Her Cellmate

Carrie was stripped and searched, including her cavities. Then she was hosed down and placed into her new home -- years of prison life. She sighed. She didn't know if she could do this. Finally, she was placed into her cell, small, with two cots and a toilet. Her cellmate was a 6'0 black woman who looked as if she'd been there already for a decade. She was inked, she was solid and muscular, she was in her mid-40s. Her name was Deidre, but everyone called her Dee. Dee got off her bunk, appraising her new cellmate.

"What's your name?" she said, staring the smaller girl down.

"C-c-carrie," Carrie said, stuttering. She'd read stuff before going in -- stuff about never showing fear, about making sure you dominated your space. She'd already failed it.

"I'm Dee, baby," Dee responded. She looked the girl up and down. "What are you in for?"

"Umm ... I was smuggling coke for my pimp," Carrie said, looking down.

"You don't look like the type to be pimped, doll," Dee responded.

"Yeah, it's a long story." Dee chuckled.

"We have plenty of time."