visit to the county jail by Esther Ra

From where I stand, I can see all the cells on both floors without moving my head. The walls are transparent as glass, and men move in spaces smaller than my dormitory bathroom. Reading files, doing pushups, sitting on toilets, shifting on their beds, fast asleep. Nothing is invisible. Everyone is wearing bright orange, a shocking burst of color within these gray walls. Do you have any legal questions? I call, climbing up the stairs. A clamor of hands and voices. At the nearest cell, I can’t hear his voice through the thick metal door, so I press my ear to the grille, and he crouches to bring his mouth to the other side.

For a minute, there is nothing separating us but a few inches of cold metal, through which his questions stream like water through a sieve. He asks about his trial, his ex-wife, his grievances with the court, and I scribble his words as quickly as he speaks them. I don’t know the answers to any of his questions, but I will research them and send answers when I get home. God bless you, he says. Another, Study hard and don’t end up like me. Some ask my name and what law school is like, seem disappointed when I have to move on. Many are young. Most are full of thanks, like a fountain brimming with pennies.

Back on campus, the sun is bright and blinding. I shower and join my classmates on the field, and my hair falls on my neck, damp and clean and cold. The air is almost piercing, and the grass seems to roll on forever, a world away from the world I’ve just seen. Classmates glue sequins and glitter on their fresh, sparkling faces. They kick balls high, high into the unfettered sky.