The Rules of Life

Jail was not fun. I can’t even begin to describe how not fun jail was. It was cold, even with my jacket wrapped tightly around my shoulders. And impossibly gray. Everything was gray, the walls, the ceiling, the floor. Gray metal or concrete or chains or bars. Everything in my small cell, occupied by two other people, was gray. My wrists were slightly chaffed from the handcuffs digging into them and I rubbed at them periodically as I paced the barred cell door.

“Yo, Barbie,” one of my cellmates snapped. I looked up at her. “Quit pacing; you’re giving me a headache.” Her voice was accented, twanging awfully. I thought it was pretty ironic that she was calling me Barbie when she looked more like the doll than I did. If you removed the tattoos and piercings, filled her in a bit, and cleaned her up. Her blue eyes were rimmed in black that was smudged around her eyes so bad, she resembled a raccoon. I’m pretty sure her hair was blonde but it was in need of a wash, badly, and grease had slicked her hair back into dirty yellow strings.

I rolled my eyes. “Why don’t you curl up in the corner and leave us in peace while you go through your withdrawal?” It was only a guess that she was an addict but it shut her up and she crossed her arms over her chest. I wondered how long she’d been here and if I’d be here long, too.

For my one phone call, the person hadn’t picked up so I left a message. Now all I could do was wait. It was annoying, waiting. So many questions whirling through your mind. Will they come? Am I going to have to stay here? Why the hell would my dad do this to me? How could I have been so stupid? And the worst part, besides sharing a cell with Meth Addict Barbie and some girl who looked completely terrified, was that I had to pee. Not just a little tinkle but full on, race-horse piss. And there was no way in hell I was going in that tiny tin toilet in front of people.

They’d confiscated my phone and my watch, as well as all my jewelry and my wallet. As if I was going to make some sort of suicide contraption or something to escape with out of diamond studs and two dollars. I’d been taken in around 1:30, at least that’s what the clock had said as I was led into the police station. Man-handling wasn’t as kinky as people made it sound. Along with the bruised arm I’d garnered from my doting dad, I was sure I’d have a few more to add from being shoved in general directions. Cops didn’t understand the fact that I was, hello, a girl and therefore a delicate flower and should be treated as such.

An officer, paunchy and red-faced, walked up to the cell door, jangling keys noisily. He wasn’t either of the cops that had picked me up nor was he any of the officers who were at the front desk, waiting to check people in. My heart thudded loudly in my chest and I was nearly weak with joy. I was getting out! At long last, I was getting out of the hell hole. And oh god, beautiful, private plumbing. It was only a few moments away.

But the officer motioned for the scared girl and glared at me when I made a rude gesture to her. Of course, it wasn’t scary, because he followed that up by running his eyes up and down my body in an obvious way. I rolled my eyes. “Beat it, buster, before I go to real prison for murder.” It earned me another glare before he toddled off. I sat down on the floor, leaning up against the wall. The cold from the floor seeped into my butt and the cold from the wall chilled my back. But I didn’t feel like standing and Barbie was occupying the uncomfortable looking cot. She eyed me as I loosely draped my arms around my propped up knees.

“What are you looking at?!” I snapped at her. Her eyes widened and she looked away quickly. Good to know I was scary even to jailbirds. I picked at the threads of my jeans until I’d created a small hole, which I continued to pick at until it had spread over my knee. My skin was super white, having been hidden from the sun for the past few months. And it was slightly hairy since I’d been lazy and knocked off shaving for a couple of weeks. Hey, it was winter. And I was trying to avoid people anyway. Hairy, man legs on a woman are the easiest way to get people to steer clear. Tried and true method. I ran my hand over my exposed knee and down beneath the fabric of my pants. The hair was prickly and I quickly removed my hand. After peeing, the first thing I was going to do was take a razor to my stockings.

Time passed painfully slow. What seemed like hours was really only minutes. But the sun set in the small cell window and my whole body ached from sitting. My fingers were ice cold and trying to warm them was futile. Another girl joined our cell, a slender African-American with tattoos and a mean face. She yelled a bunch and if I’d been in the mood, maybe I would have joined her. But as it was, I was tired and my body ached and I was cold and had to piss like a motherfucker. By now, I’d given up all hope of being rescued. I’d just have to sit out my sentence in this jail cell, peeing myself like a four-year-old. How long would I have to stay in here? What was the normal slammer time for breaking and entering? God, how I loathed my father.

The black girl had kicked Meth Head off the cot and had made herself at home once she’d stopped bitching. The other girl, the addict, was really feeling the withdrawal now. She was huddled in a corner, white-knuckled and crying while she rocked back and forth. Her face was bone white, apart from the spots of blood coming from her mouth where her teeth had done some damage. I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

When what felt like another hour passed, and I was just beginning to doze off, the noise of keys jangling woke me up. For a moment, I felt hopeful. But then I dismissed it. They were probably letting the meth addict out so she could go to a hospital and go through withdrawal in peace.

“McKinley Miller?” the man said. I was on my feet so fast, I nearly peed myself. For the love of all things holy, where was a bathroom?!

“That’s me!” I said, almost giddy.

“Come on,” the officer grumbled. He wasn’t the fat one or any of the ones I’d seen already. But I followed him from the room, so happy with being let out that I wasn’t even going to yell at my dad. I was going to smile and pee and then sit in the car quietly and listened while he lashed out. That was my plan. And it was a good plan. Except… It wasn’t my dad.