Internment(30)

I’m not paying full attention; I’m staring out my little window as an idea forms. Corporal Reynolds is talking to the guards posted at my block. This place inspires secrets. I have mine, but so do others.

“Follow me.” I get up from the floor.

“Oooh, are we hitting the mall? Maybe a movie?”

“The shortest distance between two points is a straight line.”

“Are we speaking in code now?”

I shake my head. “I keep thinking about how I can get to David. We’re allowed phone calls, right? I’m going to ask.”

“But they’re totally listening in on the calls. And you have to submit a requisition.”

“Yup. I know. But I’m going to roll the dice on a hunch.” I walk out of my room. Ayesha follows. When we step out of my trailer, I turn to her and say, “Go along with it, okay? And then go back to your trailer. Now look concerned, like you’re trying to console me. I’m going to start crying.”

Ayesha knits her eyebrows together. “Well, that won’t be hard, because I am concerned that you’re about to do something stupid.”

I stop and turn to Ayesha and take her hand. “Listen. You don’t have to go along with this. I know there are risks, but we’ve been talking for days. I’m tired of talking.”

Ayesha nods. I wait for her to head toward her trailer, but she squeezes my hand and smiles.

We turn back toward the guards, toward Corporal Reynolds. Fake crying isn’t hard. It’s stopping yourself from crying that is more challenging in this place.

As we near the head of the block, I clear my throat loudly and wipe away my tears. Corporal Reynolds looks at me; so do the other guards. He takes a step toward us. I haven’t spoken to him since he caught me outside after curfew. I wipe my clammy hands on my jeans. Ayesha puts her arm around my back and squeezes. She also steadies me, because my knees buckle a little.

“Ladies.” Corporal Reynolds removes his mirrored-lens sunglasses as he steps closer. “Is there a problem?”

Here goes nothing. “I need to make a phone call.”

Corporal Reynolds takes a deep breath. “There’s a procedure for that.”

“I… it’s just that—”

“It’s her one-year anniversary, and she wants to talk to her boyfriend. She hasn’t gotten to talk to him since we’ve been in here.” Ayesha tilts her head toward me. “Can’t you help? Please.” The tone in her voice is pitch-perfect—concern, pity, slight pleading for a rescue.

He looks at us. Pauses. Pausing is good. It means he’s thinking about it. My shoulders tense; I feel Ayesha’s arm tighten around my back.

Corporal Reynolds nods. “Okay, come with me.”

Ayesha and I exhale. I give her a little hug, and she whispers, “Jazak Allah.” Tears spring to my eyes, maybe because it’s the first time it actually feels like I really need divine intervention in my life. May God reward us all.

Corporal Reynolds and I walk toward the Hub. The adrenaline surging through me makes my heart feel like it might explode out of my chest. I swallow and keep swallowing. I’m so parched. I try to focus outward. He keeps his eyes ahead as he strides forward. When he realizes I have to speed up to keep pace, he slows down. Even, regular steps. His broad shoulders round forward ever so slightly when he walks. He keeps his hair cropped short in the back. I can tell it’s been recently cut because of the uneven tan on the skin visible between his shirt collar and the back of his fitted sandstone infantry cap. His sleeves are rolled all the way down today, so I don’t see his compass tattoo.

I feel like I should say something. I’m not quite sure why, but this silence feels weighty, too inflated, and I want to let the air out. Maybe it will help me breathe. But my mind goes blank. I clear my throat. “Corporal Reynolds, um… sir? I was wondering if you binged the new season of Jessica Jones? We don’t get it on the inside. And I’m dying to know what happens. But mainly what happens with Jessica Jones and Luke Cage. I hate that Iron Fist is making a cameo. He’s so whiny. I couldn’t even watch his series; it was totally whitewashed.”

Corporal Reynolds slows down and furrows his eyebrows at me for a second before his face relaxes a little. “It’s on my watch list, but I haven’t started this season. I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks,” I say. Then I work up a little more courage to continue. “And thank you for letting me call David.”

“We’ll see how it goes. Don’t say anything to anyone.”

I nod. I glance at his holstered gun, and then I’m in my home and the Suit is drawing his handgun on me and the other Suit is throwing my dad to the ground and I hear my mom’s scream. She would be screaming right now, too, if she saw me walking anywhere with a guard. I shake my head and mutter to myself to remember to breathe.

“Did you say something?”

“Me? Oh, I’m just—” I decide to tell the truth. “I’m reminding myself to breathe.”

“Breathe?”

“My family was forced into a prison camp for basically being alive, and you have a gun that you can use to shoot me if I do anything I’m not supposed to. So, yeah, I’m trying to breathe.” My jaw clenches. I can imagine the look of horror on my mom’s face if she were listening to me. How frightened she and my dad would be. I’m terrified, too, but I’m so tired of doing what I’m told to do and going along with this bullshit.