Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Cell. Central Station Holding Facility, 7:00 AM SST
Finally, the buzzer sounded and the cell door opened. Rose walked out without a word. Barb followed closely so as not to get lost.
When they arrived at the refectory, Rose was joined by four friends and immediately went off and sat down leaving Barb to fend for herself.
Barb looked around trying to get her bearings. Long, cafeteria-style tables filled the room and were rapidly being occupied. Barb looked desperately to find an opening that looked inviting.
Suddenly, Barb felt transported back to her first day as a high school sophomore, starting a new school in a new town where her father had moved the family for his work. She had been well out of her comfort zone. Now, she was once again that shy, scared, lonely 15-year-old, looking for a friendly face. None appeared and the seats were filling fast, so she screwed up her nerve and just sat quickly in the middle of the nearest table, giving a little cry as her sore butt hit the hard bench.
“That seat’s taken.” Said the woman across from her, sporting a Mohawk haircut, tattoos and more piercing than Barb could count. “Go over there with the other freaks,” she said pointing to a table near the end of the room. Reliving the embarrassments of High School, Barb meekly complied. When she sat down, she noticed all the women had their heads down and didn’t acknowledge her presence.
Barb quickly figured out that this was the “Loser’s Table” (just like High School, she thought). Also, it was going to be the last one served. Uniformed waitresses went to the tables placing trays of food. Finally, at 7:48 by the clock on the wall, they came to Barb’s table. A tray with green tea and a plate of a strange looking concoction appeared before her. Three white, gelatinous looking muffin shaped things, topped with crumbly, brown sauce or relish. Barb, though hungry, looked doubtfully at the dish. One of her tablemates, eating ravenously said in broken English, “Chwee Kueh, velly gut.” Barb slowly stuck her plastic fork in the muffins while another woman said, in better English, “These steamed rice flour cakes. Radish pickle and chili top.”
None of this made it more appetizing, but hunger drove Barb to try a bite. It actually was good! She dug in for a second helping.
A few minutes later, a morning matron appeared at her elbow.
“You’re finished now, Moore, time to go meet with your Embassy representative.”
“But I haven’t finished yet. I’ll go in a couple of minutes.”
“You’ll go now or you’ll have to wait to Monday. I’m not here to march to an inmate’s schedule. I’ve heard about you Moore. Your reputation is all over. We go now or you wait two more days, until your hearing. Your choice.”
A two-day delay was unthinkable, so Barb stood up and followed the matron. From the corner of her eye, she saw the others at the table grab for her leftovers.
Down the usual long halls and finally into a 10X10 room with a table and two chairs. The room was the usual spotless white and at the table was an exceptionally handsome, young man.
Finally, the buzzer sounded and the cell door opened. Rose walked out without a word. Barb followed closely so as not to get lost.
When they arrived at the refectory, Rose was joined by four friends and immediately went off and sat down leaving Barb to fend for herself.
Barb looked around trying to get her bearings. Long, cafeteria-style tables filled the room and were rapidly being occupied. Barb looked desperately to find an opening that looked inviting.
Suddenly, Barb felt transported back to her first day as a high school sophomore, starting a new school in a new town where her father had moved the family for his work. She had been well out of her comfort zone. Now, she was once again that shy, scared, lonely 15-year-old, looking for a friendly face. None appeared and the seats were filling fast, so she screwed up her nerve and just sat quickly in the middle of the nearest table, giving a little cry as her sore butt hit the hard bench.
“That seat’s taken.” Said the woman across from her, sporting a Mohawk haircut, tattoos and more piercing than Barb could count. “Go over there with the other freaks,” she said pointing to a table near the end of the room. Reliving the embarrassments of High School, Barb meekly complied. When she sat down, she noticed all the women had their heads down and didn’t acknowledge her presence.
Barb quickly figured out that this was the “Loser’s Table” (just like High School, she thought). Also, it was going to be the last one served. Uniformed waitresses went to the tables placing trays of food. Finally, at 7:48 by the clock on the wall, they came to Barb’s table. A tray with green tea and a plate of a strange looking concoction appeared before her. Three white, gelatinous looking muffin shaped things, topped with crumbly, brown sauce or relish. Barb, though hungry, looked doubtfully at the dish. One of her tablemates, eating ravenously said in broken English, “Chwee Kueh, velly gut.” Barb slowly stuck her plastic fork in the muffins while another woman said, in better English, “These steamed rice flour cakes. Radish pickle and chili top.”
None of this made it more appetizing, but hunger drove Barb to try a bite. It actually was good! She dug in for a second helping.
A few minutes later, a morning matron appeared at her elbow.
“You’re finished now, Moore, time to go meet with your Embassy representative.”
“But I haven’t finished yet. I’ll go in a couple of minutes.”
“You’ll go now or you’ll have to wait to Monday. I’m not here to march to an inmate’s schedule. I’ve heard about you Moore. Your reputation is all over. We go now or you wait two more days, until your hearing. Your choice.”
A two-day delay was unthinkable, so Barb stood up and followed the matron. From the corner of her eye, she saw the others at the table grab for her leftovers.
Down the usual long halls and finally into a 10X10 room with a table and two chairs. The room was the usual spotless white and at the table was an exceptionally handsome, young man.
***
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