The Center

Chapter 44 - "irredeemable.

At least twenty minutes of getting up, pacing, and waiting happens before I slide down the wall next to the sink. I discover my cell doesn't have a camera. It wouldn't need one of course, the locked door ensures my location and the bare room limits my activity. I lean against the yellow wall. The pressure from the cement floor hurts my ankles. I stretch my legs out in front of me.

Time without cellphones or televisions or computers forces me to think. I'm not a good person, but I could be. In less than a week, I have helped more people than I have in my entire life.

Mario at graduation.

Dee Dee from her fall.

Two people in a lifetime of self-indulgence. Buried beneath the earth, I find myself catching my breath and more than a little confused about my existence. I turned toward the paint. With my index finger, I pretend to draw on it. My face is close enough to notice the uneven lines, little bumps, like the soft texture of old skin. Maybe it's the skin-like look that makes me continue. I move my finger along the surface in no particular pattern, just a touch. An attempt to discover nothing more than the wall. It's rougher when I use the back of my hand which seems strange. It feels better, softer when I close my eyes. There is something comforting about it, cold to the touch but it doesn't recoile. Nicer than most people I know. Nicer than I've been.

But that can change. It can. I can. I went back for Dee Dee, risked my life. A smile creeps involuntarily to my face. My cheeks are tight as I get up and measure the cell walking heel-to-toe. Sixteen steps long and twelve wide. The empty wall between the beds needs a window. Its yellow paint tries to be sunny, but how fun would an oversized ant-farm be? Something to watch. Except, I'm sure there'd be a worm or too. I really don't want to see anything slimy.

Since the width of the room is no longer a mystery, I decide to measure the height by standing on my head. I scrape my dirty shoe on the wall as high as I can, rolling back to the ground I discover the room has to be twice as tall as me. The lights too far to reach.

I go back to my pacing. Down here in my cage, it's easy to finally see myself as the rest of the world has.

Selfish.

Privileged.

Entitled.

Sinking my butt back onto the thin mattress, I feel like the world sighs a resounding, "Duh!" at my big epiphany. I collapse sideways on the bed and listened for sounds. The consistent whirr of electricity fills the room. At some point water gurgles through pipes. The sound inspires my tear-ducts. I don't mean to be so happy at the sound of running water, but I am.

I roll over and feel a hard lump at my lower back. Reaching behind me, I bring up Jackson's Bible. The pages skim past my thumb in rapid succession as I flip the edges. Words bleed together. I close my eyes and let the movement fan my face.

My heart has no desire to read it. Yet, if this isolation lasts much longer it might be the only distraction I have for a while. I don't have to decide if this book is right or wrong. And I can skip the entire Proverbs section if I want. Maybe this is why criminals find Jesus while in jail.

It might have been hours by the time I hear the lock to my door release, because I fell asleep. A guard dressed in gray opens the door and sets a tray on the ground next to the entry. Without a word, she also brings in a stack of sheets with a pillow then pulls the door shut.

"Wait!" I call to her.

But she doesn't wait. The lock clicks closed again. I rush to the little window and see her pull a cart across the hall and repeat her actions. The tall pushcart holds at least fifty trays. The girl has some serious work to do. I envy her. Funny to think how much I hated hard work before, but I would love to be doing something for others right now.