Red Dawn

A voice announces over a loud speaker, “Make a right at the first hallway.  Turn left.  Shut the door behind you.”  Now I can see her face through the window.  This is the same voice that directed me all the way from the other annex. As I step into the two-man cell, the metal bars clank shut behind me. 

The blond-headed prison guard in the disk-shaped bubble tells me to shut the heavy glass door of the cell. They call her the “bubble-bitch”.  She sees and hears everything.  The bubble has windows for walls so she can have a 360 degree view of all the cells.  There are speakers all around the prison.  There are cameras everywhere too; that is how they direct us prisoners through the maze-like hallways.   The prisoners and prison guards have a symbiotic sort of relationship that is built on power, and a lack of trust

 There are five common areas in unit 9.  Each area houses 60 prisoners who dwell in two-man cells.  The cell is a 10X10 room.  There is one metal toilet with one little metal sink next to a little metal table which sits next to a little metal bunk bed.  There is one small rectangular window up high in the far corner next to the upper bunk.  That is where I’ll be sleeping, above the red-headed woman who is now sitting upright, politely waiting to greet me.  The heavy door echoes as it slams shut.  It’s stuffy in here and smells like urine.  I feel the stale air surround me and long for the wind once more.  My cell-mate adjusts her glasses to get a better look at me.  I figure I better speak up first so as not to appear self-righteous or rude.

“Hi, I’m Michelle.  I’ll be your new roommate for a while.” I hold my hand out to shake the outstretched hand before me.

“Welcome to hell.  You can call me Red Dawn,” replies the middle-aged woman in a matching orange uniform.  Her face is hardened with wrinkles from what appears to have been formed from a hard life and too much sun.  She gets up and pulls open a drawer from beneath her bed and tells me to put my jail-things in it.  “You don’t mind taking the top bunk, do you?  I would, but I’m afraid I might fall out and break my head open,” she says apologetically.

I prefer the top bunk since it’s by the window so I thank her.  “How long have you been in here?” I ask.  She sighs and walks over to the table which is covered with newspapers.  “I’ve been here for so long I’ve lost track.”  After we make a little small talk, she tells me that she has work to do and proceeds to read the paper, underlining and marking up the pages like she is trying to figure out some sort of code.  I make my bed and try to go to sleep.  After a moment of silence she starts talking again:

“My birthday is on the third, and today is the third.  I was born on Pirate’s day.  Have you ever heard  of that?”  Before I can answer she tells me about how she was born to be an angel and that her reason for being here is to make the world a better place.  She tells me that angels speak to her all the time, and how devoted she is to God.  I smile and think she is sweet and schizophrenic.  But, I too am a devoted Christian so we connect on that level.

“Let’s call in the angels and I’ll say a prayer before I go to sleep.” I say dreamily.  She tells me how she talks to them all the time so there is no need to call them in, for they are always here.  Then she starts to tell me about demons and how they mess with her life.  She shows me the metal plate in her head and says she got it from being in the military after aliens abducted her right before she got into a car accident.  Her voice sounds like frightened little girl’s as she retells the story. I tell her that it’s all going to be all right.   Red Dawn turns and eyes me suspiciously:

“You look like that bitch my husband ran off with.  She had long blond hair just like you…looked like a little Barbie doll.” Her nostrils flare as she speaks.

I tell her that I am married and encourage her to not confuse me with her husband’s mistress, explaining in lay terms how we project our prejudices onto other people.  She switches back to the innocent little girl demeanor and tells me that she likes me.  I tell her that I like her too.  She offers to give me her dog and some money when she gets out.   

Psychology is a special interest of mine so I’m pretty tolerant toward the mentally ill.  I think she is not used to people being so nice to her. She tells me that she wants me to write a story about her someday.  I find this request no less odd than the rest of the conversation so I entertain the idea.  I’m actually quite fascinated with the alien story that she described so vividly.  I’m tired though so I tell her that I need some sleep.  After a few moments of silence she speaks in a different voice, one that doesn’t sound like the former voice of a sweet, little girl.

“I’m a good fighter.  It feels good to hit.” I open my eyes and turn my head cautiously.  She is standing right next to me now, her head is level with mine, and I see her face contort to different dimensions.  “I killed a few people before and I never got caught because I work for the military.” She boasts, “I am way beyond mind-control.” Thumping her fist to her heart she proclaims triumphantly, “I let them come into me.” 

 “No Red Dawn.” I say in disbelief.  
“Oh please God!  No, Red Dawn, no, what are you doing?” 

 She smirks and says mischievously, 

 “You think men are mean? 

 She shakes her head and huffs, 
 “Women can be way more vicious than men.”  
I start shaking from the flight-or-fight adrenaline.  There is no way out of here so I try to appeal to her former self, 
“Red Dawn, this is not you.  You were born to be an angel!” 

She switches again into the baby doll mode.  She tells me that she was molested and how they tried to make her evil.  I call her sweetie and talk to her like she is a little girl.  She is rocking on the bed with her knees to her chest and crying softly, “I don’t want to hurt you Michelle.  I’m sorry.” 

I tell her it’s going to be all right and press the intercom button.  Not wanting to upset her, I tell the guard that I’m having a panic attack and I need to get out.  She refuses.  Red Dawn is shaking her head and telling me that they won’t let me out.  I press the button again but the guard doesn’t respond.  After pleading and sobbing for help I change my story and tell her that my cell-mate is having a seizure, which is partially true.  Red Dawn told me at one point that she couldn’t see and that she was having a headache right before her voice changed.  She said her seizures occur because she is diabetic.  I think she has multiple personalities and was showing typical signs of disassociation prior to a split.  My only hope is to keep talking to her, asking her to forgive me and not to hurt me so she doesn’t change again. 

Red Dawn tells me that it’s not the guard’s fault: “They’re just doing what they’re trained to do.  They don’t mean no harm.” She tells me how guards are all connected and some of the prisoners work with them as well.  She warns me of how they hear and see everything. I bang on the glass door as hard as I can with my foot.  The whole wall shakes and the other prisoners are shouting to the guard to let me out.  “Call in the Angels!” I cry out faithfully.

Red Dawn tells me calmly, 
“Tell her that you are going to commit suicide.  That is a code word.”  I go back to the intercom and shout that I’m going to hurt myself.  The guard asks me to repeat that.  I say, “I am going to commit suicide if you do not open this door.”  The guard snaps back, “Okay, just hold tight and we’re going to take you to the nurse.”

Two guards show up a minute later and take me to the nurse.  I try to explain what happened but they don’t listen.  They are mad that I faked a suicide threat.  They threaten to put me in with the lesbians or black women if I refuse to go back into the cell with Red Dawn.  I tell them to do it and warn them of the repercussions if I get hurt.  They don’t believe that Red Dawn would ever hurt anyone.

“Well, she might hurt you accidentally if she has a seizure, but she would never hurt anyone on purpose.” The male guard with her agrees with the female guards absurd logic. I feel like I am in the twilight zone.  Careful not to be too assertive, I try to reason with tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum.  After several minutes of one of the most inane conversations of my entire life, they finally threaten me with a tazor gun.  I point out all the witnesses around us and tell them that if I do get hurt, they will be held responsible because they could have prevented it. They finally agree to put me in a suicide unit.  

Two female guards strip-search me.  They laugh while they tell me to get into positions.  I play along and smile, bend down low like a stripper to shut them up.   Angry that they lost some sense of power, they throw me roughly into solitary confinement where I am naked and harassed by mocking guards every so often. It's been over 24 hours and I still haven't been able to make my phone call.  The lines were down they said.  A supervising, male, guard walks by and asks why I lied about being suicidal.  He taunts me from the other side of the window and tells me that I am worse off in here.  I tell him that I’m just operating on survival mode and I’ll do anything I have to in order to stay alive.  He laughs like a cowboy. As he walks away I here him mimic me, “Survival Mode she says...We’re all operating on survival mode.”