The Pink House. Trish MacEnulty

      Sunday June 18

      Alice Jaybird sat in the dayroom, playing checkers when Sonya walked in. It was a Sunday afternoon and Sonya had just finished her shift in the kitchen. She caught Panther watching her through the glass before C.O. Barbie came out and gave Panther some housekeeping chores. C.O. Barbie couldn’t stand to see anyone not doing anything.

      “Hey, friend,” Alice called to her. “Come over and play checkers with us.”

      Sonya was taken aback. Growing up she had never had friends. She wasn’t allowed. The only person she was allowed to play with or confide in was her cousin, Maria.

      “Don’t speak to anyone who isn’t family,” she was warned.

      That left her mother, Dina, who often treated Sonya as if she were a toy, a doll to dress up and discard, or her father—a cold man whose fingers were glued to his money clip—or Ziggy, her brother, a pig-eyed boy who grew into a mean-hearted man. Or her cousin, Maria. Maria was okay as far as relatives go, but she didn’t understand Sonya, her longings, her secret thoughts and feelings. She would dismiss her with a shake of her head and say, “Sonya, you don’t make no sense.” As a teenager she had so often wished she had friends like the other girls did, friends for sleepovers and talking about boys.

      She sat down beside Alice.

      “Do you want me to get you a coke?” she asked Alice.

      Alice gave her a strange look and said, “No way. You’re my friend, not my slave,” as if Alice knew that Sonya didn’t know much about friendship and Alice would have to teach her. Sonya smiled, leaned on her hand and watched the game.

      After dinner there was a half hour free time when inmates were allowed to go hang around the recreation center or sit by the ball field. Sonya tagged along with Alice and Lucille. Lucille got called in to play a game of ping pong with Daffy and a couple of other women so Sonya and Alice sat down on a bench.

      “This heat feels like someone stuffing rags down my throat,” Sonya said.

      Alice shrugged and said, “I don’t mind it too much. We didn’t have air conditioning when I was growing up, but somehow sitting on the cool dirt under a chickee we managed to stay cool. We Indians are like that.”

      “Well, we Polish have our tricks, too. We load ourselves into an SUV and drive to Montreal. That’s how we deal with it,” Sonya said.

      “That’s not a bad way,” Indian said with that friendly laugh that made Sonya feel warm and relaxed. “So what do you think about the drama class?”

      “It’s okay,” Sonya said. “I like those women—Lolly and Doc. Lolly is real nice, and that Doc sure is pretty, isn’t she?”

      “Yeah, she is. You know, I get the feeling I’ve seen her before. And not just in some pizza commercial. It’s like I know her from somewhere.”

      “You never knew anyone like that, Indian. How long you been locked up?”

      “Twelve years, four months and 13 days,” Alice answered.

      “Long time,” Sonya said. “Anyway, I really like the acting. I mean I’ve always been good at it, I guess, but never thought I could do something with it besides use it to steal from people.”

      “You miss that life?” Alice asked.

      “I miss my baby, Tomas,” Sonya said. “I miss him like I’d miss air if somebody sent me to the moon.”

      “I never got to have a baby,” Alice said, sadly. “Hope I get out in time.”

      Sonya looked at Alice as if seeing her for the first time. Her face had soft, rounded features. She had thick eyelashes and eyes that seemed as if they could see something far away, as if they could look past the fences and the razor wire and over the miles to a place that was wild and green.

      **

      Tuesday June 27

      Jen smiled up at the black camera eye, and the man sitting at the desk clicked the button and said, “You’re done.”

      Lolly stood over to the side with her arms crossed. They were in the uncomfortable position of needing each other more than ever. Jen pushed her hair behind her ears and went to retrieve her new driver’s license.

      “Let’s see,” Lolly said.

      “I look old,” Jen said.

      “No, you’re beautiful. You always were and you always will be,” she said in a wistful tone as she gazed at the picture. Jen’s thick auburn hair fell around her face in the photo and even she could see that she looked like she should be saying, “Because I’m worth it.”

      “Thanks, I guess,” Jen said and stuck the license in her wallet. All the good looks in the world still couldn’t make you happy.

      “Just stating the facts.”

      They walked outside into the sweltering Tallahassee air. Summer in Tallahassee made you want to walk naked everywhere. Good Lord, Jen thought, I feel like a fish.

      Of course, there was a price to be paid for Lolly bringing her out to get her license. Neither of the sisters ever did anything for each other out of the goodness of their hearts. Jen would be expected to cart Lolly around to hospitals and doctor’s offices until this breast lump thing was figured out. Ever since Mom’s funeral they had managed to live in the same town and not see each other more than once a month, maybe less. Lolly came to Jen’s shows, of course, and sometimes they ran into each other at an art gallery or a restaurant. But now, suddenly, it was like they were old pals. Driving to the prison every Saturday to work with the drama group. And now this—Lolly’s lump.

      “What ever happened to that guy you were seeing?” Lolly asked as they got into the car and drove away from the DMV office.

      “What guy?”

      “The tall one, what was his name?”

      “Daniel. Daniel whose wife found my bra in the glove compartment of his Mercedes and called me up and said she would eviscerate me if I ever saw him again.”

      “I didn’t know he was married,” Lolly said, her eyebrows furrowing. Sleeping with a married man was not the sort of thing Lolly would do, Jen thought. It wasn’t that she was too good to do it, she was too smart. “Did she really use the word eviscerate?”

      “Yes, it made me admire her dreadfully. I hate those sweet, simpering types of women. The kind Lyle always liked. He liked women who drew hearts instead of dots on their ‘i’s. Like that bitch with the Farrah Fawcett hair that I caught him in bed with.”

      “You’ve never gotten over him, have you?” Lolly asked.

      Jen took a deep breath.

      “Oh, I got over him all right. But this one was a little harder. I don’t even remember leaving my bra in the car. I must have been plastered.” She paused and then asked, “So, where do you have to go today?”

      “To the hospital,” Lolly said in a quiet voice. “They’re going to take off one of my breasts. They did a biopsy last week. It’s malignant as hell.”

      Jen sat in the passenger side of the little Civic. She felt as if the sun had suddenly eclipsed. Her hands shook. The air from the air conditioner was nowhere near cold as it blew pathetically against her skin.

      “Why didn’t you tell me?”

      “I know how you don’t like things like this,” Lolly said.

      “Jesus Christ, Lolly, I’m your sister. Why the hell didn’t you say anything?” Jen asked. “How could you . . .? My god. Not again.”

      Lolly’s face was set like a plaster cast. Nothing, not even a tremor of sorrow, passed over those pinks cheeks.

      From the Journal of Nicole Parks

      Every