A Break From Solitary
by Charles C. Cole
The courts had decided extended solitary confinement was inhumane. So, the prison system found a clever and inexpensive workaround: put someone in extended solitary with a camera live-streaming at a guest in another part of the world, the farther away the better.
Gardner Hubbardston had only to issue the verbal command, “Initiate outreach,” between 5:00 and 6:00 a.m. his time. The listening device and monitor were up high on the wall so he couldn’t casually smash them.
“Initiate outreach.” Like so.
Dee Mastro picked up almost immediately. She could have been old and plain, but she was thirtyish and attractive. No mistake: the warden thought the attributes would make the pain of separation more intense, thus favorable from a punitive standpoint.
She was sitting at her small kitchen table under a bright overhead light, pale pink mug of coffee in her hands, wearing white pyjamas with sunflower blossoms around the collar. “You rang, big boy?”
“Dee, how’d you know it was me?”
“Nobody else would call at this ungodly hour. And I have caller ID. You’re the only one I know at Black Rock Penitentiary.”
“Well, thank you for taking my call.”
“That’s what they pay me for. Kidding. This is a voluntary gig. Gardner, how are you? You didn’t call yesterday. I thought things might have changed in lockup.”
“I didn’t want you to see me when I was down,” said Gardner, painfully honest for the moment.
“Solitary will do that, I’m sure. Poor guy. How much longer, dare I ask?”
“Two weeks, which might as well be two months.”
“Oh, baby,” said Dee. “I don’t know how you manage it. What do you do to kill the time?”
“Sleep, exercise, mope, repeat. Not a lot of options.”
“Do they give you any meds, to control your moods, I mean?”
“Hah,” said Gardner. “Only to reduce my sexual urges.”
“Careful, tiger, we’re being recorded, you know.”
“You asked.”
Dee tried to lighten the mood. “Sometimes, I think between the two of us, you have it better. No commuting. No dress code. No fighting over parking. No noisy neighbors.”
He laughed a sad laugh. “I never thought of it that way. There was, I’m told, a riot in the adjacent cellblock. It was like the sound of children playing in the gym, if you know what I mean.”
“You have the soul of a poet, Gardner,” she said.
Joking: “This is where I ask you to take your top off.”
“Gardner!”
“I’m kidding,” he responded, “mostly kidding. I haven’t seen the soft underside of a woman in years.”
“You’re paying the price for being a bad boy. If I thought it was any good for you, I might consider it. Why does it make me sad that you went there?”
“That’s the secret sauce of these calls: they tell you it’s to make my incarceration more humane, but it’s really pretty pink Himalayan salt sprinkled generously over a gaping open sore.”
“Let’s aim for something more upbeat, shall we?” Dee suggested. “I mean, part of me is in there with you, and I’m not as tough-skinned as you are. I have to think of the light at the end of the tunnel.”
“Sorry, Dee. I have my good days, and they’re usually just before or after talking with you, no flirting intended.”
“I believe you,” she said.
“We can talk about the weather. It might be a neutral topic for you, but I haven’t seen the sun in weeks. Does it still rise every morning in your part of the world?”
“And sets, like clockwork.”
“I never asked you the big question,” said Gardner. Dee braced involuntarily. “Are you an outdoors person? You know: power walks and day hikes.”
“Do you really want me to answer that?” she asked.
“Sure. You’re my proxy: where you go, I go. Your joie de vivre trickles all the way down, even to the prisoner class.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“I like the outdoors,” admitted Dee. “I do. I find it invigorating, the sound of birds, even lawnmowers and dogs barking and kids screaming in the park. Everyone’s getting recharged, and they don’t even know it or appreciate it. Maybe that’s why I took this job, because I couldn’t take what you take.”
“For the record, before somebody pulls the plug, I appreciate you and your time,” said Gardner. “Of course, each call reminds me of the parts of my life I miss and may never get back, but I love how you see the world, seriously. I had my chance, and I blew it.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“I made a mistake, a big one, which we’re not going to talk about today,” said Gardner, “and maybe never. But let’s just say I’m getting what I deserve. I can never make it up to the people I hurt.”
“So, you’re not mad at the system?” Dee asked.
“Sure, I am. But I get it: I’d throw the book at me, too. I was messed up.” He thought for a moment. “And meditate. I meditate. I don’t sit cross-legged on the cold, concrete floor, but I close my eyes and think of myself as filled with hope. I tried thinking of love, but it just wasn’t realistic.”
Dee yawned, big, not covering her mouth.
“I’m keeping you up?”
“Sorry,” said Dee. “I’ve had a crazy couple of days. Nothing like yours, but a wild ride. Maybe I’ll share when it’s more behind me.”
“We should probably wrap up.” She could hear “the tone” in his voice; he was shutting down again. The first few calls had been like that.
“I’m glad you reached out,” said Dee. “It matters to me.”
“I know,” said Gardner, though the tone sounded like the exact opposite. There was a click on the line.
“Gardner?”
“I thought you hung up, Dee. Must have been the warden’s people; I entertain them.”
“Talk soon,” said Dee.
“You’re a good person, Dee.”
She waved and hung up. The room went dark.
Copyright © 2025 by Charles C. Cole
