s math in its most cruel and delicious state. It is the inevitable, the unavoidable. Fighting such a strong instinct is like holding an umbrella to a hurricane. All this to say, it’s not Swanee’s fault that she ate the vomit and diarrhea inducing apple pie. Dessert had never betrayed her before or after that moment. It always brought her warm memories.
They met over a couple of room temperature fruit cocktails. Boiled in sugar syrup and lacking any vitamin or mineral content originally found in nature. All that’s left to redeem it is the saccharine taste. It might be sickly if not for the fact that everything else on the tray was repulsive. To Swanee it had been a sticky spoonful of heaven.
“You gonna finish that?” She smiles wide, yellowed teeth belying her taste buds’ propensity for sweets.
Zelmare had been hearing those four words float across the dining hall since the first day she got to prison. Each time said with a level of excitement that drained the strength from the very marrow of her bones. It was only a matter of time until they found their way to her.
“Do I know you?”
“Ain’t look like you’ve even touched it. Lemme just take it off your hands. I’ll trade you my bread.” Zelmare’s counterpart holds up a day-old piece of white. Untoasted and plain. It held the same appeal as a piece of drywall.
“I’m okay.” She pauses. She holds her hand up before Swanee switched seats, again. A matronly tone possesses her. “You shouldn’t be living off fruit cocktail and dessert. Just because something fills up your stomach doesn’t mean it’s good for you.” Zelmare shakes her head at herself after the last word. She sounds like Dibrell.
“Hm, ‘preciate your concern, but there’s nothing edible aside from it. Scrapple and creamed beef? No thank you, ma’am. My stomach does flips just thinking of the other stuff on the tray.”
“I wouldn’t have figured you a person of a delicate composition,” she scoffs, stabbing a chunk of off brand SPAM. “You think malnutrition’s cute? In here you don’t have the option to be picky. It’s waste away or eat what’s in front of you. Last girl who tried a hunger strike died in her bed. The guards don’t give two shits about us.” She pointed at the other woman with her utensil. “So, we have to look after each other.”
Swanee casts her eyes down. It brought her no pleasure to be lectured. Her grip tightened on her fork before she settled in her seat. “That makes sense,” she admits, finally. “Still don’t make half the food here worth swallowing.” Her arms cross, words coming out almost a grumble.
A pang of guilt strikes Zelmare. Words weren’t enough. “Maybe start off with something easier. I’ve got some crackers and peanut butter from commissary. At least a little protein.”
“No fooling?” She pauses. Her lips tighten with suspicion, brow lowering. “What’s in it for you?”
“I just wanna make friends.” Zelmare gives off a shrug of pure innocence.
“Horse shit.”
“Look, I don’t see why we can’t act agreeable. I’ve got a little bundle from my younger sister that I can spend at the canteen. Enough to keep both of us in good spirits.”
“And?” Swanee implores.
She sighs. “And you’ve been in here longer. You’ve got some pull with the people that I could see as advantageous.” Zelmare shakes her head, irked. “There are certain folks that find my demeanor somewhat abrasive. Normally, I wouldn’t bat an eye at their poor judgement, but being in prison changes things. I wanna get along just as well as I can, and I think you can help me in that department.”
“Well, all right then. I thought it was important that we start this friendship off with a clean slate.” Swanee holds out her hand and smiles. “Swanee Capps.”
Relief turns to a hesitant smile in return. “Zelmare Roulette.” She takes the offered hand and shakes firmly.
“Like the casino game.” Swanee didn’t let go, instead holding hands.
“Exactly.”
She pulled Zelmare in. Her voice dropping lower into a tone reserved for heist planning and libraries. “Now, onto important business, Ms. Roulette. Do you have any jelly?”
A special magic snapped free her tension. Zelmare found herself laughing, light then growing exponentially. After getting her hand back, she straightened her back with the aid of the table. “No.”
“Damn.” Swanee snapped her fingers in a downward motion. She wore a grin wide as her face could stretch.
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Outside is a mixed blessing. Depending on the clouds, it’s a breezy paradise or the wrong side of a frying pan. It was at least different than being trapped in the same grey walls. Seeing the bits of forest far beyond the chain link fence brought a little calmness to Zelmare’s heart. Standing on the ground and kicking up the dry dirt, she got to remember she was still a part of this earth. The prison could separate her from the world she loved, the world she belonged to, but only for so long.
“This one’s got lipstick on it. Hell, half of these ain’t even the same brand,” Zel said with unhidden distaste.
“I’ll have you know, that’s two good poker games and an entire week of bumming cigarettes in the courtyard.” Swanee snatches the partially crumpled cigarette box from Zelmare. “Don’t matter the state of ‘em, so long as there’s still life enough to puff,” she half mutters. “These are as good as cash in here.” She holds the box out as something sacred before stuffing it into a pocket.
Zelmare shrugs and admits her ignorance with a sigh. “Sure.” Quiet lingers longer than the fog of smoke between them. Zel figures she enjoys watching Swanee smoke more than she ever cared for cigarettes. Probably an advantage that she can stockpile them instead of having her resources turn to ashes. “You got more?”
“Darlin’, I’ve got enough to smoke you and a half dozen other women under the table.” Swanee scooches closer on the wooden bench. A moment of daring, she presses her thigh to Zelmare’s and hooks their ankles together.
“Well, I’ve got a plan for at least three packs.” Her tone quiets and becomes closer to conspiratorial. She almost cracks up with the way Swan ducks her head low and smiles just at the edge of her lips. “Don’t get too excited, now. We gotta play this slow.”
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“The way I figure it, I can get in a scrap with one of the other inmates. A short week in isolation, then I’m placed in a new cell. Unless they wanna play musical chairs with everyone in here, then you’re the only one with a free bunk.”
“Isn’t there some kind of paperwork you can fill out. I heard about people swapping rooms before.”
“Oh, well. That’s the boring way, sure.” Swanee dangles her legs off the ledge she’s sitting on.
Zelmare leans back on her hands to lift herself onto the same ledge. She’s close enough, so her pinkie touches Swanee’s if she extends it slightly. “I think wasting a week alone doesn’t make sense. You’re putting yourself on the guard’s shit list for nothing.”
“Yeah, I guess. I’m just sick of this place. There’s never anything fun to do. I wouldn’t mind causing a little ruckus. It’s been ages since I’ve punched someone.” Swan clenches her fist and half her knuckles crack.
“We were outlaws before, and we can be outlaws, again. But for now, we have to wait.” Zelmare sits on her thoughts for a moment. “You only hurt yourself by getting in trouble here. Like an animal struggling in a snare, tightening the noose around its neck.” She pauses and her voice becomes almost sad. “They don’t need excuses to treat you badly, but they’ll take them all the same. I want you safe.”
Swanee swivels in her spot, so their knees are touching. “I’ve never really had anyone looking out for me.” Her smile seems quieter, shy.
Zelmare feels heat in her face when she looks at Swanee, so she can only manage a second of eye contact. “Yeah, yeah.” Zelmare reciprocates the touch by covering Swanee’s hand with her own, but it doesn’t last long before she’s lowering herself onto the ground. “Fill out the paperwork. When lights are out, we can really talk.” She shoves her hands in the pockets of her uniform.
Swanee lowers her voice to a hushed tone. “I do have a few ideas on how we might extricate ourselves from this here predicament a hair ahead of schedule.” She resumed her normal volume. “None to be discussed in mixed company.” Her forefinger taps at the side of her nose as one of her eyes closes in an exaggerated wink.
Zel rolls her eyes and laughs at the gesture.
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“I think breakfast. Real eggs and bacon and pancakes with lots of syrup. I’m sick of the powdered stuff.” Swanee pushed her face into the crook of Zelmare’s neck. They lay on the bottom bunk together. Both blankets on top of them. It’s a bit of a squeeze for both of them to be side-by-side, so Swanee’s half on top of Zelmare. The closeness doesn’t bother them. Touch starved as they are, as they’ve often been in life, it’s a perk to sharing a bed. Swanee kisses Zelmare’s skin idly as she thinks. “Or a big slice of chocolate cake.”
“My mama used to make a porkchops and applesauce so good you had to lick the plate clean.” Zelmare rubs Swanee’s side. Warmth doesn’t seem like a luxury, but it is. Between three concrete walls and the metal door, heat didn’t stay.
“That sounds delicious.”
Zelmare has some of Swanee’s hair tucked between her thumb and forefinger. Rubbing softly at the ends like a lucky rabbit’s foot. “I think next week the new guard’s rotation schedule will be set. If we split watch duty between the two of us, we can finally get a clock on what the timing is gonna be like for the day and night shifts. That’ll make everything easier.”
“I’m telling you. I can take the log book out of Chuck’s pocket no problem. He’s a creep, anyway.”
“No.” She kisses Swanee’s head. “We do this clean or we don’t do it at all. Last thing we need is scrutiny.”
“My touch is featherlight.”
Zelmare barely suppresses a shiver as fingertips drift up her collar to under her chin. Her eyes close. Without hesitation she slams her head down to trap Swan’s hand.
“Ah!” Surprise has Swanee yanking back only to find herself trapped, laughing after in quick succession.
Zel takes Swan’s hand and holds it out. Examining it slowly like a priceless artifact. She touches the shallow dips and lines etched across her palm. Rubs her thumb against the building callouses. Lost in thought, her voice comes out lacking affect and her usual life. “Gotta expect the unexpected. You never know exactly how plans are gonna change.” A light catches in her eyes and she returns to her body. Zelmare kisses up Swanee’s wrist, not quite smug. “And minimizing risk is always a good move.”
Swanee is several kinds of enrapt, but she takes her hand back. She needs it to rub up and down Zelmare’s side. “At least let me swipe some extra towels. No way am I gonna pay five Luckies for something every gal around the block has stuffed under the mattress.”
“That’s fair.”
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The crawl through the storm drain is nothing less than miserable. The cement sheltered them from the worst of the wind, but they were still left with a constant draft of frozen air. An advantage to the bitter cold was its deadening effect to the stench that no doubt would’ve plagued every inch of their journey if they had begun in the summer. Everything else was creaking joints, agony, or frightening numbness. The chill zapped away energy. Each time they drew up their knee or pushed forward their arm to crawl further, it felt like glass shards were poking through the layers of their coats.
What seemed the worst was the time between their beginning and end. How ceaseless it felt. The pipeline was pitch black after the first several meters. Not much use transporting liquid in something with many holes in it. Were it not for the company they shared, it’d be difficult to determine the passing of a minute to an hour. They’d seen preliminary plans and had a rough estimation of how long their journey might be based on sight. To drag oneself through the muck and ice was entirely different. Bracing in the most harrowing ways imaginable. They should be thankful the only way out was forward down the straight path, as finding bearings in a blind environment would prove near impossible.
The light at the end of the tunnel. Brilliant enough to make them wonder if they were sharing a hallucination, but it was only their eyes too adjusted to the dark. The final stretch in sight, the pain shed away from them like a second skin.
Each passing second they watched hungrily as the little dot grew brighter and brighter, until they were knocking at the heavy grate. A moment’s panic when the freezing cold bars didn’t break immediately. Her skin was so chapped from the cold it almost broke when she formed a fist. Zelmare’s hands shook as she wove the towel between the metal bars to provide a handle. So close, it seemed too good to be true. With the proper leverage it didn’t take much to loosen it from its frame.
She climbed out.
On wobbly legs she stood up straight, or as close as she could manage, for the first time in many hours. Zel helped Swanee, half-dragging and half-supporting her weight as the cold and arduous journey had numbed them so. Giddiness soaked them through more than chill at the sight of the night sky. Screams, loud and primal with their unbridled joy, erupted into the air. Whooping and hollering as if they had entered heaven’s gates. Even as this was only their beginning, it was an end they wondered if they’d ever meet.
Hitchhiking was a cakewalk in comparison. The closest town wasn’t more than an hour away with the help of a friendly chicken farmer. A local dive bar provided all the cash and supplies they needed. They let go of a long-held breath as they slipped into their new clothes and trashed the prison uniforms. Soon after they vanished as any good outlaws do.
For all their suffering, it should be allowed to seek comfort in the arms of a loved one. Tucked carefully in a motel that neglects to lock their doors. The ecstasy and delight of rest after a freshly filled belly. A hot shower, a bed with a comforter. The peak of all luxury. Decadent beyond repair for them to spend time with one another, knowing they could truly be alone. Barring an indecipherable smell from the waste basket, the room was perfect. The bed suited them snug. They slept well. By early dawn they were on their way to Kansas City to see a woman about a ghost.
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All things considered, Swanee’s had worse family introductions. Food that didn’t have to be rehydrated in a vat was a welcome bonus. Cops seemed crooked as usual. She didn’t mind the occasions where she shared close quarters with Zelmare. The pie was a surprise. Robbing is less fun when you’re spewing your guts out of both ends. Being a sick outlaw still far outguns being a healthy member of society.
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The money dripped softly into the water as it hung above the tub. An achy back and knees that could no longer tolerate tile meant that the job was done. Zel held Swan close, smelling lightly of vomit and cleaner. A tight embrace that only made the cold sweat covering her more apparent. Zel imagined the dark confines of the drain, again. The endless way the time of uncertainty stretched. She might not know what Swanee was going through, but as long as they got through the next minute, they’d be okay. They were together. The most important thing after all they had endured. One moment after the other, they’d manage.
Swan’s fever broke sometime during the night. Zelmare can’t recall if she was awake. Soap, toothpaste, and water. That’s all it takes to feel alive, again. At least on the most basic level. An awful lot of resting and recovering for their tastes, but nothing could be done before it.
After warming up from her brush with death, one might think she would’ve lost her sweet tooth. Not possible. Their first stop was a diner down the block. Each of them got a stack of pancakes that nearly eclipsed their plates, plus all the fixings. A rightful feast to match the loads of cash they had waiting for them at the hotel. They’d retired for the rest of the day before noon struck.
Planning had turned to luxuriating in the ample freedom of time. Life was boundless. They spread out on the bed. The warmth of the sun’s rays felt like a blessing as it came through the window. Their fair siren of chaos called for them. There was trouble out there with their name on it.