away.
“I’m Guy Hamm, Sergeant of Correctional Officers. Welcome to Mountain View Unit. We’re all gonna miss Doc Wren.” Hamm’s hand was moist. He smelled like pancake syrup.
“Thank you.” Franny cleared her throat. “As I said when I called, um, I’m just here to get my uncle’s things.”
“Not much here besides the car.”
Franny nodded.
“I don’t need to come in then,” Franny said. “If you could just take me to the car. I have the key.”
“Some people here would really like to talk to you,” said Hamm. He waited, and finally Franny shrugged her acquiescence.
She could not believe how many doors and gates stood between the inside of the prison and the outside. Hamm wrote their names in three different log books, checking for the exact time on his watch for each book. He unlocked metal doors, waved Franny through, and locked the doors again behind them. Armed guards stood at every turn. The prison smelled of disinfectant, urine, and hot dogs. “Corn dogs for lunch,” Hamm told her, pointing into the cafeteria. “But they take the sticks out,” he noted.
As Franny and Hamm walked through the prison, Hamm gave a barking commentary: showers, work room, inmates, watch your back. It seemed as if the sliding bars never ended. The guards were baby-faced, so young. Franny shook her head. Surely there were people her age who were now guards. Or inmates. But she did not recognize anyone. She felt a familiar guilt: What if I had spent my life here? What would I have become?
There were twelve hundred women in Mountain View Unit. Many yelled out when Franny walked past them. The noise was deafening. The women worked in steel cages, chained to chairs, pulling at piles of cotton. They showered in large rooms with drains in the center. They had scorched yards for exercise. Paths had been worn into the dirt around the edges of the fields. “They run in circles,” said Hamm, when they passed a window.
The women’s cells were small and crowded. Some cells held four women: one slept on each cot and one slept on the floor underneath each cot, with a few inches to breathe. When Franny paused outside a cell where a very pregnant woman sobbed with her head in her hands, Hamm pulled Franny away. “Medical Center’s this way,” he said. “Want a soda?”
“No, thank you,” said Franny. She could not imagine Uncle Jack in this place.
The Medical Center was clean and neat. Three nurses stood in a circle around a white desk. One had her elbows on the desk, listening to an animated story another was telling, her eyebrows lifted, her mouth ready to smile. When Hamm brought Franny into the room, the nurses stood up straight, looking guilty. Franny recognized one of them as Deborah, the red-haired woman from the hospital. Deborah came toward Franny, and Hamm picked up the phone on the desk. “Warden?” he said into the receiver. “She’s here.”
“How are you?” said Deborah. “I guess that’s a stupid question,” she said.
“Look,” said Franny, “I’m just here to get my uncle’s things. If you could tell me where his car is, I’ll be on my way.”
Deborah’s face closed as if she’d been slapped.
“The warden wants to have a word,” said one of the other nurses.
Franny sighed and sat down on a folding chair. She heard footsteps, and looked up to see two guards coming into the Medical Center, holding a woman by the upper arms. The woman’s face was ashen. She was extremely thin, and where her head came out of her jumpsuit, Franny could see her collarbones in stark relief. “She’s sick again,” said one of the guards.
“Jesus,” said a nurse. The woman looked at the floor, as if she were ashamed.
“Put her on a cot in the back,” said the nurse. “I don’t know what else we can do.”
Franny folded her arms over her chest, and watched as the guards dragged the woman to a back room, where they let her lie down, still shackled. “She’s HIV-positive?” said Franny.
“I’m Guy Hamm, Sergeant of Correctional Officers. Welcome to Mountain View Unit. We’re all gonna miss Doc Wren.” Hamm’s hand was moist. He smelled like pancake syrup.
“Thank you.” Franny cleared her throat. “As I said when I called, um, I’m just here to get my uncle’s things.”
“Not much here besides the car.”
Franny nodded.
“I don’t need to come in then,” Franny said. “If you could just take me to the car. I have the key.”
“Some people here would really like to talk to you,” said Hamm. He waited, and finally Franny shrugged her acquiescence.
She could not believe how many doors and gates stood between the inside of the prison and the outside. Hamm wrote their names in three different log books, checking for the exact time on his watch for each book. He unlocked metal doors, waved Franny through, and locked the doors again behind them. Armed guards stood at every turn. The prison smelled of disinfectant, urine, and hot dogs. “Corn dogs for lunch,” Hamm told her, pointing into the cafeteria. “But they take the sticks out,” he noted.
As Franny and Hamm walked through the prison, Hamm gave a barking commentary: showers, work room, inmates, watch your back. It seemed as if the sliding bars never ended. The guards were baby-faced, so young. Franny shook her head. Surely there were people her age who were now guards. Or inmates. But she did not recognize anyone. She felt a familiar guilt: What if I had spent my life here? What would I have become?
There were twelve hundred women in Mountain View Unit. Many yelled out when Franny walked past them. The noise was deafening. The women worked in steel cages, chained to chairs, pulling at piles of cotton. They showered in large rooms with drains in the center. They had scorched yards for exercise. Paths had been worn into the dirt around the edges of the fields. “They run in circles,” said Hamm, when they passed a window.
The women’s cells were small and crowded. Some cells held four women: one slept on each cot and one slept on the floor underneath each cot, with a few inches to breathe. When Franny paused outside a cell where a very pregnant woman sobbed with her head in her hands, Hamm pulled Franny away. “Medical Center’s this way,” he said. “Want a soda?”
“No, thank you,” said Franny. She could not imagine Uncle Jack in this place.
The Medical Center was clean and neat. Three nurses stood in a circle around a white desk. One had her elbows on the desk, listening to an animated story another was telling, her eyebrows lifted, her mouth ready to smile. When Hamm brought Franny into the room, the nurses stood up straight, looking guilty. Franny recognized one of them as Deborah, the red-haired woman from the hospital. Deborah came toward Franny, and Hamm picked up the phone on the desk. “Warden?” he said into the receiver. “She’s here.”
“How are you?” said Deborah. “I guess that’s a stupid question,” she said.
“Look,” said Franny, “I’m just here to get my uncle’s things. If you could tell me where his car is, I’ll be on my way.”
Deborah’s face closed as if she’d been slapped.
“The warden wants to have a word,” said one of the other nurses.
Franny sighed and sat down on a folding chair. She heard footsteps, and looked up to see two guards coming into the Medical Center, holding a woman by the upper arms. The woman’s face was ashen. She was extremely thin, and where her head came out of her jumpsuit, Franny could see her collarbones in stark relief. “She’s sick again,” said one of the guards.
“Jesus,” said a nurse. The woman looked at the floor, as if she were ashamed.
“Put her on a cot in the back,” said the nurse. “I don’t know what else we can do.”
Franny folded her arms over her chest, and watched as the guards dragged the woman to a back room, where they let her lie down, still shackled. “She’s HIV-positive?” said Franny.
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