Hands clung to the steel bars of a jail cell in the middle of the night, the air stagnant and painfully cold. The extremities crawled up the metal cylinders slowly until they could not reach any farther and remained there, still as though the chill had locked them into place. The human that belonged to these hands picked its head up between its outstretched arms to look out at the cell directly across the hall. In the thick and muggy darkness Don could make out the dark outline of a body, thin and robotic in movement. The prisoner was doubled over, making it impossible to tell if the figure in the caliginosity was male or female. But he had seen this figure many times in its cell during daylight hours, and knew it to be female.
He had observed this fellow prisoner for many nights now, when just after sunset she would wake up and reach out with her fragile and dirty hands to grab the bars and, soundless, she would simply sit there doubled over her knees, looking directly into Don's cell. Was she ever looking at him? Judging his movements possibly, or imagining his life as he imagined she would? Or was she looking there because there was nothing else to look at, only cement and spider webs? Most likely, Don knew based off of common sense, it was the later. But what was she thinking about all the time? Perhaps she was thinking nothing, nothing at all. And perhaps she was thinking of her life before and dreaming of how she could escape, like he did and like he was sure every prisoner before him did too.
But what did it mean, her staring at him in the night with her hollow expressions? Don didn't have to see them to know they were there. It was how she looked, even in the day time. Her eyes were gray and dull, as though the color had been drained from them and with it all emotion. Her face was round and lips full, but permanently frowning, and her cheeks were flat and inexpressive. Her amber hair was long, and Don could imagine its former radiance, but it was now soaked with grease and badly tangled. She wore a long short-sleeved dress that looked as if it had previously been a curtain, its original color faded and unrecognizable, and her feet were bare. Don had not seen her stand but could tell she was short, and estimated her age to be thirteen or so. The girl's skin was smeared by the grime and dust that coated the cement floor, and Don knew from his many sleepless nights that she rolled and tossed about uneasily in her sleep. She was skinny and fed just enough to keep her alive, and for as long as she had been there she had not said a word.
And yet there she was again, staring either at Don or around him with her hands clinging desperately onto the cell bars like a child clinging to its mother. Her hair had settled in a large wet clump on the top of her head, possibly from rolling in her sleep, and strands of the wet matted thing had begun to fall in front of her face, covering her soul-searching eyes for perhaps the better. Don's dry lips parted slightly and he licked them, knowing that it would only make it worse. From inside his own cell, Don would normally turn his back to the girl and fall asleep. Falling asleep with her gaze fixed on him was at first difficult, but eventually Don had to get used to it. But instead of falling back asleep, he sat watching her with his skinny legs crossed and his hands resting beside him on the floor.
Don stared at her. She was looking in his general direction, but rather than staring at him it seemed as though she was staring through him. Her arms were still locked onto the bars, her spine still painfully stretched out as she was still doubled over her knees. How long until it hurt too much to sit like that? He did not have to wait long for his answer. Without warning, the girl slowly lowered her hands and let them fall beside her, palm down, with a faint plop of flesh hitting stone. She sighed visibly, but not visibly to Don. She waited a moment as if to gather her last ounce of energy, then straightened her back and crossed her legs, mirroring Don's position.
So she had been looking at him! Just this once, or had she always? Don was very curious, but would remain silent. He watched and waited as the girl adjusted herself so that she was directly across from him, then managed to lift her arms and push her hair back behind her, after which she folded her hands neatly in her lap.
"Hello there." Don did not bother to wait another moment. She was already here in this two-celled prison before he arrived, and therefore he could not guess how long she had actually been there. With the guard stationed outside the prison door too far away to hear if Don whispered, he figured it might be worth it to at least try, just to hear what her voice sounded like. Out of curiosity. It had been a long time since he last spoken however, and he was surprised at the sound of his own voice, even if it was just a whisper. He dared to repeat his words once more, just a little louder, loud enough to be able to hear his actual voice. It was deeper than he remembered, but the familiar rumble was comforting.
The girl did not respond, and instead continued to stare at the dark-haired male sitting across the hall from her. She eyed him carefully and parted her lips.
"I guess you have no idea who I am." Don decided to try again. "My name is Don. What do they call you?"
"Karen."
Don caught his breath, surprised to hear her voice. It sounded so young and inexperienced and lost. Don pitied her immediately. She was so young, and to have her life stripped away from her. Don knew he couldn't possibly imagine the pain and confusion she must have felt.
"Karen." He repeated, for effect. "I'm sorry you're in here, Karen. So sorry." Don added, sadly and thoughtfully.
"So am I." Her voice was so sweet, shaky, and scared. Though Don could not see, Karen closed her eyes. Don waited, still holding his breath, but after a moment he knew the conversation was over. He placed his arms in his lap and propped his elbow on his knee, then rested his head in his hand. He began to draw pictures in the dust on the floor, and after a while decided it was time for sleep. Don laid back and turned to his side, then curled up with his back facing the girl Karen. He would try again tomorrow.
To be continued...
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