The Demise of Megan Dewtrop

11.Give me strength

"Hi there." I leaned against her red doorframe. My hands slipped over the glossy paint, lubricated by the sheen of sweat over them. Thankfully I had spritzed myself with body spray before hand.

I hadn't seen inside if Megan's cell before, and it was a very interesting place to be. There were no bars anywhere, or concrete beds, or even those steel potties you see in films. The room was very plain, the White Walls almost completely bare. From my stance at the door I could see the low wooden bed pushed against the left wall, with a think duvet and 2 pillows clad in dark blue sheets. They looked quite scratchy to me. On the opposite wall, there was a long, thin window which let in a sliver of natural light. I could just about make out a yellowing damp meadow framed by a chain link fence. I saw girls in Orange t shirts and big raincoats wandering around. Next to the window, there was a small square desk, like the ones used for exams, I remembered with a groan. Apart from this one was bolted to the floor. I saw how messages had been engraved into the plastic surface. Pushed neatly under the desk, there was another of the trademark red plastic chairs, this one with a pillow placed in the seat. Although the desk was clear, above it was was a shelving unit screwed into the wall packed full of plastic folders, excercise books, paper pads and a clear pencil case. Underneath her bed were two shallow translucent plastic crates, one containing neatly folded shirts, long sleeved vests, underwear, leggings, tracksuit bottoms, green sweatshirts etc, all marked with an angry black D. I made a note to ask some one what it meant. In the other crate, I could make out shampoo bottles, toilet rolls, moisturisers and pencil cases filled with tweezers, nail clippers and small razors. I was surprised she was allowed such things.

On the opposite wall, the one with no furniture pushed against it, was equipped with three pegs, holding a laundry bet bag, a large navy raincoat with the letters YO marked in bright yellow on the back, and a pair of clunky black boots hanging from their laced with yellow gloves and a hat stuffed inside. Along the rest of the wall was a long whiteboard, like ones you'd see in schools, covered in black and red and green scrawls. I made our maths equations, lists, doodles, mind maps.
Overall the room was very orderly, everything was just so and in its rightful place.

Megan was lying on the bed facing away from me. Still as a statue. She didn't respond in any way to my greeting. She flicked over a page in her book. After a moment she pulled a flimsy bookmark from under her pillows and carefully inserted it into the book, closing it tenderly. She laid it under her pillows like a mother putting a baby to bed. Then, laboriously, she flipped herself onto her stomach. I watched her yellow socked feet dance in the air. She settled her head into the mountain of pillows and it sunk into them like clouds. Her eyes fluttered shut.

I pushed myself off the support of the door frame, without her moving, I heard Megan's voice. "You're later than usual." It was deadpan and exhausted. "You can sit on the chair." I supposed she meant the one under the desk. I stepped over the threshold into the narrow white room. Suddenly realising how claustrophobic and pressing the space was. Along the floor space next to the bed, there was nearly enough room to pass through without brushing against the coat on the pegs. Once I completed the three strides to the chair, it became known that there was a bit more space down the window end, as where the bed stopped the room widened out. The room was 4 metres by 2, with the bed taking up over half of the 4 metre length. The space at the end left room for a small beanbag which couldn't be seen from the door, and a rainbow knotted rug, which in reality was more the size of a bath mat.

I pulled out the chair and hesitated, looking down at the pillow. Megan spoke once more, "it's ok, you can sit on the pillow." She didn't even open her eyes. From here I could see more clearly out of the window, it was an exercise yard, or a 'garden'. Weirdly, we were the level above it, looking down on them, even though I thought we were on the ground floor the whole time. The smell of laundry detergent and school dinners wafted up. Maybe there were kitchens below. A Tarmac strip and fence separated the building from the space. Half of it was based in slick Tarmac with a splattering of plastic picnic tables, the drizzle pooling on their shiny surface. And the other half was a netball court. I noticed a few girls playing a half hearted match, one team with raincoats, the other without. I felt bad for the team without as I watched the drizzle patter down in pithy streaks, soaking their thick orange shirts. The shirts, the same style Megan wore, were more like nurses scrubs than T-shirts, made from a canvas-like cotton what cut was stiff and unforgiving, giving a boxy look. It merely swamped Megan, all her clothes were clearly to big. One or two girls were out wandering the meadow, which had long straw grass stalks and a well trodden path around the edge, running alongside the fence.