Letters to Inmate 29901

Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

Dimitri

It's 6:30 in the morning. I just finished making up my bed. The prison guards announced the morning roll call as I stood next to my cell.

"Inmate 29901," the prison guard shouted.

"Here," I said in return.

From a distance, the squeaking sounds of the trolleys wheels scrapped on the ground. A signal that breakfast was about to come. I wished for waffles and sausages; the cravings sometimes were unforgiving. The shit I got most mornings was a bowl of oats.

This morning was no exception as the inmate passed my bowl along. I groaned inwardly. Fuck my life.

***

Out in the courtyard, I drew a deep breath as I did my fifty counts of pushups.

"48... 49... 50." I heaved out. My muscles burned from the sit-ups and weights done before.

Peter, another inmate, sat next to me doing his reps. He was talkative and annoying as hell. I had to hear a bunch of bullshit about him grieving the fact that his wife hadn't written to him in weeks. I pretended to empathize by shaking my head.

After my gym session, I was pleased to walk away. I walked to the bleachers on the side of the prison and sat on the second top bench. You had the complete view of the prison yard.

I watched the other inmates in the yard. Some were walking or jogging around. Most were in their groups, sitting around make shift tables or huddled together on the ground gambling. Others stood with their backs against the prison walls, watching arguments about to start. Anything could spark a fight in this place. A few inmates walked aimlessly around.

There's a lot to think about in prison. You got a lot of time on your hands. Scenes of your life plays in your head, like a fucking movie.

I thought about my girl, Roxanne. I thought about her raven black long hair, her hips, her curves, her dark eyes and her full ass sitting in tight jeans. She always knew how to use her body. And it drove me crazy. My dick twitched at the thought of her. Shit! It's been a hell of a long time in prison.

I decided to give her a call with my minutes saved up. It's been six months since I heard from her. I called over time, but there were no answers. I hoped this time would be different.

I walked over to the pay telephone. Luckily, the inmate before me just ended his call. I picked up the dialer and dialed Roxy's number. Desperate to hear her voice, to speak to her, to hear if she was doing alright and if she thought about me. I waited online. It just rang. I waited a few more moments. 

Nothing. 

I hung up. Banging my head against the payphone.

"Damn," I whispered.

***

I sat in my cell reading a book when an inmate came strolling by. It was about that time for mail call.

"Inmate 29901," he came forward.

"Yeah." I said, getting up from my seat.

"You got mail," he continued, handing me a letter.

I recognized it instantly. The light pink envelope was a dead giveaway. I took the letter. Is this going to be a thing now? I thought. I sat on my bed and ripped the envelope open. Took out the letter and read.

Dear Mr. Hawke,

Thank you for your letter. I was pleased that you replied. I'm disappointed, however, that you do not want to receive any FRIENDLY encouragements from me. I fully understand. I don't know your circumstances and only wish to lend a friendly ear.

I didn't know that you didn't sign up for the program, but who knows, maybe it's fate we supposed to be writing to each other. Please know that I would still like to know if you are doing okay. I'm just a letter away if you need somebody to talk to.

P.S. I don't approve of being called sweetheart, so please don't call me that. These letters are strictly platonic between you and I as you know, we should have mutual respect.

Regards,

Lillie

A small grin crept up my face. I was slightly surprised by this chick's letter, but in a good way.

"Don't call you sweetheart, huh?" I uttered. I somewhat liked it. She had some spunk to her, I'll give her that.

I don't know what it was, but she got me intrigued.

Thinking back to my first letter, I agreed with her, I could be a dick. She was just trying to be kind. But I didn't know what to do with it. I wasn't used to someone being kind, at least not to me. But more, I knew I didn't deserve it. And here she was, still being compassionate.

I mulled over her words. And trying to not be such a dick and calling her sweetheart. I wrote back.