Robyn

~Chapter 28~

Jail food is fairly similar to school lunch. On certain days it's decent on other days it just doesn't hit the spot. Unfortunately, as I stare at the slightly watery mash potatoes on my tray, it is clear that today is the latter. Finding the mash potatoes a complete failure, I decide to take a stab on the roasted turkey slices on my plate.

"Okay, but nah seriously, who do you think is bout to win this election?" asks Gina, swiping at her short blonde hair. Her green eyes stare at me, and I shrug. Politics typically starts arguments, and although, I think these girls are fine this is still jail, and this may not be the best place for an argument. 

Dee shakes her head. "I know for one thing, it better not be Coolon."

Gina lifts an eyebrow. "So you'd rather crooked Olivia?"

I bite my lip, hoping that this conversation doesn't quickly devolve into hostility.

"I'd rather neither, but you and I both know that Coolon barely cares for anyone who's not a white man. I ain't white nor a man. You ain't a man, and more importantly you a convict. You're just as dispensable as my Latina ass."

Francia nods her afro donned head and waves her fork. "Dee's right. We ain't shit to him. He don't need us for anything." Francia turns to me. "What do you think?"

I lift my head from my plate, swallowing the piece of chewed turkey in my mouth. "Both suck. Olivia seems like more of the same. Coolon seems like an a disaster though."

"Exactly," Dee says.

I place my fork on my tray and place my empty milk carton beside it. "I gotta go. My shift at the library is about to start," I state, gaining goodbyes and see you laters from the other girls. I walk toward the garbage can and slide the remaining food off my tray, before laying the tray atop the bin.

I've been working at the library for about a week now. It's a solid job, a way to keep me busy and earn money for commissary, and basically only requires me to keep the shelves properly stocked and assist other inmates who may be looking for books. It's definitely not hard, considering the limited amount of books in this library. Fifteen shelves is not an in depth collection.

Checking in with the guard on duty, I take the cart filled with returned books and make my way through the aisles, returning them to their proper spots. I read the titles as I go along--Lord of the Flies, Hamlet, One Bird Over the Cuckoo's Nest, The Green Mile-- and occasionally stop and read a synopsis. As my eyes skim the back of a book, the door creaks open, and I peer from behind a shelf to see who it is. I'm not surprised to see her as I glance at the clock which read, 2:25. This woman always comes around this time. 

She's lanky and tall, and her brown and grey hair cascades in waves to her mid-back. I watch as she enters, her strides long and confident. She stops suddenly and turns, her large grey eyes spotting me. I glance away but know it's already too late. I attempt to go back to my work, but soon enough I can feel her presence on my back.

"Is there a problem?" she asks, her voice slightly raspy. I shake my head not bothering to look. "I saw you looking at me, but now you can't?"

I shrug. "You come in everyday at the same time." I turn to look at her, noticing the slight bags under her eyes and the lines crossing her forehead. She has to be at least forty, I note. How long has she been in here for?

"I like books."  Her grey eyes look me over before she extends her hand to tap the book in my hand. "Great story by the way," she states nonchalantly and walks past me. I glance at where her scrawny finger touched the book, and read the title--One Hundred Years of Solitude. My fingers quickly flip through the aging pages, and I place it back on the cart and continue about my shift.