The human made into animal sits inside her cell. She waits there like an animal. Fed like an animal, clothed like an animal, housed like an animal. They are so much like an animal they cannot even house themselves. They cannot control themselves like animals. The court decided that the woman across from me was at some point so horrible, she was not in control of herself to the point that she needed to be treated like an animal.
She didn't seem like an animal to me. She looked like a human. She had the form of a human. She talked, perhaps not perfect English, but it was common American English. Society had cast her out, had exiled her. That must have felt horrible to be treated like an animal.
She stopped talking after a while and we both went to sleep.
Several hours late the bus stopped for us to eat. I woke up and went outside to smoke.
The convict was there smoking.
The sky was overcast. It was cold. We were wearing winter coats. Her coat was given to her by the prison. Her outfit wasn't worth five dollars.
I was lonely so I stood near her and talked.
“It's so nice to be walking around,” she said
“What did you do to get in?”
“Writing bad checks.”
“Four years for bad checks?” I said.
“The government don't like it when you write bad checks.”
“Yeah, that's private property. Property is important to them.”
“Well, I mean it's a long story. I wasn't always like that. I went to college for a while when I was younger. I had kids. I was married.”
“You were married?”
“Yeah, to a guy named John. John was a wonderful man. He worked at a warehouse and worked hard. He earned good money. We had a house and money to spend. We got along great. Even though we had kids it never drove us apart. I saw some of my friends get married and have kids, and it fucked up their marriages. Either the wife or the husband really didn't actually want kids. And they go away. But John was good. We both wanted our kids. We still had sex all the time. We still would sit up at night and talk about stuff. You know what I mean, like deeper stuff.”
“Yeah, I've done that. It means a lot to talk to someone in the middle of the night about deeper stuff.”
“Yeah, John was a good man. He would always know what to do. He could fix things. If the house needed shingles replaced, John wouldn't waste any time, he would go up there and fix those shingles. If something was broken on the car, John would be out there the next day to fix it. He was strong too. He would pick me up and flip me on his shoulder and carry me around like I was a sack of potatoes. And the whole time I would be laughing. You know, just giggling. John was a good man. He didn't make me work too much either. I always had a job working register 20 hours a week to get grocery money. But nothing serious. I enjoyed working. I liked seeing people besides the kids and John a little bit every week. But it was important for me to see John every day. It was so important for me to get to touch him. I would do so many things for him. I would always make sure he had his favorite soda, Mountain Dew. The man had to have Mountain Dew. He loved mint chocolate chip ice cream. I always get that for him. He had to have chipped ham, never sliced, always chipped. See sweetie, I didn't have a great childhood. I can't really say my parents ever loved me. But John did, he loved me. He cared about me and I cared about him. But one day John came home and said he was dying of cancer. He was only 34. That was too young. We had been together for 12 years. Our oldest was 11. It didn't take long and he was dead.”
“He died?”
“Yeah, like, he was gone. I watched him die. He was so sick in that hospital bed. They pumped him full of morphine, he couldn't feel it. But I could. I could feel his pain. I was scared. Then I was really scared when he left. I didn't know what to do. I started working 40 hours a week at a Wal-Mart and started doing drugs with the younger girls. I didn't know how to live without John,” she started to cry. “I started doing drugs. And before you knew it I was writing fake checks to get money to buy drugs. When the police came for me I was coked out of my mind. They put me in a cage and I kept screaming for John. John never came through. He was dead.”
We went inside the gas station/food court.
It was a large building with a high ceiling and bad lighting. I didn't want to eat there because I knew the food was going to be expensive but I was starving. I went and got some pizza and sat down. The convict came over and sat next to me and said, “That girl is getting that guy his food and paying for it.”
“They never met before today,” I said.
“No, they never met before,” the convict said, giggling.
“The pizza was expensive.”
“Yeah, I know. I ain't got much money.”
“What you going to do now?”
“I don't know. You know I haven't had sex in four years.”
“That's a long time.”
“I know. I'm dying for it. I need to have sex. I love sex. John would have sex with me all the time. I don't feel right without sex.”
“A lot of people don't.”
“It never occurred to me how much I like sex until I was sitting in prison for a year, and I could just feel it down there rumbling, screaming for some dick.”
“Screaming for dick?”
“Sweetie, let me tell you. I would sit in that bottom bunk and just daydream for hours about dick. All I wanted was some dick. I didn't care about going to amusement parks or swimming in the ocean. I just wanted some dick, some love, some anything.”
“Prison can be hard on a person's genitals.”
“I don't know what it is. I mean, you get naked and someone fucks your pussy and it makes a fucking mess. The sheets are everywhere. Your hair gets all fucked up. You smell like sweat. You're all sticky down in your pants. But I missed it. I like to see naked men walking around my house. I like to see their hairy bodies and their penis wobble a little as they walk. I like when he's naked for me too, he's taken it all off and crawls all over me,” she said.
“I like to touch women. Sometimes I get lonely and that's all I wanna do is just touch a woman all over.”
“Oh sweetie, you're telling me. I was so lonely in prison. So scared sometimes, so worried, so stressed out. Around that third year I was convinced I was gonna die in there. I don't know what got me through. I was so lonely and all I wanted to do was see a naked man come towards me and feel his dick slide up in me.”
“That's reasonable.”
“I really want to have sex,” she said giving me a funny look.
I looked at her and thought she was crazy. She was trying to get me to have sex with her on a Greyhound bus as it passed through Pennsylvania. I was at least 15 years young than her. But I was bored and lonely and hadn't had sex in a long time and said, “I don't know if we can have sex, but I'll finger fuck you.”