Only the Moon Watching

Chapter 10: MASH me

After our "workout" ("Don't put it in air quotes!" Shiv snaps at me. "Pregnancy and delivery is exhausting!") we're led back inside to idle in the cafeteria until dinner. Girls play cards, fold fortune tellers, and play JAIL MASH where the only JOBS are "kitchen duty," "laundry," "sweeping" and "Girdle's personal slave." The choices for WHERE YOU LIVE are limited to "gen-pop," "ad-seg" and "maximum security prison," and your SPOUSE can either be "Steak!" "STEAK," "Steak :)," or "Steak."

"We should play with them," Shiv gestures to a different group of girls sitting under the window.

"I don't want to be rude, but I'm really hoping I don't have to meet anyone else," I say. "I could be out of here after my arraignment, I just don't want to–" I was going to say get attached but Shiv cuts me off with an annoyed snort:

"Yeah, you'd totally fall in love with us and want to stay forever, right?" She waves at the girls that she'll join them later, then leads me to a table where we sit alone.

"You're really counting on the judge to have mercy on you, then?"
"Shiv! You're the one who said –"

"That you really didn't do anything wrong? They'll let you off with a slap on the wrist? Oooh–"

A trustee with gauged ears and a pale blonde buzz cut pushes a mop into the kitchens.

"It's not Steak," she clarifies, "But he's not half bad, either." She bats her eyes at him, waving off any comments I might want to add. "But what do I know about judges? If I made the rules I wouldn't be locked up! I say a lot of shit. I don't mean any of it, but."

The table next to us erupts in giggles. One of the girls MASHED with Steak and they're living happily in maximum security prison, working in the kitchens.

"Should I kite him about it?" The girl asks. "Send a love note up the bowl, attach it so he can picture our future?"

Shiv scoffs. "A love note!"

The pale blonde boy shoots her a smile.

"Oh," Shiv deflates. "Weird teeth though. That's such a problem in here, innit? Can't tell if they lost them in a fight or never had them to begin with... And then even the ones who are nice to look at are usually stupid. Take her, wanting to write a love letter to Steak about her fucking MASH game!"

"I take it your love language isn't words, then?"

Shiv laughs so hard her nose turns red.

"Oooh love languages! Forgot about them! I wonder if Steak would think that's another grandfalloon – that's good, you should ask him!" She wipes her nose and narrows her eyes at me. "You are going to write him, I insist. I don't think it's dumb at all in your case."

"Why not?"
"Because you're my friend and I'd benefit from it."

I roll my eyes at her.

"You're my cellie, babe! My everything – how romantic is that? My TV and gossip magazines and sense of drama and adventure! And it's not totally one sided – you're the one who gets a hot guy to moon over."

"I am considering it," I admit.

Next to us, a fresh game of MASH starts. There are groans as someone pulls "Garda's personal slave" as their profession. For a minute, Shiv and I are quiet, eavesdropping on them. Then she turns back to me, flips her hair over her shoulder and says, like she's doing me a favor:

"What's your love language, then? I'll break you down, put things in terms you can understand."

"Oh shut up. I haven't really thought about it."

"Come on, cellie, I insist! I need to know if I'm going to be your best friend. They're not only for relationships."

I think about it for another minute, stuck on the sentiment If I'm going to be your best friend... Before I stole the fireworks, I would have said Mike was my best friend, but now...I cram all my feelings about him to the back of my head, forcing myself to ignore how mad at him I am.

"I guess I'm not into words, either." I say. "Quality time, maybe?"

"You'll get none of that in here," Shiv groans. "Every day is an absolute fucking waste."

"Maybe acts of service?"

"An extra scoop of mush on your place, if someone really fancies ya!"

"I don't know," I think for a long minute, listening to the girls chattering about Steak. "I have this recurring dream that I'm a contestant on Love Island but the men all speak a different language..."

Shiv's green eyes alight on me with renewed interest, sparkling.

"Sometimes it's French, or Japanese, or Portuguese – but none of the women can translate a word. So you really don't know if you're communicating well – everything's gotta go by body language and eye contact, only. It is totally cave-girl. You have to rely on gut feeling – and sure that sounds nice but you could be falling for someone who you think is the sweetest poet in the world and really he might be telling you how much you look like his brother and how he's got a huge incest fetish so that's awesome!"

"Oh my fucking gawd!" Shiv snorts.

"Anyway–" the MASH table erupts in cheers as another game ends – "I'm with you, I guess. I don't really care much for pretty words. If Steak sent me a love kite I would probably just ignore it, unless we'd met in person a few times first. I've got to get a feel for someone before I can have any feelings about them."