Page 27 of Unlock My Heart

“I’m trying to jack off before lights on, and your grunting isn’t helping,” he says in a thick Mississippi accent. He’s not Italian, but I won’t hold that against him.

“How many times do I have to say it? I don’t need to know when you’re jacking off.” Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.

“None of us need to know!” Someone calls from our cellblock.

Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.

“Etiquette, my man,” Kirksey calls back. “Just like when I turn around and face the wall when you’re taking a shit,” he tells me.

“If you attempted to watch me shit, Kirksey, you’d lose your eyes,” I inform him.

“If only I could lose my sense of smell. And great, now I’ve lost my boner.”

Blocking everything out, I mentally count out my reps until my arms and shoulders are screaming at me.

Three hundred.

The day passes with the same mind-numbing monotony as the day before.

Inmate count.

Chow.

Inmate count.

Yard.

Inmate count.

Rec.

Inmate count.

My routine’s interrupted when a CO calls, “Calvani. You have a visitor.”

Speak of the devil. It has to be Angelo, as my brother’s been my only visitor, save for Mama when she was alive. Our first sibling visit was a blatant power play on Angelo’s part: making sure I knew he was in charge while I was being iced out.

But he’ll fucking learn soon enough why they call me “Ice Pick.”

After a pat down, I’m escorted to the visitation room, and I take a seat at my assigned table. Someone’s buzzed in; a teenage girl, and I do a double-take.

My baby sister, no longer a baby, tentatively crosses the room.

Thankfully, my legs support me as I rise. “It’s been a while, little black belt.” Opening my arms wide, I wrap Alessandra in a big hug. “You got the message from my lawyer?” I’ve been trying to make contact with Al for years, but Angelo’s had our sister on lockdown nearly as tight as mine. Kissing her on the top of her head, I let go and take a seat, motioning for her to sit beside me.

“Yes, I got the message. But I’m not a black belt. I’m too fickle to stick with anything,” Al muses, plopping down.

“Says who? Angelo?”

Mr. I’ll return to the family when it benefits me Calvani.

Al nods. “Angelo doesn’t know I’m here.” She twists a strand of her long brown hair around her finger. “He thinks I’m at swim practice.”

“Who cares what he thinks. I’m just glad to see you. Tell me something. Anything. I’ve missed you so much…” I trail off, getting a little choked up.

“You need a drink?” Al misinterprets. Reaching into her clear, prison-approved backpack, she pulls out a bag of quarters. “I came prepared.”

“Look at you.” I give her hair a playful ruffle. “Get us the good stuff.”