/Bold sections are flashbacks
/Italic sections are letters/emphasis/internal thoughts
A bag of Rold Gold flew on a collision course for Polly's head. She ducked just in time as it hit the wall, both women hearing about half the bag instantly smashed to bits.
"Geeze Pipes, what the hell?"
"You were supposed to catch it, you oaf. Now they're all broken." She walked over and inspected the bag before dumping the contents in a bowl.
"I catch with my hands, not my face! That's it. I am seriously going to reduce your pay rate." Polly fished around her cabinets for more snacks. What is a game night without cheese balls, chips and dip, and the veggie platter that nobody ever touches?
"It doesn't work like that; I am salary. You know, technically, since you are my business partner, any time I spend with you I should be getting paid." Piper looked to her best friend, flashing her a mischievous grin.
"Fine. Then I'll file a report for assault, hurling items at my head for no reason. Still want that overtime?" She picked up her phone threateningly and looked over at the blonde.
"Everyone knows I couldn't hurt a fly even if I wanted to. You know how Larry complains every time I make him move a spider out to the fire escape," Piper pointed out. How could such a pretty little girl like her ever cause harm to someone on purpose?
Polly rolled her eyes. "He only complies to stop your shrieking. Two words Pipes, Phidippus audax."
"Okay, THAT spider was ginormous. AND it jumped. I swear, it tried to latch onto my face." Both women shivered at the memory. The spider had been at least two inches long. And a jumper. Piper had locked herself in the bathroom, an entire roll of toilet paper wadded under the door gap. Polly had thought someone was trying to break in until she got Piper to calm down enough over the phone and sent Pete to her rescue.
"Sure Pipes, sure." They both chuckled. "You seem more cheery than the normal 'let's-get-to-business' Piper that I am use to. What's the special occasion?"
Piper bounced on the balls of her feet. Maybe she was more relaxed than usual. With all the business meetings and paperwork she had been gradually putting in longer and longer hours at the office. Piper didn't mind the extra work, especially because Popey was flourishing, due in part to her efforts.
"Well, Larry asked me out on a date and it's not to our local watering hole." Getting that man to go anywhere out of the way or expensive was like trying to pull teeth.
"Aw that's sweet. Are you nervous about it?"
"No, it's not like it's our first date. We both just work long hours. By the time we see each other at home we are both so tired we just pass out on the bed. I think it is his attempt at keeping us from turning into workaholics," Piper admitted, trying to fish out the broken pretzels from the tray.
"Then what are the nerves from?" Piper looked up from her platter.
"You can be a real pain in the ass, you know."
Polly smiled, completely unoffended. "Comes with being nosey. Sooo... why the jumpiness?"
Piper sighed. "Because I am just paranoid and overreacted. Must have been all those theatre classes at Smith. You were right."
"Say that again."
"Say what?" Piper asked innocently. "...Fine, fine. Polly, you were right."
"I told you so," Polly said as Piper silently mocked her. "But really, I am glad you are feeling better. You had be worried for a bit Pipes."
"I am too. God it is just so nice to talk to her." Polly caulked an eyebrow.
"Did she only just get back to you? Who knew it takes Supercunt months to write a simple response? Speaking of which, you know it all doesn't count, right? Because you are not you. You are getting her to trust a person that doesn't actually exist." Polly popped a carrot into her mouth.
She didn't know what to say. "Bu.. It's not.. At least she has someone."
"Yea sure, for now."
Piper was done talking about this. Her elation from Larry's date and Alex's letter had been deflated. "Thanks for bursting my bubble, bestie."
"Anytime Pipes, anytime."
L.I.W.-
I should have you know that I pass wind no more than any other normal person. However, the women in here are disgusting and I am pretty sure that I have heard and seen more open displays of bodily functions here than I have in my entire life. Furthermore, I don't snore. At least no one has ever outright told me that I do. My bunkie, on the other hand, sounds like a lawnmower. I wish I was kidding.
The Ghetto doesn't associate with me because I am White. The Spanish Harlem hates me because I am gay. The Golden Girls just don't give a shit about anything. Half of White Suburbia hates me because they follow this crazy meth-head who is convinced that "Mr. Christ" will banish all lesbians to hell during the rapture. Anndd now I sound like a racist. Before you process that and slap a label on me, let me explain. Being here is like being back in the nineteen fifties. Most things are separated out by race. The African American dorms were dubbed "The Ghetto." The Hispanic dorms were labeled "The Spanish Harlem." Caucasian sleeping quarters are considered "The White Suburbs." Each also have their own separate bathrooms. Anyone over fifty is classified as one of the "Golden Girls," for obvious reasons. They told me when I was allowed in general population that "it's tribal, not racist." The officers also said it was for our own protection, to keep fights to a minimum. Think Arthur Laurents's West Side Story and you are not too far off the mark. So, that is apparently the long explanation of why everyone hates me.
A Jehovah's Witness? Did you give them a piece of your mind? I am not a very religious person. The fact that every single religion thinks all the others are going to their individual versions of "hell" doesn't appeal to me. Plus, the whole exclusivity factor.. doesn't exactly welcome me with open arms, you know?
Oh yes, those touchy "hot topics." Honestly I wouldn't mind discussing them. Or debating about them, depending on your views. I support that a woman has a right to make decisions about her own body, though I could never choose to have an abortion for personal reasons. If it really doesn't affect me then who am I to judge? Lucky for me I don't have to worry about that ever being a problem. Great segue into the next topic. I completely support gay marriage. The whole idea of marriage isn't really my scene, but trying to withhold rights that another couple has just because one member isn't hairier or has dangly parts? Not cool. Love between two members of the same sex is very real and doesn't merit invalidation simply because people cannot accept it. Their love is just as strong, just as potent, just as all-consuming, and just as devastating. If not more.
Anyway, I am surprised that you are not completely repulsed by the midget. She might tone down on the nasty with you though. I am not sure. I'm not nosey enough to butt myself into her business like she did with me. At least not her private correspondence. Her relationships are a totally different matter. Ask her about "Morello" sometime if you don't already know about them.
There are a few people in here that I've made friends with. Nicky is one of them. There are a few more. It seems we have formed our own little clique, of sorts. Sometimes it actually feels like I am back in high school. I did want to mention, before I forget, that I appreciate what you are doing for Nicky. I've noticed she gets a letter almost every mail period and when her name is called her face literally lights up. Before she never got any letters or visitors and it sucked watching her be let down week after week. It still is pretty depressing when I pass the visitation area and see her standing at the window. Her mother is one piece of work.
To set the record straight, I am not a giant. I am 5' 10". The Carhartt boots they give us here add about an inch and a half and I don't slouch. So really, most of the time it seems closer to six feet. Keep in mind, most of the women here are really short, like Nichols. And they exaggerate. Like, a lot.
Really, I am not lucky. If I were, I don't think I would be here, in this position, contacting you in this fashion.
I suppose I can admit to being a jerk. I have my moments.
My sense of smell is perfectly fine. I don't hate animals, as I said before I never really had time for them. As much as I use to fight it, my job really ran my life. And destroyed it. I was told once that it was ruining everything good in my life. That person was right. I should have listened.
I could have had a puppy. Or maybe a goldfish.. baby steps.
I've never really been a fan of working out. My exercise typically consisted of.. a lot less sweating and a lot less clothing. The GED programs are a joke. Not only that, but the building has been condemned due to toxic mold throughout all the interior walls. You couldn't pay me to step foot in there. Maybe I just need some fresh air. You'd think in the nearly six months I've been here I would have thought of that on my own. I swear the stupidity I am surrounded by is infecting my brain cells. God help me.
My old job I worked for an International Drug Cartel. Basically the behind the scenes scheduler/importer. I told people where to be and when, no questions asked. Now I wash and fold stained prison uniforms. Sorry you asked yet?
I know quite a few people that have been waitresses. A couple starving actors. Artists trying to make it big. One of my ex's actually use to be a waitress on Steinway by Broadway. That's a good area for getting tips, at least I think. It might have just been her personality though; she was a real people-pleaser and the customers just ate that up. Why do you say you were a bad waitress?
You're not bothering me with the letters. If you were I wouldn't reply. I do still have some control over my life, however small. The only reason it takes me so long to get back to you is because I have a lot of shit going on. Legal matters and such. Typical bullshit.
Of course I have read E.E. Cummings. It has been.. a long time. A brush up on his works was a good idea. Thank you for offering to send reading material, however, I will not request anything. If you send something that is fine but it will be of your own accord. Don't let Nicky take advantage of that either. There is a term for that in prison: "commissary hoe."
-Alex Vause #1975-0425
Federal Department of Corrections
900 Litchfield Avenue
Litchfield, New York 13357
Author's Note: I looked at so many pictures of spiders to find the right one that I am going to have big, hairy, spidery nightmares. I hope it was worth it to you guys. Leave a review if you want more.
