By Joshua Ryan
THIS IS A STORY ABOUT ADULTS, FOR ADULTS ONLY
As I said before, I’d seen prison vans on the road. Maybe some of them were on their way to the Durant Unit. I didn’t know. I was never really interested. I remember that when I saw them I wanted to look inside, but I couldn’t see in past the bars. All I could see was some shadowy things that looked like ghosts. Ghosts of men. Former men. I’d never thought about it that way, but that’s the way it had looked. You see a lot more than you realize.
Now I was inside the van, and the people on the street were seeing me go by. Some of them stared, and some of them glanced and looked away, like they were ashamed that they’d looked in the first place. Women in tapered suits, with little purses. Young guys in bright neckties, just getting off work. A gang of teenagers with their caps turned around, jumping on and off their skateboards, waiting for the light to change. “Dude!” one of them yelled, pointing at the van. “There’s a jailbird in there!” They all craned their necks and tried to see through the bars. They were starting to jump off the curb to get a better look, but Andre gestured at them to stay where they were, and they obeyed the man in uniform. The light changed, and the van moved on. I wondered if those kids would remember me, if they ever found themselves inside a bus that was headed for prison.
