Orange is the New Black: A New Life Chapter 15
Alex
"So how did it go?" asks Jones when I finally return from my cell. It's four-thirty, dinner time at the zoo. The server hasn't appeared yet. I am hungry. I am happy. I sit at the end of the table, opposite Boo and next to Jones.
"Hey!" Diaz turns around from the table behind where she is sitting with Montoya and de la Cruz and a couple other Latinas I haven't met. "That girl of your. You look happy. You make up?"
"Perhaps a little phone sex?" Boo wiggles her brows like Groucho Marx.
"Don't be gross," Boo. I raise my voice, "But to answer you and everyone else invested in Piper's and my relationship, we are fine. She's in Cleveland working at Starbucks and going to law school. There is a Shake Shack a mile from the apartment,"
"Shake Shack," several around the table moan with orgasmic need.
"Vause, that is uncalled for," says Boo.
"I love food porn," whines Murphy.
"What I wouldn't give for a thick gooey – Fuck!" Boo explodes. Heads turn as members of the kitchen crew roll in the food carts. As the kitchen ladies leave, women move to pick up their trays.
"I miss Red's food."
"And the garden."
"What I wouldn't give to have fresh corn on the cob."
The conversation stays on food. I listen and when the current wave of hungry inmates dies, I join my table mates and head over to the carts.
The odor coming from the cart doesn't remind me of any food I have ever had. I try to discern the menu as I look at passing trays and I do have a thought about what I might be putting in my mouth. My turn. I pull out a tray. I sniff it. Still not sure. Before I head back to the table, I fill the small plastic coffee cup in the tray's circle holder with what the kitchen calls coffee.
I return to my place at the table and unwrap the spork and napkin. I poke at the item in the main rectangular space in the tray's front. It doesn't moo or oink. It doesn't even cluck. Those watching me laugh.
"What is this shit?" Diaz asks from the table behind me.
I want to ask the same question, but DeMarco answers. "We call it Tuesday mystery meat."
"As opposed to Wednesday or Thursday mystery meat?" I ask.
"You got it." Boo takes a bite.
"It's actually better than MCC camp."
"I think it's meatloaf," says Murphy, who digs in.
"And this," I spork a glob.
"Creamed spinach."
"Also not bad." Murphy offers a critique.
"It's either eat or starve," says Jones.
This is true so I join the adventure and eat what is in front of me. The next morning, I wake with the worst diarrhea. I apologize to Jones and the neighboring cells.
Piper
"So who was responsible for this objection?"
"Antonin Scalia and Frank Easterbrook."
"Who built on whose precedence?"
"Easterbrook built on Scalia's 1989 opinions."
"Explain."
I sigh. This has been going on since before I took my seat. I had a feeling this would happen. A hapless twenty-one year-old skidded his car into the back end of a massive Ford F-150 supercrew cab. His mother picked him up at the repair shop where the car had been towed. He was only ten minutes late and when he explained what had happened, in tears, Professor Anderson Ingram had no ounce of pity. "Think of me as a judge and you are late to court," he said. For the next twenty minutes he quizzes the kid on the assignments until he was a babbling ball of mush. He knew some of the answers, but the trauma of the morning had erased anything he might have known. I feel sorry for the kid and am piqued by the callousness of what Ingram is doing.
So it is no surprise that it was now my turn. Ingram had warned us on the first day of class that tardiness and absenteeism would not be tolerated. He is still miffed by my tardiness yesterday. I don't care. I have Alex. Plus I am prepared. I answer his question. "In 'Judicial Deference to Administrative Interpretations of Law', a speech Scalia gave at Duke Law in 1989, his other writings, and court decisions," I pause. My sentence structure is haywire. "Legislative history should not be used when determining the meaning of a law. A judge should accept the plain meaning of the statutory text at issue. A judge can view the structure of the statute or, as Scalia put it, the 'corners' to gain insight into the meaning of the language. This can be found in Karahalios v. National Federation of Federal Employees Local 1263, in 1989 and Davis v. Michigan Department of Treasury, also in 1989. Finally, other related provisions of enacted statutes may be considered by comparing wording and the meaning attached to those words. This is found in Scalia's concurring opinion in Green v. Bock Laundry Machine–also in 1989. Easterbrook's paper 'What Does Legislative History Tell Us' was published by the University of Chicago Law in the sixty-sixth edition of the Chicago-Kent Law Review was published a year later in 1990."
"What in Green?" he asks.
I check my notes, thank God for notes. Always research and know the cases in the footnotes and the footnotes of those cases. I've read and seen Paper Chase, the movie and television show. I watched Paper Chase, the movie, again before my classes started. Dr. Ingram is my Professor Kingsley, but he looks nothing like John Houseman, who played the role. Ingram is tall and lean, more like Disney's Ichabod Crane, but with wire-framed glasses, the kind John Denver wore. My mother loves John Denver and the symphony.
"Paul Green, the defendant, sued Bock Laundry Machine after his arm was torn off by a large drum in the drum of a car wash. He sued. The judge allowed into evidence testimony that Green had been convicted of burglary and a related felony. The jury found for the car wash." I go on and explain the case.
"Where is that from?"
"Stevens, writing for the court."
"What did Scalia say?"
I look back up at Ingram, "What Scalia disagreed with was the scope by which the Court used legislative history in its determination of its decision."
Please let this be over. I plea in my head, but it isn't. "So what is the formalism argument?"
I take a deep breath and look back at his Ingrams thin pinched face and elongated patrician nose. "Legislative history is not law; not subject to mandatory constitutional processes," I look at my notes. It risks the manipulation of legislative history to circumvent Article I, Section 7 which defines the executive action in making law, and according to," I look up from my notebook., "Scalia said that 'leaving the details to the committees' is unconstitutional because the drafting power is non-delegable. It belongs to the legislative and not the executive branch."
"So, Ms. Chapman," he looks right back into my hopefully neutral face.
Okay buddy, I say to myself. I can do this. Bring it on, baby. Bring it on. I like winning and I am going to beat you, but I promise myself to never be late again.
She is here. I can hardly believe my eyes. Tall, dark hair falling loose to her back, pale from lack of sun, the most stunning blue eyes, gentle fierceness, confident, shy, her long fingers undo the six buttons as her gaze rivets me speechless. She bends only a little and captures my mouth with her own. The kiss is at first sweet. Lips brushing lips. Hers are smooth and pliable. They taste of peppermint, her favorite. Mine, too.
With the buttons undone, she slides off my shirt and releases the clasps of my bra and lets it drop. A hand palms and squeezes my right breast, her favorite. Then it slides down to my torso. Her mouth explodes and subjugates mine, crushing, and thrusting with a tongue that quickly sets me on edge. I can't breathe, I can't think, I can barely remember my name. The back of my legs hit a bed. She unfastens my jeans and pushes them down, followed by the underwear she finds sexy.
I am naked and she takes me into her arms and crushes me against her. I feel her larger, pillowy breasts push into me. I pull her even closer, harder. I return kisses with a fierceness of my own. She starts to push me back.
"No," I gulp.
"Huh?"
I pant. "No, I need." I pull a khaki shirt up and over her head. The white combat bra follows as quickly and her breasts are free and mine. Next come the khaki pants and granny panties. She is smiling now, understanding my need.
Heart racing and short of breath, the edge is coming, the apex. Stimulation overwhelms. The mind is about to explode. Breath, tongue, fingers-"Oh, God! … God" I am on the verge. Oh yes, so close. I grab the hand fondling my left boob and press it down harder. "Alex! Please."
That gorgeous face, the most beautiful eyes, sans sexy librarian glasses, peer above my crest. The face wears a wicked grin. "Show, babe. Don't tell."
She disappears and after a forever moment I come plunging, slingshotting, tumbling; as a wheeling corkscrew cyclone needing to catch my breath. She crawls back up my vibrating torso, grabbing my mouth in hers. I gulp in her breath, my life force, her tongue, I take it all in and meet her intensity. I capture her head and hair in my hands, lips following as she pulls up for air. I follow, kissing her hungrily. We break. Soft laughter and little crinkles frame the corner of her eyes. I can't help giggling with her.
"Heart you, Pipes."
"Love you so much." I push against her shoulder, rolling her. I look down at her naked form beneath my own. "You are so beautiful." My hand glides down her torso to her hip. It stops for a moment, pondering a more southerly dip. That's not what it wants, not yet. It wants what the eyes now behold. One of my most favorite parts, though I have several, including that nether region, beckon and the hand moves north to cup a pendulous breast moving it a squeezing. Its sister slides into my mouth and I suck. It smells of marzipan and tastes of her. I kiss it and kiss it. A new arduous fever takes possession and Alex is mine. My hand, two fingers, she is groaning. I want to savor her. Take in her scent. Love her with all the fervor in me. Shoot her into outer space.
Alex
"Piper!"
I have bolted upright. My breath is heavy, labored. I am wet and sweaty. I smell.
"God damn, Vause. Is Piper really that good?" Boo says loud enough that her voice penetrates the wall next to my bunk. She laughs.
Jones's voice floats up from below. "You okay, Vause."
I nod. "Yeah. Sorry."
"I don't remember hearing about you at camp being like this." That's Boo again.
"No."
"Back then you two could be together."
"Yeah. It's been a long time."
"Not since camp?"
"No. We couldn't even be in the same cell together without getting a shot or being threatened with a shot. Look, sorry." I lay back down and roll on my side."
"I'm glad you're doing better." Jones' voice fade.
"Me, too." I close my eyes and try to remember the sensations, her touch, her mouth, her tongue, her scent. Piper's ghost and evidence of my arousal are present, but the rest was only a dream and they are gone.
Piper
The morning has been busy since Nancy opened the shop. It's Kurt's day off and Jewel is on nights this week, replacing a gal who was fired for giving free drinks to her friends. Parker is white female in appearance, but legally changed their name to better reflect the non-binary aspect of their personality. Parker Anton. They are just a tad shorter than myself, with broad well-developed shoulders, white western European skin, and the whitest set of teeth, but the left canine sticks out, a result of not wearing their retainer after their braces came off. The tooth had been one of a number of teeth that had been out of alignment before undergoing orthodontic treatment in high school. Parker says the tooth wants to be free, so they let it be free. Besides, they like the personality it gives to their smile.
They are hysterical, joking, and playing with one liners and word play. They is majoring in English with a minor in drama. They hope to write and make a living doing standup. After graduation, they intend to go to Chicago to join Second City or some other improv group. We usually work weekends together, but they wanted to switch to mornings because they intend to try out for a play and Nancy accommodated the request.
"Piper," Parker points to a woman standing near the counter where I put up my orders. "I believe she's yours?"
"Ms. Chapman."
"Professor Jackson." I am not surprised to see her. She comes in frequently, at least three times a week
"Sorry to interrupt. I can see you're busy. Merry asked me to give you her card. She wants you to call her this evening."
I take the card and give it a quick look before I pull the heating milk from the machine and pour it into a tall cup. I stick it in my pocket. "Is there a best time?" I ask. "I don't want to interrupt your dinner."
"Six-thirty?"
"I can't. That's when Alex is going to call." I stir the cup.
Jackson smiles. "So you've spoken."
"Yes," I reply. "Tall latte for Moni."
Dr. Jackson takes it with a laugh. "Then what about eight."
"I'll do that."
She takes a sip. "See you in class." She leaves.
"What was that about?" asks Parker, who is also incredibly nosey. They say they have to be. They're an observer of the human condition. That's where they find material for her act.
"Just a professor," I answer.
"And who's Alex? Your boyfriend?"
I don't want my life to be a part of their observations or any stand up routine, but I refuse to hide Alex and my relationship. "My wife," I say as I start my next order.
"Really. So you're …"
"Bi," I say.
"And female."
"Yes. And your wife?"
"One hundred percent lesbian."
"You don't talk about her."
"We like our privacy."
"Is she in the closet? Someone famous?"
"No."
"Why was your professor happy that you spoke with her? Tall Chai, Bonny"
"Alex travels."
"For work?"
"You can say that."
"So she's been gone?"
"Yes. Is it because you came to Cleveland for school? Is she still in New York?"
"Yes." I lie.
"Long distance relationships are so hard."
"Let me tell you about it," I agree. "Espresso Macchiato for John."
"I dated this girl from Akron. Did not go well, and Cleveland and Akron are less than forty miles apart."
"It's better now," I say. I smile. I can't wait to go home tonight.
Alex
A horn blasts. I am in my cell. To relieve boredom and the flavor of the dry, tasteless entree and flabby broccoli that I ate for dinner, I have brushed my teeth and am in the midst of gargling. Toothpaste, toothbrush, mouthwash, soap, shampoo, conditioner, a little plastic cup, shower shoes, and a green little caddy to hold everything, thank you very much, Piper. I am going to have fresh breath when I call her.
"Cells, ladies!" The COs command.
"What's happening?" I ask Jones as she walks in.
"Your guess is as good as mine."
A CO slams our door.
"What's going on?" Diaz's voice floats from downstairs. "Why we being locked in? There's no problem in this block."
"How long's this going to last?" I ask the CO outside our door.
"I don't know," she replies. "Orders came over the walkie talkie. Some kind of fight in Block B." She walks away.
"That's Block B," I yell out the door. "I'm supposed to call my wife in less than an hour."
"Might miss that call."
"Shit!" I whirl around and slam my hand against my mattress. Tears sting my eyes.
"Easy, Vause." Jones gives me a look that I means 'take it easy".
"I promised."
"She'll figure it out. She knows things happen that are out of our control in prison."
"Piper'll think that I don't care, that it's Litchfield all over again. "Fuck!" I slam my hand again.
"Maybe the lockdown will be short."
"Have you ever known a short lockdown?"
I climb up and sit on my bed. I have a book. I take my broken glasses from my pocket and situate them so I can read without too much eye strain. I read a sentence and have no idea what I've just read. I stare ahead. I want to scream. This is so fucked up. I wipe my eyes as a gray wall descends around me. I set the book down and lay down. I turn my face to the wall and cover my head with my pillow.
Piper
It is 7:58 pm. My phone rings and I expect to hear a recording announcing Cleveland FDC, "Yes, yes," I say automatically.
"Ms. Chapman?" The voice belongs to a woman. It registers in the alto range and is strong, but it is neither the recording nor Alex.
"Oh, sorry. Yes. Speaking."
"This is Merry Überman. I'm sorry. My wife gave me your number from her class database. I know I asked you to call, but my focus is too fractured. Our daughter collided with some chairs during basketball practice at school."
"Is she alright?"
"Broken collarbone. She'll be out for the rest of the season. Anyway, I need to postpone our talk. Can we meet for dinner perhaps tomorrow?"
"I don't know. Alex was supposed to call and she hasn't. Our scheduled time is six-thirty and I don't want to …"
"Of course. How about this? You don't have classes on Fridays, we could meet for breakfast."
I cringe. "My shift starts at 6 am."
"Tell your wife to call you in the afternoon on Friday and then we'll meet for dinner. Once settle Elizabeth, I'll speak to my wife about where and when."
"Sure. May I ask what for?"
"You can, but I want to speak with you first. Oh, the doctor is signaling that we can go back in. I'll see you Friday evening." The phone goes dead.
Now what? Why hasn't Alex called.?
Alex
The cell door unlocks at six. I have been awake for some time. I climb down from my bunk, grab my caddy, clean clothes, and towel. I pad out of my cell. I am not the only one headed towards the shower area. The movement is light enough that I should find an empty stall to wash my hair.
A CO stands at the entrance.
"Why the lockdown?" I ask.
The guy, CO Foster, I remember him from when I was brought into the blocks. Except for a quick glance of my attributes, which are well hidden beneath my blues, he has only his imagination. "Fight in B Block."
"Did anyone die?"
"Not that I heard. Just some hair pulling and scratching. Someone had some injury to her eye, but for the most part just bruises."
"Then why the lock down, especially in here? We weren't doing anything."
"I guess the lead CO felt like it."
"CO McGowan didn't look like the type to panic like that."
"Oh, she's the Captain. Wasn't here. She works six to six Monday through Friday. Oscar Mojica had lead duty."
"Oh."
"Lock'em down's his policy for most disturbances."
"I see. Thanks."
I go in and take my shower. I think as I lather my hair and skin. I don't like these showers. Like at Max, they are open to everyone walking by. More importantly, there is a constant draft. The curtains at camp kept the warmth in when we had hot water. I have goosebumps. It doesn't help that the water is only lukewarm. Heaven help anyone coming in later.
As I towel off and slip on my underwear and clean blues, a commotion engulfs the block. Breakfast should be out there, I think. Surely oatmeal, cold scrambled eggs, and dry Wonderfaux toast shouldn't cause that big of a response.
My curiosity is slaked when I exit the shower area. A large red horizontal wagon filled with stacked boxes sits in the middle of the block. A CO is handing out books to women who have formed a line. It is like Christmas, something new, something to alleviate the tedium and boredom. "Look, Vause," DeMarco holds up a hardback book with a cover with Judy King's image.
"King wrote a book about her stay with us."
"That was fast," I say. It's only been a year since the riot.
I put my stuff away in my cell and return, joining the diminished line for my copy. I take it to the table where my "gang" sits, set it down, and then head over for breakfast. Yep. Same as yesterday. Congealed oatmeal with a couple of raisins and brown sugar, cold overcooked scrambled eggs, and a slice of Wonderfaux bread toast. There is also the usual plastic coffee cup. I fill it with coffee, which I have decided is made by throwing a jar of instant into a big pot of boiling water.
I sit and eat the eggs and toast first.
"You were noisy last night, Vause," Boo says to me, loud enough for others to catch.
"Sorry,' I swallow and take a sip of the coffee. I take a second sip.
"So is Piper really that good?" Boo asks.
"Wouldn't you like to know," I say. More eggs go into my mouth.
"I'm asking."
Heads look my way. I swallow and eat the last of my egg. They wait. "Yes," I finally answer. "But I'm better." I sip coffee.
"Whoa," my friends whoop.
"That's thinking highly of yourself," says Boo. "With Nichols not here, maybe you and me make a little bet? See who can bag–
"No," I interrupt Boo. "I'm not playing. I'm with Piper."
"Surely?"
"No. Find someone else."
Boo starts to speak again, but Jones interrupts. "Boo, be good."
"Yes, Mom."
I finish the oatmeal and leave. I put my tray away and return with the book to my cell where I brush my teeth. I hop up onto my bed and read with my broken glasses.
I don't know what I was expecting of Judy's memoir, something blithe and sarcastic? Many parts are. However, as the narrative moves forward the prose turns reflective and honest and damning. She takes special aim at sentencing, MCC, the guards, and the warden. Especially poignant is Poussey's senseless death. The riot is a mix. The book ends with King's final reflections about her experiences.
By lunch, I am on the last chapter. I read fast and the prose is not overwhelming in complexity. Instead of my love life and my comatose responses to my sexually explicit dream, the afternoon is spent discussing the book and interrogating Jones about the three-way she had with King and Lustchek.
"What was it like kissing Judy?" I ask Jones
She gives me a smile.
"What about Luschek?" Boo's grin is evil.
The day goes by slowly. I finished reading Judy King's book by two and the conversation drags on through dinner. After dinner I have had enough of Judy King and hearing about everyone's experiences. Piper and I rarely even saw the woman. Both of us had our jobs and our own melodramas to worry about. I go back to my bunk, stash the book on the desk, and look at the brochures Rogers's given me for online college. I climb up onto my bed and look at them. I flip over the pamphlet.
Fuck! I lean my head against the wall and close my eyes. Piper is working so we can have a future. Sure this desire for a law degree is part of her quest for absolution and justice; I am not sure which weighs more heavily. Of course, she'll have a job, I'm certain of that. I need to do the same. Not for absolution, which in the long term I also need, and definitely not for justice. Piper's thirst to crusade scares me. I am jealous of it. During the riot, it took her away from me when we could have spent the three days together. It gave her more time incarcerated. It made her a target in Max. Madison would have nailed her one way or another at the kickball game, which Piper organized as part of her internal penance. Thank goodness she was set free. Law will also give her a good paying job. She is doing this to take care of us. She's already found us a home and is working to pay rent and school, and to take care of me. I must take care of her when I am freed. My gaze returns to the brochure.
I jump from the bed and return to the common area. It is six. Piper's final class of the day has ended and she is on her way back to her apartment. I look at the phones. Only half are in use. I return to my cell and freshen up: pee, brush my teeth, mouthwash, and pop a mint into my mouth.. I have no idea why I did the last two. Granted my mouth tastes minty fresh. I enjoy that feeling and freshness, but it's not like Piper can detect my breath or we can kiss. God, I so want to kiss her. I do. I grab the brochure. This also feels stupid, but if we have time, maybe.
I go downstairs and return to the common area. All of the phones are in use. I go to the usual table occupied by Red's old family and a couple who have joined them for the evening.
Angie and Leanne block me. "Getting ready for a date?" asks Angie.
"What?"
Leanne giggles, "We saw you brushing your teeth."
"And gargling with mouthwash," Angie completes in a sing-song tone.
"I like fresh breath," I move past them and saunter to the table. Romano, who never speaks, but has a beautiful singing voice, pats the stool next to her. "Not, yet, but thanks," I reply. My gaze is on the phone.
"Vause has a date." Angie comes up behind me.
"Vause has a date," Leanne joins in and they sing, "Vause has a date. Vause has a date."
"Go away," I shoo.
"Girls," Jones helps.
Suddenly, from behind, Leanne tugs on my pants and pulls them down."
"Fuck, you!" I turn around and swing, but the two meth heads have scampered off giggling hysterically.
"They, especially Leanne, have been doing that all day," says Brook.
"They're idiots." I pull up my pants. "Children. Are they on something?" I ask everyone at the table.
"I think the drugs have fried their impulse synapses." DeMarco draws circles around her head with an index finger.
"So, you're going to call?"
"That's the plan, but none of the phones are empty."
"Sit." DeMarco pats the empty stool between Romano and herself.
I do, but keep watch on the phones. "I can't miss tonight."
"Chapman knows how hard getting a phone is."
"Yeah, but I promised to call last night."
"You had no control over the lockdown," reminds Jones.
"Yeah, but I promised. I can't start off like this."
Romano gives my shoulder a pat.
Antsy, I wander over to the phone cubicles. I walk around to the back two, just in case someone left since coming down, maybe when the psychos were disrobing me. Fuck them! Idiots. Fuck! They are still being used. I walk back to the table and sit. My back is to the "family" as I keep my focus on the phones and the clock.
"What time are you supposed to call?" asks Jones.
"Between six-thirty and seven."
It's only six-thirty-five. You have time."
They shut the phones off at eight. I look at the clock. It's six thirty-six.
"Are you going to keep staring at the clock?" asks Murphy.
"And the phones," I answer.
"Do you think Piper will be angry about last night?" asks DeMarco.
"Angry about what?" Boo sits down next to Soso at the far end of the table. She wears a damp towel around her neck and is cleaning her ears with a cue tip, which she puts on the table when she finishes.
"Boo, throw that away!" DeMarco demands.
"DeMarco, don't test me." Boo makes a snarly face at Anita, takes the offending tip and puts it into the caddy she placed on the floor. "Fucking, meth heads depantsed me in there." She points towards the showers. "I'm all clean. Look," She stands for a minute. I turn and look back at her. The bottom half of her pants are soaked. "The floor is wet. A lot of girls taking evening showers. I almost smacked them right in the chops." I look back at the phones and clock.
"And have another lockdown?" remarks Murphy.
"Look I didn't, but I'm looking for revenge. Teach those motherfucking twats. Weren't they your disciples?" She asks Romano, who had become the leader of a sort of cult at camp around the time I returned from my too short early release.
"Whoa!"
"Fuckin' idiots."
I look to my right, in the direction DeMarco is staring. Leanne has just pulled the prank on Skinhead Helen. Leanne has taken off running across the commons to the stairs. Skinhead Helen, who is more than a head taller and muscular, is chasing her. She is swearing. Sankey, who is sitting at the far end of the table next to Soso across from Boo, is laughing. I glance at the white nationalist. I blink. Is she holding Soso's Asian-Scottish hand.
"Yeah, grab her!" Soso cheers.
"Stop. No running!" commands a CO.
A second CO yells, "Hey!"
The COs converge on the two. Leanne scampers up the stairs, but they grab Helen. "Hey leave me alone! Why don't you stop her from pulling down everyone's pants?"
Leanne squeals with delight and waves.
"Fuck you!" The skinhead scream yells up at Leanne.
The COs push Helen away from the stairs and Ouija grabs Helen's arm and pulls her away. I chuckle. Back in camp, Leanne was part of the white power cliche. Now she has its animosity. Meanwhile, skinhead Helen is a friend of Ouija, a Dominican and the white nationalist, Sankey, seems to have fallen for someone of Asian descent and is a lesbian, or bisexual, she's probably still trying to figure herself out. Strange how prison remakes a person. I wonder if it's remade me? It's had to.
The common room settles down. It's seven. I saunter over to the phones. I walk hoping that I'm not being obvious, but I know I am. I walk around the four phone stations. Each of them is occupied. One woman sounds like she is speaking to her kids. I pick up words like "report card" and "get your homework done so you don't make my mistakes". Another is having phone sex with some guy. She is kissing his erection as I pass by. I wonder if it is a formidable cock. A third is crying and begging for someone to come visit. She is about Red's age in her sixties or so, but black with short gray hair. The fourth is sitting quietly as someone jabbers on. None look to be getting done soon.
I walk back over to the table and sit, once again looking at the phones. No one says anything. Norma gives my shoulder a pat.
"Let's play cards," says Jones.
"Sure," DeMarco, Jones, and Boo respond.
Romano holds up her ever present little notepad. She's written, "Me."
"Of course, Norma," Gina Murphy gets up and goes over to a set of shelves that has a variety of games, like checkers, chess, and decks of cards. She comes back with two decks. "Vause?"
"No, you go on."
"Brook? Sankey, you want to play?"
"Sure," they say in unison.
Cards shuffle. "Vause, you mind switching so we can all be closer?"
"No." I switch with Sankey's seat at the end. My eyes focus on the phones.
"Norma, can you keep score on your notepad?"
Gina deals, giving everyone seven cards.
I look up at the clock and back at the phones.
"Vause, there's always tomorrow."
I give Soso a dirty look for her remark. I look back up at the clock and continue my vigil as everyone around me picks up their cards and starts the game.
Finally, I see one of the women in the back section of the phone bank leave. I leverage myself up and head in that direction. The phone is still empty. I look up behind me at the wall. It's 7:35 pm. Nervously, but quickly I punch in Piper's number.
Before the end of the first ring, Piper answers and says, "Yes, yes, yes, yes. Alex, are you alright?"
"Yes, I'm so sorry." Fuck, I am falling apart again. "I'm sorry." I force myself to stay standing. "The phones have been busy all evening and last night we were in lockdown."
"Sweetie, you're okay?" All I hear is Piper's concern.
"You're not angry?"
"No, Al. Remember, I know what happens. I also know you have family and that they are helping you. I'm glad you're okay."
"We don't have long. The phones go off at eight."
"Then, I'll say this right now. I love you so much, Alex. I love you."
"I love you, too," I croak back. "Why'd you say that?"
"Because, I love you."
"I know that."
"I hope so, but just in case you have any doubts, I love you. I can't say it too often. I love you, Alex." I chuckle. "Are you making fun of me?"
"No, it's me," I say. A gray cloud swarms my emotions. "I'm a screwed up fuck."
"No," Piper says.
"Piper, don't"
"Alex. We've ... you've been through a lot. You are a wonderful, kind, and caring person. I was self-absorbed, an idiot. I hurt you. I know I did."
"And I hurt you."
"Yes, but I've move beyond that. I don't care what you did. You were in prison. Prison, well prison is shit, and we do things ... well. Alex, I think you made me better. All the shit we went through. You made me a better person. I want to be a better person for you. You helped me find the authentic me."
"And who is that?" I ask.
"The woman who loves you more than anything in the world." Her words warm me. "I also know that I still have a lot to do to prove that to you. Alex, I know I do. I just hope you'll give me time and be patient if I stumble or fail. I want to be a good person. I want you to love me. I love you."
"I've always loved you, Piper. I love you, too."
"I like hearing you say that."
A smile ripples through my voice, "I love you, Pipes."
"Why law school?"
"I want to do something to make at least a little piece of the world a better place."
"Like kickball."
"Yes," she giggles. "Like kickball."
"I saw you, you know that day. The girls were playing and you were at the far end of the field behind the fence, watching."
"I was looking for you. I wanted to wave, but Cal was waiting. I want to stay there and cheer everyone one and wavy to you. Blow you a kiss. It took so much to hold my emotions in. I wanted to jump up and down so you could see me. I wanted to shout to you."
"Me, too, but I wanted my view of you to myself. If I'd have waved, others would have wanted to find who I was waving at. I kept you to myself."
For a moment Piper is silent. "I love that," she says, sniffling. "Before they cut us off, I need to tell you that you should call in the afternoon Friday. Any time between two and six."
"Okay."
"I'm having dinner with a professor, actually her wife."
"Is that good?"
"I don't know. Jackson, my contracts professor, gave me her wife's card and said to call."
"Why?"
"Again, I don't know. She's a criminal attorney. They stop at the Starbucks I work at in the morning before Jackson drops her wife off at court. She has a trial going. When you dissappeared from OKC, they came in. I was crying and they came over to find out if I was alright. They overheard me speaking to Nancy, my boss. Until that day Nancy was the only one who knew I was an ex felon and about you in prison."
"Ah huh."
"I had to explain the felony part on the job application and I … Well, I told her about us when I asked to have either Saturday or Sunday off. She's been very supportive."
"I'm glad you have a friend," I say with difficulty remembering Zelda.
"She's not a friend. She's just my boss. I don't have any real friends, just people I work with, class peers, and professors. I'm too busy and I want you to be my focus."
"Pipes, I know I overreacted about Zelda–"
The phone clicks and the line is dead. I look up at the clock on the wall. It is eight.
Fuck, Zelda! I should have told Piper I loved her again. I lean my head against the metal wall on which the phone hangs and close my eyes. With a sigh, I hang up the receiver and return to my cell. In an hour they'll lock us in for the night. I'm done.
(This is a work of fanfiction based on the Netflix series Orange is the 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 at least every week.)