Miranda goes to visit her ex-boyfriend Hench, who is also her former martial arts instructor, in Jail, even though she has her qualms about visiting her abusive and violent ex.

This story is featured in my collection of short stories entitled Short Songs, featuring characters from The Rise and Fall of Skye Wright series.

     “Are they gonna search me?”
     “Yeah. But it’s no big as long as you dress down.”
     “Dress down?” Miranda was looking through her clothes as she talked to Skye on the phone.
     “Don’t wear any gnarly band shirts,” said Skye. “An’ nothing too revealing.”
     “Yeah, not gonna wear anything sexy to a men’s prison. But why no skull shirts?”
     “If you wear something that looks too fucked up they could deny you entry.”
     Miranda stood straight. “Really?”
     “F’real. Dress down. Wear something plain.”
     “What about a regular band shirt? One that doesn’t have, like, a rotting skull on it?”
     “Then it depends on what kind of mood they’re in, and which guard you get. Stick with something plain.”
     Miranda knew that Skye had visited friends in prison before. Even though Miranda knew people who had to do time, she had never gone to see any of them while they were in lock up.
     She started digging through her clothes. She knew she had regular civilian wear somewhere in her closet as she tossed aside band shirt after band shirt, but it had been such a long time since she had worn any of them that they had eventually migrated to the deeper recesses of her wardrobe.
     “You sure you wanna visit that guy?” asked Skye. “We practically had to break his arm getting him off of you that time he attacked you outside a’ Gilman.”
     “He’s not gonna attack me during a prison visit.”
     “You sure?”
     “Hey, that wasn’t the first time he jumped me.”
     “Damn girl.”
     “We had plenty a’ fights. And you know, sometimes it was me kickin’ his ass.”
     Miranda managed to move enough clothes out of the way to find a few plain black turtlenecks. “Are they gonna get bent outta shape about black clothes? Because I ain’t got nothin’ that’s not black.”
     “Shouldn’t be a problem.”
     Miranda stood straight as she held up her plain black top. “To be honest, I’m not actually sure I want to go out there.”
     “Okay. But you’re still gonna go?”
     “I think I kinda have to. It’s a have to thing, rather than a want to thing.”
     “You’re not obligated. Especially with a creep like that.”
     Miranda threw the black long sleeved shirt on her bed and took out a pair of black slacks. “It’s hard to explain, but yeah, I owe him enough to visit him at least once. It’s something I should do.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

     Miranda was used to getting stared at…
     But it felt different in the waiting room.
     The room was full of other women, some who were alone, and more than a few with children.
     She saw women with rough faces and scores of tattoos. Some of them had tattoos peeking out from the cuffs of their long sleeve shirts. She could tell that they had all dressed down, as she had. Her vision superimposed their true natures, as she could easily see the frayed jackets, skimpy Walmart clothes, and biker t-shirts that they no doubt normally wore.
     She was surprised when she went through security. She expected a lot more scrutiny, or at least some gawks, stares, or possibly snarky comments from the guards, who remained stoic and business-like during the entire check in routine.
     A thin woman with a swath of red hair and wearing a yellow dress sat down next to her as they waited for the meeting room to open. “I ain’t never seen you here before. Your man jus’ get locked up?”
     Miranda screwed up her face. “Well, he’s not really my man.”
     “Oh. Family?”
     “My ex.”
     The woman’s eyes became wide. “No shit? That’s a new one.”
     “Yeah, for me too!”
     A guard called out to let them know they were opening the room. They checked people in one at a time. As they waited, only the chatter of children and the direction of the guards broke through the silence.
     When it was Miranda’s turn, a guard led her into a wide, cafeteria-like room and led her to a table. Half of the visitors were already talking to prisoners while herself and the others sat at their tables, still waiting.
     Miranda looked to the door where prisoners periodically came through. She sat back and straight in her chair, both feet on the floor, bracing herself.
     Her heart skipped a beat when they brought in a tall man with dark hair. Her skin bristled when she realized it was not Hench.
     After what seemed like long moments, a short, bald-headed guard brought him out. She knew it was him when she saw his short and disheveled black hair.
     His face was thinner, giving him sunken cheeks. He looked as if he had done a poor job shaving.
     Miranda kept sitting, even though other visitors had stood up to hug their men.
     The guard stopped at the table as Hench stood, looking right at Miranda.
     “Hello Hench.”
     “Miranda.”
     Hench sat down and nodded to the guard.
     Hench folded his hands on the table. “Thanks for coming out.”
     “Sure.”
     “You get hassled comin’ in?”
     “Naw. Skye schooled me on proper visitation attire.”
     “Right. Your friend who almost broke my arm.”
     “That’s the one,” stated Miranda matter-of-factly.
     Hench looked down at his hands. “So, how have you been?”
     “Good. Life is good. My band’s really taking off.”
     Hench looked up as if he was surprised. “Really?”
     “Yeah. Don’t you read the papers? Or at least listen to music in this joint?”
     “I wasn’t into that scene. Not like you were. Are, I mean.”
     “I also started up a country music act with my old partner Sweetheart.”
     “No shit? Isn’t that the one you hit on? The one who turned out not to be into girls?”
     Miranda crossed her arms. “Yep. You know my friends.”
     Hench unclenched his hands and leaned back. “Are you still with that Preston dork?”
     “That ‘dork’ is one of the best guitarists I’ve ever met. And I know like, five thousand guitarists.”
     “Sure. Does he know you’re here?”
     “Of course he does,” said Miranda as she did her best to maintain her composure.
     Hench looked slightly embarrassed. “He really doesn’t mind you comin’ out to visit me?”
     “I wasn’t sure if he would or not. I just… I couldn’t not tell him.” Miranda lowered her eyes. “I couldn’t do that to him.”
     “What? Not tell him you’re visiting an ex in jail?”
     Miranda looked up at Hench. “It’s not the kind of relationship where I can just lie to him about what I’m doing.”
     “And he really don’t have a problem with it?”
     “He said he wasn’t crazy about the idea, but he understood.”
     “Understood what?”
     “That exes are part of my life.”
     “Damn. Where did you find him anyways?”
     Miranda leaned on the table. “At a little library.”
     “What?”
     “We ran into each other in the middle of the night. We were going to the same little library.”
     “That sounds hella gay.”
     Miranda narrowed her eyes. “Only a goddamn rockhead like you would say something so stupid,” she hissed.
     “Okay, yeah,” said Hench as he held up a hand.
     “Seriously, do you even have an IQ above a hockey score?”
     “Okay, I’m sorry.”
     Miranda leaned back. “Sounds like you’re just jealous.”
     “Jealous? Why would I be jealous of someone who’s on the outside and dating you?”
     Miranda raised an eyebrow.
     “I mean, c’mon Miranda, is he really all that?”
     “He used to be a drug dealer.”
     Hench’s eyes became wide. “Seriously?”
     Miranda nodded. “Meth. Him and Skye used to supply half of San Francisco with gofast back in their day.”
     “Skye? Your guitar player?”
     Miranda nodded again.
     “Damn,” said Hench. “I thought he was just another goofy punk from the Gilman scene.”
     Miranda winced. “What makes you think I’d go out with someone like that?”
     Hench laid his hands flat on the table and dropped his head. “Yeah. My bad.”
     Miranda held back an angry tremor. She glanced at the guards who were standing around the hall. They were not focused on anything in particular, but they also did not seem to be bored or blase.
     She could tell they were ready to move, if they had to.
     Miranda tried to remember her principles as she did her best to repress her seethe. “So how have you been doing in here?”
     Hench’s eyes darted around. “Tryin’ to get used to this place. I gotta hang out with those Aryan Front guys.”
     “You’re no fascist. I mean, you’re a violent prick, but you’re not a fascist.”
     “You don’t have to be a Nazi to hang out with those guys. Just a paleface.”
     “But do you get along with those guys?”
     “They’re really into my martial arts training. They’ve been asking me to show them some moves.”
     “No doubt.”
     “You know, this place has been… doin’ things to me.”
     “Things?”
     He leaned towards her and lowered his voice. “I could probably snap your neck before you could react. I could do that, right now!”
     Miranda narrowed her eyes at him. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You asked me to come see you in this place, and I showed up. Now you’re gonna talk to me like that? Do you even care that I’m here?”
     Hench sat back, putting his hands flat on the table. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
     “Besides, I’d break your arm before you could touch me.”
     Hench looked for a moment as if he was going to say something, but then his face relaxed.
     “You use your moves on anyone lately?” asked Hench.
     Miranda shook her head. “I’ve broken up a few fights, but that’s about it.”
     “You should stay sharp. Try and find a good dojo and keep up.”
     “You’re probably right.” Miranda narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. “Is that why you asked me to come here? To see if I’ve been keeping up with my martial arts?”
     “Naw. I wondered if you could help me out with my storage.”
     “Storage?”
     “I gotta lotta things in storage and I gotta move it. I can’t afford to keep it up. Some of it’s equipment you could use. Y’know, some heavy bags and gloves, and a few weights.”
     “Where the fuck am I gonna put that stuff? I live in an apartment.”
     Hench bobbed his head around. “Some of it’s stuff you can get rid of, but there’s a lot of things I wanna keep. I need someone to sort it out and find a smaller storage space.”
     “And you’re asking me? Of all people?”
     Hench slowly shook his head. “I couldn’t find anyone else who was willing to come out here.”
     Miranda sat and looked at Hench as he looked down at the tabletop.
     Her mind roiled with mixed feelings.
     “I think you really should try again, and get someone else to do it,” said Miranda. “I really don’t have the time to deal with all of your junk. I mean, I’m in two bands right now, and I’m doing some work for Skye.”
     “Honestly, I didn’t ask too many people.” He fixed his eyes on her. “Only the people I can trust.”
     Miranda let out a long sigh. “Okay, maybe I can store your exercise stuff at my friend Lee’s gym. And I can help you rent out another storage space. A smaller space, for whatever else you want to keep.”
     Hench sat quietly. He looked as if he did not know what to say.
     “Anyone else come out here to visit you?” asked Miranda.
     Hench blinked and shook his head.
     “Really? Not your ex Cindy? Not Housh? Not even Chuckle?”
     “Nope.”
     Miranda leaned on the table and gave Hench a hard stare. “You’ve been using in here, haven’t you?”
     Hench’s face dropped.
     He stayed silent.
     “Is it just booze? Or is it something else? It is, isn’t it?”
     “Just a little booze now and then,” he replied quietly.
     “Bullshit. You’ve been gettin’ high.”
     Hench leaned on the table. “There’s a ton of meth in here. But I avoid that shit.”
     “You found something else though, didn’t you?”
     “This place… I ain’t a jailbird. I know I… I ain’t used to this shit. I gotta do something to take the edge off.” Hench dropped his head. “You’re the only person who’s come out to see me. That storage shit ain’t no big deal. I just needed to see someone on the outside.”
     Miranda sat back, trying to resist the empathy she was feeling.
     “I should probably go,” said Miranda.
     Hench looked surprised for a quick moment before he nodded. “Tell Preston I said hi.”
     Miranda stood up. “Remember what I said? When you asked me if Preston was gonna protect me from you?”
     Hench’s expression became serious. “Yeah. I do. You said… you told me you were gonna protect him. That if I touched him, or if I hurt him in any way, you were gonna kill me.”
     Miranda steeled her eyes. “Yeah.”
     “I ain’t gonna do anything. Trust me.”
     “Trusting you isn’t something I’m interested in.”
     Miranda started to walk away.
     “Wait, jus’ a sec.”
     Miranda stopped and turned around.
     “Can I get in touch with you again? I mean, about stuff other than the storage deal?”
     Miranda glanced at the prison guard who was walking up behind Hench.
     “You can,” said Miranda, “but only on certain conditions.”
     “Okay.”
     Miranda fixed her eyes on him. “You have to clean up your act. No drugs, no alcohol. Start going to the meetings in here. And don’t try tellin’ me there ain’t no meetings in here. I already checked!”
     Miranda could have sworn that Hench looked surprised.
     “I can try,” said Hench.
     “And you can’t contact me directly. You have to talk to Preston first.”
     Hench’s face fell. “What?”
     “He’s gonna talk to you about your sobriety.”
     “Really? Your clean and sober boyfriend is gonna tell me about cleanin’ up?”
     “Yes. That’s the deal.” Miranda paused so Hench could let it all sink in. “Take it or leave it.”
     The guard walked up behind Hench and glanced at him, as if waiting for his response.
     “Okay,” said Hench finally. “I’ll take it.”
     Miranda gave Hench Preston’s number.
     The guard started leading Hench away.
     Miranda could have sworn he looked bewildered.
     As Miranda walked out of the meeting room, she could not help a smile.