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bars on them," he added.
"Thank you Lyle."
He shrugged.
"I haven't done anything yet," he said, as if he
wanted to convince himself more than me that he
hadn't made a decision.
"You've given me hope, Lyle. That's doing a
great deal." I smiled at him. He stared at me a
moment, his rust-colored eyes blinking and then he
turned away.
"Go on," he said. "Do what I told you." I went to the female attendant and explained
that I had to go to the bathroom.
"I'll show you where it is," she said when we
returned to the door.
"1 know where it is. Thank you," I replied
quickly. She shrugged and left me. I did exactly what
Lyle said and scurried down the short flight of steps.
The laundry room was a large, long room with cement
floors and cement walls lined with washing machines,
dryers, and bins. Toward the rear were the windows
Lyle had described, but they were high up.
"Quick," I heard him say as he entered behind
me. We hurried to the back. "You just snap the hinge
in the middle and slide the window to your left," he
whispered. "It's not locked."
"How do you know that, Lyle?" I asked
suspiciously. He looked down and then up at me
quickly.
"I've been here a few times. I even went so far
as to stick my foot out, but I. . . I'm not ready," he
