Chapter Thirty-two
The days of Doreen’s time served in prison thus far had felt like a lifetime. In real time, it had only been two months—two months of absolute hell. She wouldn’t wish her predicament on her worst enemy. She didn’t feel like herself. She wasn’t her own person anymore.
Once upon a time she’d felt like she belonged to God—that that’s whose she was. But now she felt like she belonged to the State of West Virginia. Some mornings when she woke up she didn’t even know who she was, let alone whose she was. On this particular morning, waking up in her prison cell, she didn’t even know where she was.
In a panic, she looked around her empty cell. She shared it with no one. She’d opened her eyes only to be staring up at the bottom of the top bunk above her. Quickly sitting up, she examined her surroundings, and then it dawned on her—she was incarcerated.
Her heavy breathing slowed as she tightened her lips and fought back tears. At least three times a week, this was how Doreen’s day started. That was how many times she’d close her eyes at night and dreamed of an ordinary life. It was just her and Willie. They were back in Kentucky—had no reason to ever travel to West Virginia. Doreen was still baking pound cakes. As a matter of fact, in a few of her dreams she owned a cake shop, a very successful cake shop at that.
Her sisters helped her run things. When Willie got finished with a long day’s work, he’d come straight to the cake shop and help her close it down. No juke joint. No gambling, drinking, cussing, or lying. No other women. Just Doreen and Willie. They were happy.
“Stop dreaming and get ya behind out of that bed if you plan on eating this morning.”
The male guard’s booming voice snapped Doreen out of her daze. Even if she hadn’t recalled where she was just moments ago, that guard sure would have reminded her.
Doreen pulled her legs over the side of her bed and rubbed her eyes.
“Yep, that’s right,” the guard snorted obnoxiously. “You’re not dreaming. Still in paradise. Now get your skank butt up and get to moving. You’re a preacher’s kid, right?” he asked Doreen.
She nodded.
“Then God done showed you favor. You got a job. Starts today. Means you’ll get to earn money for luxuries. You know, things like Little Debbie Snack cakes, stamps, paper, envelopes.” He snorted again, and Doreen wondered if he had something against speaking in complete sentences. “Got bathroom duty. You know how many broads would kill to have that job? Beats laundry, that’s for sure. Least that’s what I hear, anyway. Dunno, personally. Can’t say I’d care too much for cleaning up after a bunch of nasty womenfolk. I got a wife and three teenage daughters. Bloody pads floating around in the commode. And you know how the food is in this place. Toilet full of sh—”
“If you don’t mind,” Doreen interrupted before he could release his expletive, “I’d like to use the bathroom and change clothes.” Doreen nodded over to the toilet that sat out in the open in her cell.
“Oh . . . oh, no problem. No problem at all. Go right ahead,” the guard told her.
Doreen stood up and walked over toward the toilet. Clearly that’s what most people did the first thing in the morning. She went to pull her prison-issued bottoms down when she noticed the guard was still standing there, watching her.
“Uh, excuse me,” Doreen stammered nervously. “Do you mind?”
The guard looked Doreen up and down, then rolled his tongue across his top row of teeth. “As a matter of fact, I do. See, my job is to keep an eye on you; a special watch. If I took my eye off of you for even a minute, anything could happen. You wouldn’t want me to lose my job on the count of not doing it well, would you?” He had lust in his eyes as he eyeballed Doreen.
“Please, sir. I, I just want to—”
“Do you think I give a rat’s behind about what you want? Now do what you need to do or stay in here and starve to death.”
Doreen wanted to scream inside. She wanted to cry out for help, but who was there to come to her rescue? Certainly not Willie. He’d been to visit Doreen a few times, but not as much as he should. At least not as much as Doreen thought he should. And when she wanted to talk to him—when she really needed to talk to him—he never picked up the phone. She just hoped he was saving up all that money from all the overtime he was claiming he was doing.
“So what’s it gonna be?” the guard snapped.
Doreen slowly gripped the waist of her pants and slid them down an inch or two—slowly. Just as slowly as Doreen moved her hands, the guard moved his . . . toward his private area. By the time Doreen’s pants were mid-hip, the guard was fully clutching his manhood.
“Go on now, girl,” he moaned, rubbing himself. “You hungry, right? How about I give you a taste of a li’l something else other than that slop they got prepared for you?”
Doreen couldn’t believe her ears. Not only couldn’t she believe the words that were coming out of the guard’s mouth, but she couldn’t believe the sound of his zipper being undone either.
“Please,” Doreen pleaded, her insides trembling while she tried to keep her exterior calm, cool, and collected.
“Oh, you don’t have to beg me, pretty chocolate,” the guard cooed. “Now come on over here and do me right.” By now the guard was exposing himself to Doreen as his hand moved back and forth along his flesh.
Doreen swallowed hard. She closed her eyes and said a prayer to God. Well, she didn’t really pray. Prayer was supposed to be a conversation. She was doing all the talking asking God to get her out of that situation. To direct her path. She didn’t know whether she should just do what the guard wanted her to do. She feared perhaps by not doing it, the guard would make her time in prison even more hellish than it already was. Whatever she was going to do, she needed to do it fast, as she really needed to go to the bathroom.
Doreen stood there talking to God and twitching her legs, trying to hold in her body fluids.
“I see you squirming,” the guard snorted. “Got you all wet down there, huh? You know you want it. And I don’t mind a little chocolate myself.” His snort was mixed with a laugh.
With her hands still on the waist of her pants, Doreen went to move her pants another couple of inches or so, but this time it was upward instead of down.
Disappointment flooded the guard’s face. “Wha—what you doing?” he said, no snorting, just a hint of anger is all. “Ain’t you gon’ do me?”
Doreen said nothing. She just stood there, securing her pants above her waist. She was hopeful her actions spoke louder than words and answered the guard’s question.
“You black slut,” he spat, tucking himself back inside his pants. “Ashy, black nigger witches ain’t no good at going down nohow. But I thought I’d teach you a thing or two.” He threw insults that Doreen was not moved by. “Think I care if you eat or not? Can stand to lose a few pounds. All y’all do is sit around eating chitterlings and pig feets, gaining weight. Bunch of nasty black pigs.” He continued his insults using incomplete sentences. Still, Doreen never said a mumbling word. “Think you won this, don’t ya? Well, you might not want to eat, but you still gotta take a morning piss.”
The man standing before Doreen was as vulgar as she’d ever met. He was simply not going to let her be. She glared at him, his eyes burning through her like the devil himself. But she would not give in to him. She would not.
As the lust had begun to fill his eyes again, he looked Doreen over from head to toe. His eyes traveled from her head, appearing to peel the clothes off of her as they made their way down to her toes. That’s when the look of lust suddenly turned into disgust. That’s when the next sound Doreen heard was him zipping his pants back up. He turned up his nose and grunted as he walked away.
Doreen let out a sigh of relief. She looked down at her toes, the liquid now surrounding her feet. She felt disgusted too. But she had to do what she had to do. All of a sudden she stood there and let out a chuckle. “I heard that garlic keeps the vampires away. But who knew a little bit of pee could keep Satan away?”