Orange is the New Black: A New Life
Chapter 2 - Piper
"Okay, I know things have been bumpy. I know they have been more than bumpy. I think, we're still in an adjustment perio–"
"I'm being transferred." Those three words stopped my well-rehearsed preface.
"What?"
"To Ohio," Alex adds.
"They can't do that."
"Oh, but they can," her head nods and at the end scoffs in the sarcastic way that she has, "and it's happening." Then, to my dismay, her expression and voice reflective, she adds, "and I think it might be a good thing."
I am stunned. My internal voice says, How? My mouth ajar, I can't seem to say anything though I want to shout, What? Are you fucking crazy? A good thing? How can you …
"Look at what we're doing," she continues, "It's not working. Fighting and cheating and negotiating."
"Haven't we always?" I counter.
"Yes, and we need to stop."
"You … I didn't want to leave y –"
"Please, I need to," Alex interjects over my pathetic rambling. "Just let me finish." She breathes. "I just want you to know how sorry I am for the fucked up detour you took with me."
"No." I shake my head. She is so wrong. Detour?
"I want you to go and be happy, and free."
I look her in the eyes, "Alex, you are not a detour for my life. You are my life!" My voice cracks with desperation.
Alex shrugs, "It doesn't mean we should be together."
"What about our marriage?"
"Oh, you know that wasn't official," she throws out indifferently, "We're prison married. You're not in prison any more."
I can no longer hold back my anguish; I break down.
"I'll think about you every day for the rest of my life. I hope you think about me, too," she says as I fall apart. "But I also hope that you find someone else to think about. Pipes, there's just been too much bad shit."
"Yes, there's been a lot of bad shit," I finally find my voice, "but I've also hurt you. Can't we just call it even?"
Alex tries responding, "Please …"
" You can't just …"
She speaks over me, "Please stop fighting this. You need to let me go, too. I am also asking for my freedom."
"Alex," I place my hand on the window separating us. If I could just touch her. I want her to reach out with her own. To place hers over mine. She is looking down, the strength of her easy facade cracking. Please, look back at me, I plea silently. Don't do this.
She takes a breath and looks up at me, her resolution firm. "I gotta go."
I stop her before she places the headset back into its cradle on the side of the wall. "I love you!" I tap my outstretched hand on the window. "I love you!"
She grins sweetly, "I will always love you." And I know she has spoken true. I can see it in her blue eyes which hold me in their gaze as she hangs up and leaves.
Completely devastated, I hang up.
For a long time, I stay in the cubicle's chair, stunned, bewildered; my spirit is in torment, no agony. It is so acute that my lungs contract and I can't take in breath. My heart bangs harshly, then stops. I know Alex is not coming back, but maybe. Maybe. I know I am lying to myself. I know it. What can I do? How can I fix this? What am I going to do?
I finally leave and go out to the bus stop to catch the bus that will take me back to the city. I am crying. I can't stop. I fumble with my gloves, my pocket, my purse. I take out my phone. I know that it has the number Alex used when she called me on her illegal cell phone. I turn on the phone and look through the most recent calls. I see calls from Cal, Neri, my mom, several from Zelda. I stare. Maybe I should call Zelda. She's going to, no she's probably already in Northampton. It is beautiful there. She's staying in an old farmhouse, but it's also where I first met Alex. I was in Northampton looking for work, applying to be a fucking waitress. What else was I going to do with a double major in communications and comparative literature? Teach? Hell no! I'm no good with kids. When I met Alex, I was simply looking for a job so I wouldn't have to go back to Connecticut and live with my fucking parents.
Alex was already in the bar, at a table with several other women, drinking beer from a bottle. I had just entered when she called me from where she sat. "Hey, you, Laura Ingalls Wilder." At first I wasn't sure if she was talking to me, but when I finally saw her, she clinked bottles with one of her companions, "We're skipping America before the apocalypse. You want to come?"
"Sorry?"
The bartender interrupted the exchange. I inquired about a job and tried to give him my resume. He was honest and said it would only end up in a drawer. I was disappointed but … I should have been annoyed when Alex addressed me as Laura Ingalls Wilder, but to be honest, I thought it was funny. I loved Little House on the Prairie and had read all of the books as a kid. Alex intrigued me. I ordered a margarita so I had a reason to stay.
Alex strolled up to the bar and set her beer down. "It's a little cold out for a margarita don't you think?" She picked up my resume and read aloud. Her voice was deep and sultry. She immediately informed me that most of my resume was bull. I had no experience waiting tables. I didn't know how she knew, but I confessed that she was right..
"So, Piper Chapman. A Smith grad with excellent listening skills. Passionate about making diners feel good." My drink arrived and with a gesture and brevity of words she told the bartender to put it on her tab. "Safe, clean, and careful when handling food and drink," she read. She looked at me, "I like that in a woman. What else do I need to know about you?"
"Who are you?" I couldn't take my eyes off her. God, she was sexy gorgeous with smoky blue eyes framed by mascara and black librarian glasses, dark red lipstick, tattoos–three large roses and a woman on her right arm, a tribal bracelet on her right wrist, and others I would discovery as I came to know her– and long dark hair that she wore pulled back. That night she wore a sleeveless jumper with alternating vertical black stripes and a white tank underneath. A thick cross with dark stones hung from her neck and she was so cock sure of herself.
"My name is Alex," she said.
"What do you do, Alex, besides make fun of strangers in bars?"
She replied, "I work for an international drug cartel."
Of course, I thought she was joking.
She wasn't. That's why she's in prison. For a little over a year and a half, I was in prison with her. On the day I got out, Nicky, our best friend, married us. Now, Alex is being transferred. To Ohio. Fucking Ohio and instead of working out our problems, Alex no longer wants me. "What about our marriage?" "You know that wasn't official. We're prison married. You're not in prison any more." She wants her freedom even though she doesn't love that fucking CO. CO McCullough! I want to rip her face off with my bare hands. I want to bury her in a hill of red fire ants with honey spread all over her body. Fuck her! Fuck Alex for fucking her! Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck!
The bus comes and I get on for the three hour ride back to Brooklyn. For the entire length of the journey, a million thoughts, all of them about Alex, crowd me. I stare at the list of recent calls, especially at the number to Alex's contraband phone. Would she answer if I called? I should have pressed the receiver icon before the bus came, I chide myself. The conversation needs to be private, not on a fucking bus
I should have called at the bus stop, but an elderly woman with two small children was already there. Others came as I waited. I I didn't want their pity at the sight of my tears and distress. I didn't want to witness their scorn as they heard me plea. Besides, what if Alex no longer has the phone or what if a CO is nearby and hears the phone ring or vibrate? Alex would get in trouble, receive a shot or two, be sent to the SHU, or have extra time added to her sentence. I can't do that to her. I turn the phone off and put it away in my purse. I look out the bus window, bleary eyed and silent. A few minutes later, the phone is once again in my hand. I stare at it. My finger comes close to opening a connection, but I shut it off and put it away. This happens several times more, but when I get off the bus, I put the phone in my purse and zip the opening to my purse and walk home.
At home, in the room I rent from my brother, Cal, and his entrepreneurial wife, Neri, I lock my door and fling myself on my bed. When they come to ask how I am, I tell them "fine" and ask to be left alone. I can't think anymore. My mind is a fog. My phone is charging, but I open it and stare at the wallpaper, a picture of Alex. She is smiling, happy. I took this picture years ago when we were still traveling together. I never deleted it. I have a couple more. Even engaged to Larry, before prison, I would look at them when I missed her.
Is Alex happy now? What if she is? I start to cry again. I take the phone off its charger and hold it closely, hugging it to my chest. This is how I find myself the next morning, fully clothed on top of my bed hugging the picture of Alex on my phone, except it has died and is dark.
Cal, Neri, and Goodall, their daughter, are in the kitchen finishing breakfast when I emerge from my room. Cal and Neri watch me. Cal is my younger and most beloved brother. He resembles a cherubic, marshmallowy lumberjack with reddish blonde hair, a small beard, and mustache. Cal is such a sweet, loving man. His wife, on the other hand, takes getting used to. This morning, her untamed brown hair frames her wild eyes as she coaxes Goodall to eat the organic whole oatmeal Cal has spent at least twenty minutes cooking. The pot sits in the sink. The jar with organic honey sits open on the counter.
"Cal, she's still not eating. Come on, Goodall."
Goodall is more interested in grabbing her bowl. Neri pushes it away.
"Maybe add a little more honey."
"Damn it, Cal. A tablespoon is enough! I don't want her rotting out her teeth before they even have a chance to come in."
"Maybe she's just not hungry."
"She should be. She hasn't eaten since dinner."
"Hey, Pipes," Cal sees me.
"Hi," I say. I take a small glass from the cupboard and open the fridge to remove a partially filled glass bottle of hand-squeezed organic orange juice and empty it into the glass.
Neri eyes me, then says, "Piper, I need you to get more juice today. I think you drank most of that bottle yourself."
"Sure," I say, taking a sip. "I just wanted to make sure no one needed the bathroom. I want to take a shower."
"Not too long," replies Neri. "I still need to get ready."
"Okay." Taking my glass of juice, I turn to go.
"Pipes?" Cal's voice stalls me. I turn back. "Are you alright?"
"Didn't you go to the prison yesterday?" Neri asks.
"I don't want to talk about it." I leave.
Behind me I hear a not so muted conversation. "I bet they broke up." Neri's voice penetrates.
"Maybe I should take her out," Cal says.
"I think not," Neri says. "The two of you get into too much mischief when you go out alone."
"That was months ago. Besides, we have no repairs scheduled today."
"You came home loaded. I don't want that around Goodall."
I close the door to my bedroom and set my glass on the nightstand next to the bed. I sit on the bed. I see my phone next to the glass. I keep the plug in the phone and look at my messages. There are none. I flop back on the bed and cry. I don't know how long I've been there when I hear Neri at my door. "Piper, I thought you were going to shower. If you're not, I need to get ready to run some errands."
"Go ahead," I call out, my voice cracking. "I can wait."
A couple hours later I wake up. Crust from dried tears has glued my eyes shut. I rub them, listening to the bathroom. It's silent. In fact, the entire house is still.
I get up and grab what I need. The hall is empty. No one appears to be home. Like the hall and house, I am empty. I lock the bathroom door, turn on the tap and let the water warm up as I pee. When I flush the toilet, I step into the tub and activate the nozzle. The spray hits me on the head and face. Artificial tears mingle with the ones that course again down my cheek. I lather up with shampoo and then let the spray sluice away the foam and sticky feeling of sleep. I watch the soapy residue swirl in a stream to the drain where it circles and disappears.
I notice my feet. They are bare. I no longer need to wear shower shoes. The tub is clean, sanitized beyond hospital standards. I don't have to worry about catching athlete's foot or any other foot fungus. Per Neri's instructions, I will scrub it down when I get out.
This is one perk about not being in prison. No more shower shoes. I threw mine away when I left prison. I wonder if Alex will take hers. No she won't. I didn't get to take mine when I went to Chicago for Kubra Balik's trial. I had to go without in Chicago. My commissary funds never caught up with me. I bought a new pair when I returned to Litchfield. I wonder if Alex has enough in her commissary for new slippers. What about shampoo, soap, razors, and other incidentals? If I put money into her commissary, would she be angry? Would she call?
I need her. She needs me. Maybe she doesn't need me. Maybe that's why she broke up with me. She doesn't need me. But, I need her. Maybe I should go back up to the prison. It's Sunday. I could visit. I could get on the list. If I hustled, I could get to the station for the afternoon visitation period. I can, I open Google on my phone and input the name of the visitation site. I stop. Even if I went up, would Alex even see me? Would she? I don't know what to do.
The water has turned cold and I find I am sitting in the tub, my knees pulled up to my chest. I am balling. I cannot control myself. I have never been this sad. I feel like a part of me is dying. I hurt so much. I turn off the water and get out of the tub, which I wipe down. Grabbing a towel I dry off and return to my room. I realize I don't want to stay home. I dry my hair and dress. I throw on a long sleeve black sweater with blue horizontal lines and buttons on the side, a pair of soft jeans, and my favorite brown ankle boots. I grab my red and black hooded jacket and my house key. I go out and head to the East River where there's a long meandering path. I usually run there, but now, I don't want to run. I just want to walk. I have no where I really want to go, but the river, there is something about a river.
Rivers are calm when flow quietly
You can hear from distance very gently
It touches the bank and flows silently …
Plenty of water to be enjoyed while on stroll.
The lines flow in my thoughts as they have done at other times when I walk here alone. I forget who wrote it, a Mehta something.
From Vernon to Noshtrand to Flushing, I walk under the 278 and pass the Brooklyn Naval Yard until Navy Street turns into Hudson. If I were running I wouldn't stop, but I've forgotten my gloves and my hands are cold. I stop at the cafe for a cup of coffee. Two more blocks, I turn left and walk past Con Edison to a bridge that takes me down to the John Street Park. The sky is like slate with clouds. There's a possibility of snow later today. Still, the Manhattan skyline rises like the glass and stone sentinels they are. The bridges obscure parts of the view, I take a final sip of my now cold coffee and toss the cup into a trash can. I walk under the Manhattan Bridge and continue west along the path that runs parallel along the river.
I look out over the river and take deep breaths. There is a small beach. Compared to Bali and Java and Thailand, it makes me giggle a little and I think back to Alex and I lazing around, goofing off. How I wish she were here with me now, holding hand, listening to the gentle lap of the water. Across the little inlet a calliope catches my attention. The carousel. It would be so fun to ride on one of the horses, to feel the motion of it soaring up and galloping down, to pretend to be a little girl again and ride with wild abandon, pretending I was on a real horse galloping across a field, chasing cattle, bandits, jumping over fences. The music draws me and I find myself outside the glass pavilion. The calliope sings as the carousel spins. Parents are there with their children. I watch and listen to the intermingling of the children's laughter and the music. Maybe I should bring Cal and Goodall, maybe Neri, I don't know. Maybe when Goodall is older. Cal would enjoy it. Maybe I could buy a ticket. It's only two dollars, but the irony of a carousel ride is too much. I don't think I could hold back my grief. Carousels are for happy times.
I walk under the Brooklyn Bridge and the glorious skyline of the financial district and the new World Trade Center take center stage. At Granite Prospect, I stop. For a long time, I stand and stare. That's what I do. I stand and stare. Finally with a sigh, I continue walking until I find myself at Pier 6 and Liberty Lawn. I leave the waterfront and walk up to Brooklyn Heights and then through the different neighborhoods.
Throughout, little movies play in my memory. All of them are of Alex. Alex and I meeting for the first time. Alex and I having sex for the first time. Mind-numbing sex that blew me away. Sex as I'd never experienced it before or after with anyone else. Alex and I in Paris, in Bali, Cambodia, Java, Thailand, Turkey. Her smile. Her sarcasm. Her contralto. Sometimes I can shut out the images and voice, but I cannot stop thinking or feeling.
I find myself in my old neighborhood, before prison. I don't think I intended to walk here, but I have and I have to pee. I think for a moment, but decide what the hell? I climb the stairs to the door and knock.
"I don't know what I'm doing here," I say when the door opens.
Larry looks at me with a bit of astonishment. He was my fiancé when I went to prison. Our break up put both of us, and Alex, through the wringer, especially since he fell in love with Polly, my best friend. I had not been nice. I had been down right mean and cruel. We've only seen each other once and that was when at Zelda's insistence we had dinner: Larry, Polly, Zelda, and me.
"Well, that makes the two of us. Are you okay?"
"I just started walking and it's like a homing instinct from when I lived here. Also, I have to pee. Is Polly home?"
Polly wasn't home. Larry invited me in. I used the bathroom. Larry was in the living room folding blankets by the playpen. So very, domestic. Perhaps if we'd stayed together.
Aromas scent the home Larry has made with Polly. I comment on them. Larry informs me that Polly is experimenting with making new scents for her soaps. Polly has a soap company. We'd started it together. Prison ended my participation. My cruelty ended my being involved again. Today, soap holds no interest for me.
Butterscotch, Starlight Mint, and Dad's Root Beer Barrel, they're inspired by candies sold next to cash registers at middle-tier restaurants, he tells me.
"That's specific," I comment while touring the living room.
"Yeah, that's my lady," he says proudly.
"The room looks different."
"Yeah. Polly redecorated, and then re-redecorated. Third time's a charm. Well, for now. It tends to happen when she's stressed and you know with the baby. I suspect a new couch is coming any day now."
A baby. When I thought I was pregnant before I left for prison, he had hinted strongly that I should have an abortion. With Polly, who already has a son, he is happy. He wants her child. What would it have been like if I had been pregnant at Litchfield? Would Alex have wanted to be my friend, let alone my lover–my love. Would we have gotten together again? Fallen in love again? Become engaged? Married? Been my wife?
I start to sob.
Larry goes into semi-flight mode, "Oh, Piper, you know–you know, I'm not–I'm not good with the crying"
I lean my head against the jamb between the entrance and the living room. "Alex broke up with me." It's the first time I've said it out loud. "She said she wanted to set me free. I don't know what to do."
Sarcastically, he replies, "Celebrate?" This only pisses me off. "Sorry. I'm sorry. Old scars." He hands me a pack of sanitized baby wipes. "Here, wipe your nose."
"This could have been my living room. These could have been my boogie wipes." I wipe my face.
"No. No. Piper, they couldn't. Because you didn't actually want to be with me. You wanted to be with Alex. You always wanted to be with Alex."
"Oh, Larry … Larry, I wanted to be with you." I set the package of wipes down, "but Alex. It's like we met and I grew another limb and it's like she's a part of my body and now she doesn't want to be with me."
"That's not what she said. She said she wants to set you free … and I think that's really nice of her; because, I also think that she's a destructive piece of shit."
"Please do not say," I jump in, "anything mean. I know you all think that she ruined my life, but please."
"No, Hold on," Larry counters. "I didn't say that, and … I don't think that. In fact, I think in a lot of ways, she made your life. I think you were this cute blonde girl from Connecticut, going to Smith, on your road and you looked ahead and saw everything, your whole life just laid out in front of you, this nice life, this normal life, and a part of you said, 'Fuck that! I want to be special.' Alex was your ticket to special. You got to live this life of intrigue. You were above the law and then you got scared and you reverted back to your old path. That's me. Right? And our–and our life together. And you saw this life laid out in front of you, this nice life, this normal life, and this time you said, 'Fuck it! I'm tired. Let's do this.' But I think the restless part of you, it just would have risen up again at some point. So lucky for all of us that Alex named you, because now, once again, you're special."
"Jesus! Where did you formulate this theory about me and my life motivations?"
"Been working on it for a little while now. Going over it in my head. Talked to two different therapists about it. They both think I've nailed it, by the way." He is so smug.
"I did not want to go to prison, Larry!"
"I'm sure."
"It was awful!"
"I believe you, but I also think maybe this was the best thing that ever happened to you, because now you can never be nice and normal again. You're the ex-con, which in our circles is quite exotic."
"We're not in the same circles."
"Because look. Look at the choices that you're making, Piper. That woman that we met the night we all went out to dinner? She's great. She's hot. She–she has a cool job."
"She has an amazing apartment."
"She has an amazing apartment. She's on her way and she likes you. And all you can think about is Alex."
"Because I love Alex."
"Yeah, because you love Alex, but also because you love what being with Alex represents."
"Larry, stop! This is bullshit! You don't know me any more." He chuckles disdainfully. "You may have known a version of me, but you have no idea who I am now. This whole narrative you created? I am not that self-destructive."
"Aren't you?"
"No!. I am heartbroken and I don't know what to do," I break down, but stop myself. "I may go to Northampton."
"You want to go back to school?"
"No. Zelda's in Northampton. She asked me to come join her."
"Okay? Well, see? Great, then you can go. You've got choices. You can go to Northampton and see what that's all about."
"Or, I might stay here and wait for Alex."
Larry sighs, "Yeah, of course, there's that. Yeah, I would probably put some money on that."
"You are working off an old version of me."
"Okay, then here's my advice. Go do what the new Piper would do."
My problem? I don't know what that is.
Dinner is over. I have helped Cal with the dishes. He keeps asking me what is wrong and I still don't want to tell him. I'm afraid his advice will be the same as Larry's. I don't want to hear it. I give him a simple kiss on the cheek when we are done and return to my room. I sit on my bed and take out my phone. I check to see if I have any messages. There's one. It's from Zelda. It's a picture of the farmhouse the organization she's working with is putting her up in. It is darling. It has a wrap-around porch, a stone foundation, and in the back, a hot tub sunk in a deck extending from the porch peeks from the corner. It would be wonderful to go there. Take a break from my problems.
I check Zelda's Instagram to see if she's loaded any more pictures.
There are two. The first is the one she just sent me of the farm house. The second is of the back of the house. This one confirms the existence of the hot tub and a lovely garden with naked rose bushes. I can imagine them in bloom. The entire property would be so beautiful. I sigh.
I scroll up to see what else she has. I've seen these before. She has pictures and videos of us: at the gym exercising on the floor, me encouraging her to keep her core firm, our heads together as we lay on the floor giggling, ogling humongous cookies, me wearing an enormous grin sitting in one of the swings at her office, having lunch, dinner with Larry and Polly, both of us at her benefit. A revelation smacks up hard against my stupid, ignorant, inattentive–
I set my phone down.
Did Alex see these pictures? Yes. I know she did. The night McCullough accosted me, that was the night of the fundraiser. I had told Alex about the fundraiser when she called. I was at my parents' with mom in her bedroom. She was looking through her closet for a dress I could wear. Alex's voice sounded cool and uncomfortable. I realize now, there had been a change in her tone. Cool certainly, but now I realize there was sadness, too "How many times?" she had asked when I confirmed that I was with Zelda the morning after McCullough had accosted me and told me of their relationship.
Looking at Zelda's site from an illegal phone in her prison cell, I realize what Alex thought? If I had been in her place, in prison, seeing Alex with Zelda having fun, connecting on some kind of level, I know where my brain would go. I would have been jealous and suspicious. But, until McCullough's disclosure, Zelda had only been a good friend. Nothing had been going on. Yet, when I told Alex about the fundraiser, she didn't ask me not to go. She'd simply said, "Oh."
At the fundraiser, Alex had called. I could have taken it and stepped aside to speak with her; I had ignored it. Over and over. I had ignored her repeated calls. That was before McCullough showed up. I am sick.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" I vent my frustration against the mattress. I want to throw things. How could I have been so stupid? So unknowing? Insensitive?
Poor Alex. I should have spoken to her more. Gone up to visit more, even if I felt tongue tied. I could have gone, gazed into her amazing eyes and beautiful smile. Her hair. I could have told her how amazing she looked. I could have told her how I longed to touch her. I should have insisted that she talk, tell me what she was thinking, worried about.
I stare and finally I know what I need to do. I grab my phone and start searching. I follow links and read. I search again and read more. More searches lead me to more questions and more searches and I make notes, a to-do list really. I am excited. The first hurdle will be Mom and Dad. I will need their help, and blessing.
The only problem is they hate Alex.
(This is a work of fanfiction based on the Netflix series Orange is a New Black. The story begins at the point the series ended. I do not intend to make any money from this endeavor. If you make any comments, please do so. I enjoy relevant feedback and critiques. I apologize for any mistakes in any foreign language, especially my Spanish. Please let me know of the proper usage. I hope you enjoy the story. I plan to upload updates every week.