Only the Moon Watching

Chapter 6: Talking the Bowl

"I'm so fucking wet!" she whispers, once the guard has left us alone, again. "Do you know who's cell we're in? This is the luckiest thing that's ever happened–"

I gesture for her to pick a bed, and while she has her back turned, I waddle to the other, trying to walk as normally as possible and hoping she won't notice that I just peed – even though there's no toilet paper.

"This isn't your old cell?" I ask.

"No, I was all the way across the hall! My old cellie tore through my stuff when I left, squirreled away my fruit – you'll understand why later – got herself moved to Ad Seg. Didn't realize this room was opening up too, of course the bitch wouldn't have mentioned it! But she normally loved to talk, so messy, especially about Steak –"

I sit all the way back on my tail bone, trying not to get pee on my pants or my bed, and spread my legs a bit to air myself out, hoping I just look casual and relaxed.

"What's Ad-Seg?"

"Isolation. Trust me, you don't want to know anything about it– I didn't realize that bitch could keep a secret! Bet she didn't want her 'best friends' trying to get moved in here! But we've got it now, damn, I wonder if he'll really be heart broken or if he could be convinced to send a photo down..."

Shiv's hands wander to her hair.

"What are you talking about?"

Above us, a toilet flushes and Shiv points to the ceiling, beaming. "The bowls! Didn't Girdle tell you? Our floor's the only one with women, every where else it's men. And we're in cell 24 and Steak's in cell 34."

"Steak?"
"His name's Jason or something, really, but everyone calls him Steak because he's the best cut of meat in here! He's seriously gorgeous, seriously! And not even dangerous – just drug offenses. And he lives directly above our room!"

"So we can hear every time he uses the toilet–? Like that's a good thing–?"

"So we can help him use the toilet."

"Ew, Shiv! What do you –?"

I don't know her well enough to be able to tell if she's joking. A guard and two inmates pass our window, Shiv runs to it and sticks out her tongue. "Guess who's got him now, messy bitches!" she yells, rattling the door.

"He wouldn't touch you, fire-crotch," one of the girls fires back. "Wouldn't it count as Arson? He wouldn't add to his sentence for you..."

"At least he'll know who I am!" The girls disappear and Shiv turns back to me, grimacing. "Don't judge me, this place is depressing. Passing the Bechdel test is for happy girls who live in the outside world. In here, you need every dopamine hit you can get. And what makes people happy: good food? We don't have that, we get expired slop – or sometimes – half-expired slop. Sunshine? Every couple of days if we're lucky. Exercise? Barely. So we've gotta go cave-girl: all you can care about is sex. Passing a trustee in the hallway and getting a whiff of his sweat? That can sustain you for weeks! Getting a message on the bowl? Like a message sent straight down from heaven."

The door unlocks, opens itself, and a guard calls that it's time for breakfast.

"What's a trustee?" I ask, trying to avoid the subject of toilets while some kind of beans and soggy tortillas are pushed onto my tray, along with grey eggs and a scoop of either peaches or carrots – they're so pale and processed they have no smell, and I can't even tell by taste.

I get to pick whether I want an apple or an orange but even that's decided for me when Shiv pushes the orange onto my plate. "Trust me, these come in handy. But don't eat it...