Then I Met Her

Then I met her: 9

Change the things you can and accept the things you cannot. My mother's favourite saying comes back to me. Juvie. I have been here for over a month already. It feels like it has been so long and so quick all at the same time. I suppose time flies when you are having fun? I laugh out loud. The other girls look over at me like I'm crazy. How twisted.

I am contemplating my own insanity when there is a buzz over the P.A, and the main door opens with a clunk. There is the clang of shackles, and an angry Taylor is marched into the block. I gasp audibly. It's been two weeks since the fight. It's been two weeks since Taylor put Natasha in her place. The other girls speculated that she had gotten transferred to another jail.

"She's loco that one," a Latinx girl next to me says.

"Hmm," I respond, focused on Taylor. She looks rough. Dark bags circle under her eyes, bruises cover her already impossibly lean frame. She looks up, and I quickly avert my gaze. What is it about this girl?

A woman comes into the room and says a few words I can't hear to the guards, and Taylor is unshackled. She strolls around the first floor lazily, laughing to herself. She exudes this dark sort of charisma that draws me to her. I blush and look down. No, I can't feel things like that. Especially not with her.

Jenna breaks away from her friends and goes up to Taylor. They talk quietly for a while before Taylor gets up and walks into her cell, shutting the door behind her.

The minute the door closes, the other inmates start to whisper. I catch snippets of conversation. Did you see her? Crazy! I can't believe they let her back. What is Natasha gonna do?

"Hey, how are you, new girl?" Luxe comes and sits on the floor with me.

"Yea, just thinking," I respond, turning to face her. We sit in silence. Finally, Luxe breaks the stillness.

"Shits gonna get real crazy real quick now that that psycho is back."

"She's not a psycho," I say, surprised to find myself defending her.

"Yea because beating people up almost weekly is normal," Luxe says sarcastically.

I don't respond. She's right, I don't know Taylor as the others do. But who are they to judge? It's not like their shining examples of society themselves. Damn it. What is it with her?

Lunch is quiet. Everyone seems overly engrossed in their food. Taylor eats her lunch, oblivious to the fact that all eyes are on her. I sigh and grab my tray. I'm going to regret this.

I walk over to Taylors' usual table at the back and sit down across from her just like a few weeks previous. The canteen goes silent. You could hear a pin drop. Talor looks up, unfazed.

"Can I sit here?" I ask, hating how meek my voice sounds.

"I don't see a name on it," she replies, looking up at me. "Hey, you're that girl," she says with recognition appearing on her face, "from two weeks ago."

"Oh yea, right, sorry about that," I reply, sitting down. Luxe is waving her hand at me trying to warn me. But I'm already in too deep.

"Ha no problem," she says in her slow drawl. She looks down at her food. I am keenly aware that the other girls are staring.

I want to ask her so many questions. Who is she? Why is she here? Curiosity burns inside of me. But I stay silent. The less I ask, the better. Or at least, the less I get to know this mysterious girl, the better. Nothing good can come from this. But still, I sit here.

Eventually, the buzzer goes off, we both get up to put away our trays. We line up for count on the wall. The guards finish and we are led into the classroom. I work in my workbook disinterestedly. I studied this material last semester and it comes easy. A shout gets my attention, "Davis come here," a young guard yells. I get up, confused. " You have a meeting with your lawyer." He must be confused, I don't have a lawyer. We definitely don't have the money for that. I get up from my desk and walk out the door. I'm led into a meeting room and introduced to a man behind a plexiglass partition. This stocky man who is indeed my lawyer says his name is Mr.Gateson, and he's a public defender.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Davis,'' he says, "I don't have a lot of time, so I'm going to make this short. The police want to go forward and bring this case to court, the prosecution has evidence but, most of it is circumstantial. I'm hoping we can get it dismissed as hearsay. Our best chance is to plead guilty and take a plea deal for a shorter sentence." I sit there stunned. Court? Plea deal? It's all so overwhelming. I can imagine my brother sitting in this chair getting asked the same questions by another burned-out public defender. It hits me all at once. I never imagined that I would be here. Why did I let the rumours get to me? The pressure I felt then seems like nothing now. Who cares about what my neighbours say? At least I wasn't at risk of being jumped because I sat in the wrong chair.

"Do you have any questions, Davis?" Mr.Bateson asks.

"No," I mumble.

"All right then," he says, getting up, "the case is set to go to court, but there might be some delays." He closes his briefcase. "Maybe two or three months." He steps out of the room and the guards come back in.

When I get to class, the teacher is still talking about algebra. It doesn't matter anyway as I'm not paying attention. I sit there, my mind racing. My hands start to shake, and the cravings come. God, if only I had a blunt. Oh, the irony I think.

I know I am guilty, but somehow, I don't feel responsible. The carvings distort my thoughts. Didn't they understand? I had only used to cope with the stress.

I walk into the block and towards my cell. It's quiet, too quiet, the others are at recreation. I enter my cell, letting the silence envelop me.

What did I get myself into?