Page 107 of We Already Dug the Grave

The guard pecked something into the computer and grimaced. He looked closer at my ID. “No one’s scheduled to see Lilibet Waters,” he said. Then, “In fact, she’s never had a visitor.” He stared at me, waiting for me to explain.

“I…I haven’t had the opportunity. I live with my great-aunt and, well.” I stopped talking, my voice going squeaky. I coughed and blinked, afraid that hot tears would spring into my eyes and embarrass me even more. “It’s only… I really need to see my mama, you know? And—”

“So you don’t have an appointment?”

I sighed. “Um, no. But…I really need—”

He held up his hand, then squinted at my ID once again. “And you’re seventeen? Christ, you can’t be here without a guardian and—”

A choked sob escaped. I’d come so far. I had to see her. Mama was right there. “You don’t understand. No one will bring me, and I really, I…I need her. Please. I know you can help me.”

The guard rolled his eyes. “Look, kid. I’m sorry. I am. There’s nothing I can do. Are you even on her visitation list?”

I said nothing.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, then tapped the keyboard again. He shook his head. “Nope. Not on the list. I can’t—”

“Please?” I pressed one hand against the plexiglass, horrified at the whining pitch of my voice. “Tell her I’m here. She’ll want to see me… She’ll add me to the list and—”

“Doesn’t work that way, kid.”

My shoulders slumped, and all of the exhaustion and fear and shame of the last twenty-four hours poured out.

The man stared, then leaned toward the window. “Okay. Listen. Christ, I’m going to regret this, but you look like you could use a break. I know about your mama. Everyone does… She’s a sweet lady who got a raw deal.” He paused, looking as if he already regretted what he was about to say. “I’m going to see what I can do.”

“Yes, sir.” I nodded, hope rising in my chest. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Don’t thank me yet. First, I’m going to get someone to track her down and see if she’ll add you to her list, then I’ll see if we can fast-track the visit. If not, well, kid, that’s that. You understand?”

I nodded.

“But right now, go plant it over there. This might take a while.” He pointed to a row of moldy-looking chairs bolted to the floor.

I chose the least-stained seat and sank into it.

Minutes past. An hour. Two hours. I drifted off, then awoke with a start. The guard caught me looking at him and shrugged.

I waited. There were no magazines like at the dentist. No books. No people to watch. Nothing. I sat, hands clasped in my lap and let my mind wander.

Finally, he motioned for me to come back.

“You get five minutes, you understand? Next time, you arrange it first, have a guardian sign some forms, and you can have longer. But I had to go to bat for you on this.” He sighed. “You remind me of my daughter a little. Same poufy haircut.”

My hand went to the back of my hair. A week ago, the bad haircut had seemed like a huge deal. Now, I couldn’t care less.

“Don’t make me regret this, okay?”

“Okay.” My eyes widened. I was going to see her. This was happening.

The guard hit a button, and a heavy door buzzed open. Another guard—a woman with brown, acne-scarred skin and a shiny, slick bun—led me back. My keys were confiscated, and I walked through a scanner. When it didn’t alert, I was shown to a room lit with buzzing fluorescent lights. The cinder block walls were painted a dirty white, and the air was heavy with despair.

At a small table, in the middle of all of it, sat Mama.

Her blond hair hung down her back in a tight braid, and her hands were cuffed in front of her, resting on the table. Seeing her, even so changed, unearthed long-buried memories that bombarded me all at once: her exact scent, like rain and lemon furniture polish. How cool her palms had felt when she’d cupped my cheek to check for a fever or rubbed my back when I was sick or held my hand while we watched a movie.

In my mind, I could hear her sing along with the radio as she cleaned house.

I’d forgotten, but suddenly remembered with certain clarity, the cadence and carry of her voice, and all the little things I’d collected from her over our eight short years together. The sayings and laughter. The way she’d press her lips into a firm line whenever she was lost in thought. How she always giggled at my jokes, even though at only eight years old I’d known they weren’t that funny.