February 26, 2000 ~ Imprisoned

"There is something wrong with the animals." I pulled on my shoes.

"Melissa, It's two a.m."

"Can we go check?"

We stumbled across the hay field and entered the barn. The horses and cattle were all awake, restlessly shifting and pawing at the ground. Fear glanced in the whites of their eyes.

"There's nothing here," he said, looking around.

I grabbed his arm. "Something soon will be..."

Suddenly we heard a roar. The ground shook; the boards began to fall from the walls; the hay cubes fell from their stacks; the roof began to collapse. We heard shouts from the farmhouse. The barn caved in about us, the animals began to stampede. We ran for the back entrance, pulling hay bales from the door. We pushed our way out and began to run across the field. We could not tell where the blast had come from, but for the shock wave to demolish the barn, it had to be nearby.

"Who's out there?" A gruff male voice. "Who blew up my barn?"

We fell flat in the knee-high grass. Silent. Still. I could hear my heart beating.

"Let's find the bastards. Come on y'all."

Footsteps whispered through the grass, passing ten feet to our right. Morgan rose up and bolted in the other direction, and I cautiously raised myself up as well, but the backmost man in the search party turned and saw me. He began to walk towards me. I knew it was pointless to run. As he drew near I hooked his legs from under him, and he fell to the ground beside me. He was a friend. I motioned him to silence.

"What happened?" I whispered.

"Someone's destroyed that barn."

"Obviously."

He looked at me suspiciously.

"Look. I had a... feeling. We came out to check on the animals, and then a roar and the barn began to fall apart around me. I know nothing."

"All right, okay, sorry. Just don't let any of them find you just yet." He pulled me to my feet and we quietly began to move away. The search party noticed us, however, turning directions. We began to run, ducking behind some haystacks. Heavy breath. Footsteps. I grab his hand and close my eyes.

A hand grabs my shoulder. "She didn't do anything," he bursts out.

"Shuddup boy. You were supposed to be helping us." The man with the gruff voice jerked me to my feet. "I found 'er!" Lights bob over the field. "Someone call the police."

The tears come. Why am I silent? Why am I not defending my innocence? I am not a criminal... I catch my friend's eyes. I'm sorry, those eyes say.

I try to sleep on the floor, sitting up; I don't want to catch lice from the ancient, blackened mattress. The metal around my wrist has already caused bruises. I haven't moved in twelve hours. They took away my wedding ring. What can one possibly do with a wedding ring? My hair hangs in dirty darkened yellow strands around my face. I watch the roaches crawl about in the shadows of the rusty bedframe. I hope they are not in my clothes. I can see a patch of sky through the window. It is blue, a deep blue. The cement walls are a dirty brown color. The guard sits at her desk in the main room, staring at me. I wish she would read a book. Her eyes are always on me. Judging. Assuming. She thinks she knows who I am.

I need to use a bathroom. I tell this to the staring woman. She continues to stare. "Please, it has been over a day."

She gives me a bucket.

I want to be with Morgan. They haven't let him visit yet. I love my work, but it is going on without me. I love my classes, and they too are going on without me. I am tired inside. It is hard to look out the crack of a window. The light tortures me with its freedom. I want to be doing something for the world. I want to be loving people. I want to continue learning and growing. Nothing grows here, save the roaches and the mildew. The world is changing outside the window, in that light, and I know nothing about it. I am not allowed to know that change, or even participate.

No one can meet the bail. I will be here for months. Framed. A pitiful picture for the staring woman to analyze.

I woke this morning to the previous images playing through my head. I don't know what the dream meant, but it was vivid and intense. Perhaps it was an attempt to sympathize with my father, who is in jail right now. He says he is not guilty. I need to write him a letter.

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