Prison Rules - Prologue

All characters represented in this work are wholly fictional, and over the age of eighteen.

It was one of those conversations that my parents clearly meant to be private. They only began to talk an hour or so after I'd already ascended the stairs to my bedroom and theoretically would have been asleep (find me an eighteen year old who actually sleeps before eleven PM), but it spiraled out of hand.

"You want her to live here?" My mother Tala, a tiny filipina firecracker, found it difficult to modulate her volume at the best of times. Her incredulous exclamation cut through my headphones like a shard of glass, perking up my ears. I tried to ignore it for a second, then a minute. I fought my natural instincts to snoop. In our two-bedroom duplex, it was hard to find privacy outside of the chilly unfinished basement area, so I usually attempted to avoid listening in on my parents' conversations.

I wrestled with the morality of the decision. On one hand, I could just ignore it, turn my headphones up or turn on something more interesting. On the other, I'd already been browsing TikTok for a few hours, and the algorithm wasn't quite hitting the same as it had at eight o'clock. Real-life drama rarely rises to the levels of internet drama, but this was a little closer to home. I slid out from beneath my covers and crept to the top of the stairs, crouching before the railing to hear more. I reasoned I could always return to my bed, finish my evening with a quick wank, once I figured out it was something boring and parental. Little did I know as I looped off one ear of my headphones, boring was not on the menu.

"-reformed!" I only caught the last word of my father's sentence.

"Richard, that's not something you can reform your way out of!" Mom's admonishment was incredulous. "People get worse in jail, not better- and you want a worse version of her around your son before he even leaves for college?" I quickly realized they were talking about my aunt Bethany, the only person I could think of who I knew was imprisoned, and could cause that sort of friction between them.

I couldn't remember much about Beth. My aunt had been a distant face at extended family gatherings when I was a kid, and by the time I was old enough to notice her absence, she was already absent. Over various years of discussions regarding my American family (my father's side), I'd gathered the following clues:

She was in prison.

I wasn't allowed to ask why.

The topic caused my parents some level of consternation.

No, I really wasn't allowed to ask why.

"She's paid her debt to society!" Dad's softer rejoinder in the living room below. I could imagine him holding his hands in a mollifying gesture in front of him. He was a seemingly poor match for my mother, tall and pudgy, gentle where she was diminutive and ferocious. They'd met when they were both younger- he a nerdy data scientist, she a hot-headed receptionist at the insurance company he'd been working for at the time. It didn't make sense to others in their lives, but they clearly liked each other enough to make things official, and of course to have me. In reality, I think that the two of them balanced one another well.

"Debt to society!" Tala practically spat the phrase, an expression of her disdain. "You've been talking to her too much!" I had no idea that my father spoke to his sister at all, so this came as a bit of a surprise to me. I slid my headphones fully off, listening intently.

"She's my sister, Tal'." His voice was pained. "I don't want to turn her out on the street-" She interrupted him, her voice loud, practically hysterical.

"I don't want her in my house, and I certainly don't want her sharing a room with my son!" Mom's voice was bitter, a sour note of disdain. In response, for the first time, I heard my father's voice rise to match hers.

"It's not your house, Tala, it's our house- actually, it's my house according to the lease!" He roared, and I could tell it startled her. Neither of them spoke for a second, and I could tell he regretted resorting to throwing their inequitable legal status in her face. It wasn't something they spoke about very often, but my mother was still technically a green card holder, rather than a citizen. "Family takes care of each other." His voice was firm, but lessened in volume. "It will only be for a few months, just to help her get on her feet. Jake is leaving for UVA after graduation, so she'll probably be gone by the time he gets back for his first break anyway." His tone had a hard edge to it.

For a few moments, neither of them spoke. I leaned in, trying not to miss their next words. My mother was never far from a tirade- this, that, or the other thing just seemed to drive her up the wall -but I'd never heard my dad speak to her like this. To call both of us a little stunned was an understatement.

"My sister made a mistake. She is not a bad person, she just made a mistake, and has had a decade to think about what she did. She's going to stay with us until she's financially capable of moving out and living on her own, and that's final." Dad's voice shook as he spoke, cortisol spiking in his blood as he laid down the law.

Mom murmured something in assent, and the two of them lowered their voices as their conversation turned towards logistics. I bit my lip and retreated to my room, returning my headphones to my ears, but listening to nothing but silence.

I felt like I'd just witnessed something I shouldn't have. I had never been more aware of my parents as humans, with all their flaws and biases. I felt tense, not at the thought of losing the privacy of my bedroom (I'd always felt the space was too large for my limited material possessions), but at the prospect of six-ish months living in the awkward energy that loss created. In all honesty, I couldn't bring myself to give much of a crap about adding another bed to the room where I did little but study and sleep. Even if it were occupied by someone I didn't know very well, I'd have to do it again as soon as I moved into my freshman dorm, so might as well get used to the thing, right?

Nevertheless, it didn't feel real in that particular moment, and my evening moved on quite unabated. I've never known someone better able to hold a grudge than my mother, and I had a feeling I hadn't heard the last of her objections. Lose the battle, win the war, and all that. I was fairly certain that despite my father's words, aunt Beth wouldn't be moving into my room.

I guess I should've had more faith in the steel of his resolve.

///

I wasn't wrong that my mother continued to bring it up, needling and sniping every chance she got, but I had underestimated exactly how thick my dad's skin was when it came to helping his sister.

For most of my life, apparently he'd found it easier to be a bit of a pushover, allowing Tala to have her way out of expediency. Those days, however, had come to an end. I found myself respecting him a lot more in the weeks leading up to his sister's arrival, recognizing his strategic disinterest for things that didn't align with his values. Family, as it turns out, most certainly did. Whenever my mother brought up the prospect of an alternative- getting Beth a long-term rental, or putting her up in a hotel for a few weeks, were shut down succinctly the word "No." becoming his most succinct and common refrain. Obviously, they tried to hide it from me while the decision was still "pending" so to speak, but they seemed to be getting a lot sloppier in terms of their conversations, often staying up late into the night to continue their back and forths when I was supposed to be asleep.

The two of them kicked the can down the road about telling me for almost a week after that overheard conversation. I didn't rush them, they clearly needed the time. A malaise was hanging over their relationship, rather unlike the cohesive parental couple they'd been before. Clearly, there was some forgiving to do.

Eventually, dad sat me down to run through the logistics of the plan. It was almost comical, but on returning from soccer practice on the following Thursday, I found him sitting in my desk chair.

It was reminiscent of a 'bird and the bees' scenario, if significantly less awkward.

"So here's the thing, champ-" I almost snorted at his use of the word champ. Had he been reading from the textbook of awkward conversations? I dropped my bag beside the desk, leaning against it casually, trying to resist the urge to let him know I'd heard their whole discussion days before, and been surreptitiously present for many subsequent conversations.

"Where's the thing?" I grinned at him, trying to project casual lightheartedness to make him feel less awkward about asking me to give up half of my room. I kept it tidy, almost spartan, with only a few movie posters hanging above my navy blue bedspread, leaving a significant portion of floor space open for stretching before soccer practice. I already had a Twin-XL, it's not like I'd have to change mattresses, I just wish he'd get it over with.

"Well it's- Do you remember your Aunt Beth?" He sighed. "I know she hasn't been around for a few years, but you remember her- at your eighth birthday party, right?" He glanced at me hopefully, steepling his pudgy fingers in his lap. I couldn't pretend that I'd ever seen much of a resemblance between the two of us, I definitely leaned more on my filipino heritage, but I could almost feel my own fingers itching to do the same, a shared tendency in awkward situations.

"Oh yeah, I remember Aunt Beth! Is she getting out of the clink?" I'll admit, I was trying to make it easy for him, but also trying to get out of the situation for myself as well. I spotted vague relief spreading across his face, and he raked his fingers across his thinning hair, letting out a breath I doubt he knew he was holding in.

"Yes- yes she is, but she's not going to have anywhere to go when she gets out." He said, and I nodded, glancing around my room.

"Surely we can fit another mattress in here, right? Just have her come stay with us." I tried to say it casually, but I could almost feel the relief coming off my father in waves. Despite his newfound steel with my mother's continued haranguing, I could tell he'd been dreading speaking with me. He should've gone to therapy for his social anxiety years ago, but I don't think his generation has figured out psychiatry yet.

"That's what I- that's what your mother and I were thinking, too." He paused for a beat, as if wondering if implicating her in the plan had been an advisable idea or not, before pushing forward. "You don't have to give me an answer now, but we're trying to help her out. Just because people go to prison, it doesn't make them bad people- hell, you don't remember, but she was on track to be a movie star or something before she went away. She's had a tough break, and she did something wrong, but she's paid her debt to society and we think she deserves a second shot at making better decisions." I had to bite back a bark of laughter at his strategic use of the word we. Mom would probably have had thoughts about that. "She made a mistake, but she's still my kid sister. We don't abandon family when they've made mistakes, we support them, no matter what." For an instant, his eyes met mine, and I felt the same swelling of pride for his conviction as I had a few days before. He bit his lip, and waited for my response with clearly-bated breath.

I'd have given his little speech a seven out of ten. He clearly rehearsed it, but had a few flubs in the moment that dropped him a few points. As I mentioned, it didn't particularly matter to me. I was almost totally apathetic to the prospect of Beth moving in with me. I gave it a solid ten seconds of consideration, even casting my eyes to the ceiling, as though I were calculating something, just to let him know he'd gotten through to me.

"Thanks for talking me through it, dad. I don't think that will be a problem for me, it's only for a few months at most before I head to UVA, right?" I gave him a brief smile, which he returned. "Do I get to know what she did yet?" I knew I was pushing it a little bit, but I figured I had some leverage to push.

"Well- I'm going to have her talk to you about it." That was more classic dad. Not quite as assertive when he could pawn off responsibilities on someone else. Nevertheless, his secrecy was eating at me more than I'd like to admit. He hesitated, and for a moment I thought he was going to change his mind, to tell me, but the moment passed. "It's more polite for her to tell you anyway." He finished, lamely.

"Sure, I can get that." I allowed him to beat a hasty retreat from my room, clearly still feeling awkward about asking me to give up my personal space.

I didn't really get why he was being so weird about it, at the time I assumed it was maybe leftover anxiety about fighting with my mom. In hindsight, maybe I shouldn't have been surprised by the answer to my question.

///

Three weeks later, my aunt Bethany moved into the other half of my bedroom.

My parents got her her own mattress with a brand new bedframe- a bit of a waste of money in my opinion, but I suppose I don't know where to find a used bedframe -and they helpfully purchased a standing divider to separate our spaces. The divider, as it turned out, was rather sheer, but it's the thought that counts.

The woman herself moved in while I was at school, obviously. It's not like the prison is going to operate outside of work hours, no matter how much more convenient it would be for me personally. Then suddenly, there she was, in my home, more specifically the living room upon my return from class. I tried to be chill, casual, who knows what prison does to the psyche, after all?

I closed the door gently behind me, setting my school bag to one side as our eyes met for the first time. Bethany was, and I don't mean to put too fine a point on this, significantly more attractive than my father. I could tell she hadn't had access to cosmetics for a while based on the frown lines and crows feet slowly settling onto her face, but it gave her a kind of effortless, wild beauty that made me think of supermodels, or indeed as my father mentioned, movie stars. Her auburn hair spilled down her back in waves and rivulets, like a mane of copper. I had no idea where in our genes she got the color from, or if it was natural at all.

"Hey Jake, how's- it going?" Her voice was halting as she addressed me, as though she were unused to such pleasantries. Obviously untrue, prison doesn't turn you antisocial to the best of my knowledge, but I could tell she was experiencing some level of awkwardness. I suppose not speaking to someone for a decade could make you a little strained. I tried to keep my voice level and calm, as my father emerged from the kitchen, soda can in hand.

"Dad, check it out, my new roommate is here!" I tossed the joke towards him, even as I moved towards the couch with my hand outstretched to shake hers. We were technically family, but I thought it best to lead with something a little more formal, given the situation. She surprised me by standing and embracing me regardless.

"Nu-uh, I don't like that, just because I'm strange doesn't make me a stranger!" I felt a little odd, but returned her hug, wrapping my arms around her body. Despite myself, I could feel her curves beneath the chunky crewneck sweatshirt she wore, emblazoned with the UVA crest. I realized it was actually my sweatshirt, and felt a stab of annoyance at not having been asked, but I brushed it away. She probably didn't have many articles of clothing from which to choose.

"How- uh, how are you?" I spoke into her hair, not wanting to break away for fear of hurting her feelings. Her arms gently squeezed me, pulling me against her gently but insistently.

"You've-you've grown so big! Last time I saw you I could pick you up and twirl you around..." Beth's voice was wistful, and for the first time, I realized how young she was. A decade had flown by for her unbidden, but she was still in the prime of her life, a few years the poorer but able to flex with the times in which she now found herself, hopefully.

"Your rum and diet Coke has arrived!" Dad exclaimed, handing the beverage to Beth, breaking us apart with his intrusion. I looked around for my mother, but found her absent, doubtless still sulking.

"Finally!" She flashed a bright, impish smile at me, curling her long fingers around the can. "You don't know what you miss on the inside- they only had Pepsi and toilet wine!" She took a sip, and made a face at my father. "Not worth the wait, but thanks, Rich." Then to me: "Your father and I are going to get respectfully tipsy tonight, in celebration of freedom from tyranny." I almost choked- my dad wasn't much of a drinker, but I suppose if there was any time to do so, it would be this.

I felt the tension slowly start to bleed from the room as my dad smiled at his little sister. It was as though the ten years bled from his paunchy face in an instant, and I could feel my heart swell with joy. Truly, this is what family was for.

"Now, you're going to have to show me what this whole iPhone thing is..." Bethany began, launching the first of what we came to call her 'remedial life education' sessions.

As it turns out, being in prison makes you miss a lot in ten years, and it was a great opportunity to begin to chip away at the wall of awkward ice between us. We were going to be sleeping feet away from one another, so it was going to be essential to be comfortable. A thousand little things piled up- technology, memes as a concept intrigued her to no end, news my father had about their shared friends from high school was met with some degree of dismissal, but doubtless the most impactful facet of her enforced isolation had to be the celebrity scandals and deaths she'd missed.

///

"These things just don't really make it inside- especially to Pro-Co." The three of us had relaxed somewhat in the last couple of hours. Dad was sinking into the fabric of his favored Lay-Z-boy, Beth and I on the couch. Both of them seemed to have fallen back into a familiar rhythm, doubtless helped by the alcohol. "Gossip is hard to come by when you only get a few hours of yard time per day, limited calls, supervised visitation." She shook her head, pursing her lips dismissively.

"Yeah, but I still can't believe you never heard about Bill Cosby, it was huge news." My father grumbled. "America's dad!" He beseeched me for support, causing me to roll my eyes a little.

"I mean, it was big, but I don't know that it was earth-shattering dad, maybe for your generation..." My father shook his head in mock outrage at my words as Beth cackled.

"Exactly! It's a generational thing, old-timer, us young'uns don't give a rat's ass about Bill-fucking-Cosby." She giggled, her inebriation evident.

"What would be more relevant to the Beth of twenty-sixteen?" Dad stroked his chin in lieu of a bushy white beard, face scrunched in concentration. "Jake, help me out here!"

"Drake? There was a whole beef with Kendrick-" I ventured, but paused as I saw my aunt's face fall.

"No, we- heard about that one..." She seemed slightly put out by the topic trailing off as she picked up her now-empty glass, seemingly finding her sobriety in a bare instant. Her eyes flicked over to her brother as she addressed him. "Rich, do you mind if I talk to Jake alone for a minute, you know-" He nodded, already rising to his feet, clearly heading towards the stairs to give us privacy.

"Absolutely, I'll give you two a few minutes." He beat a hasty retreat, leaving Beth and I by ourselves.

I could tell Beth was feeling trepidatious-