Extremity

5 | Robin

Robin

I've been waiting.

For what seems like a long time.

It's been almost two years since the Lockdown (still with the capital L) and I'm back where I started, in a jail cell. I take this time to contemplate my life. I run through the memories of my fragmented life, trying to figure things out. I ask important questions to myself that don't even seem like they can be answered.

Who am I?

Why am I here?

Where am I going?

And what is that smell???

I look up from my bed to see a guard walking over, holding a tray of food. And no, it's not Kurt's triple chin brother. It's a new guy.

"Dinner time!" he chirps. He's fairly young and seems friendly and isn't really all that fat so I decide to not swear at him. He slides the tray into my cell and I hesitantly take it. "Brussel sprout stew with diced and pickled radish. There were some eggs in there but they ran out."

"Thanks," I say, and hold the bowl up to my nose. That's the smell. Guess I answered one question. My life is basically complete. "What happened to Jose?" Jose was the old guard who used to bring me food. He didn't really speak English so I would swear at him and say the little Spanish I know until he finally stopped coming. Guess he was replaced with this guy.

"He was transferred to the other detention facility," the guard replies, jotting something down in a notebook. Like I'm some lab rat and he's the scientist trying to poke my brain apart. "Juvenile delinquents, I think."

Another thing. The stuff that I've "done" is so bad, that they don't even stick me with the juvenile kids, seeing how I'm still underage. Well, maybe I'm not. I've lost track of the days. Maybe I'm 19 now. Maybe I'm 30. I definitely feel like I'm 70, just sitting here for days on end, waiting for my body to shut off.

"Cool."

"Oh yeah, you got some mail," the guard says, and pulls a crumpled up envelope out of his pocket. "They've already read it and cleared it, so don't expect any intricate escape plans." he laughs at his joke. I laugh hesitantly, pondering his words. Maybe there was some sort of code. Maybe it seemed like a normal letter, but once you delved deeper into its meaning, it was an escape plan for me to crawl through the plumping and through the walls and I would escape into the world and no one would know how!!

Yes, I was going crazy.

I gratefully grabbed the letter from him, ignoring my soup. The envelope read: Robin Wayne in small block letters. It was already open, unfortunately, but I was still glad to be getting any mail. I hadn't gotten any.

"Also, I think your mom is going to visit you soon," the guard rambled on. "You haven't had any visits, right?"

"Nope," I say, unfolding a piece of notebook paper.

"I think she said sometime this week. She said she had some great news to tell you. I'm excited for you!"

"Whoo hoo," I cheer. My eyes graze over the letter.

Hey survivor!

What's up? I saw your trial on the news. Not like CNN or Fox or BBC or PBS or anything, just the local news. Sorry. You're not that famous. But it was pretty dope!

I'm not doing much here. I'm just waiting for my trial. You're lucky you got yours first. How does it feel to be sentenced? But this isn't your first time, haha.

So they finally let me write a letter to you, which is good. I'm not sure about visits. Make sure you write me back, or else I'll go insane. My cell is very tiny. There's lots of spiders, too, but they don't bother me too much.

Hope you're doing well. Say hi to your mom for me. Is Saul and Queb and Maurice there too? They won't tell me where they went. But I think some juvenile place, I dunno.

Anyway. I bet you're busy and all, so I'll just end this letter here. Here. Here. I don't really know how to end a letter. Bye. See you next time. Ttyl? That just sounds weird, okay, I have to go, bye.

- Damien

I can't help but smile. Hearing from him made me feel -

"I saw that Damien guy on the news also, he's the one with white hair, right?" I look up at the guard. He's still here?

"You're still here?" I ask, not even bothering to be polite about it.

"I have to take your tray," he says, pointing to my uneaten, stinky food. "So you don't use your fork and dig a hole in the wall to Africa." he laughs again at his joke.

"You can take it," I tell him. "I'm not hungry." I want to read the letter over and over. It's the only word I've gotten from the outside world thus far. Besides from the news and stuff. But I don't trust the news.

"Sure thing!" the guard takes my tray and happily locks the door again. "Have a good night, Robin! Sleep tight! Luckily, there's no spiders in here, unlike your friend Damien's cell." I want to punch him in the face for reading my letter, but I can't. Not yet.

After reading the letter over and over, I practically have it memorized. I decide to get some rest after safely tucking it away under my pillow. I stare up at the dark ceiling, wondering what my life will be like in ten, twenty, even thirty years.

Finally, I drift off to sleep, dreaming about a boy with white hair and a girl with a tough punch coming in and rescuing me. In the dream the boy with white hair disappears and the girl leans in and whispers to me, "You'll be out soon enough."

When I wake up, I can't help but wonder if that really happened. Because I wake up with a strand of blonde hair tickling my nose.