We hear the keys. We hear Little Jeannie. He’s walking her back. She is only nineteen. Her face is white and her hair is a mess. He unlocks the door and slaps her behind.
His arms and his neck are red like meat. Like he has too much blood. Red like he fell asleep in the sun.
There’s four of us in here and that’s counting Jeannie. Little Jeannie, we call her. She’s five foot one. Came here last Tuesday for passing bad checks. Got a boy and a girl and a husband who left her. First time in lockup. She’s learning the ropes.
Little Jeannie sits on her bunk and she stares. We all know that look and we leave her alone.
Bastard, says Lila. She spits at the door. Man’s a snake. He’s a worm.
That, I say, is an insult to worms.
Everyone laughs. Even Little Jeannie. Then it comes back. That look on her face.
You alright? Lila asks.
Little Jeannie nods.
I’m fine, she says.
We all know she isn’t.
When I was a kid we raised hogs, says Edie. That’s what he looks like. One of our hogs.
A razorback maybe, I say and she giggles.
He is awful red, that’s a fact, Edie says.
We hear the keys. He means for us to. He pops in and out to show us he can. Little Jeannie buries her face in a pillow. Me and Lila and Edie, we all look down at our tan plastic shoes.
He walks away whistling an old Roy Acuff tune.
Slime, says Lila. The man is just slime.
That’s spottin’ him some points, I say, and she laughs.
Yeah, Edie says, and slime’s always green. That man is red. Redder than red.
Red, I say, like he has too much blood.
Her hair's still a mess but her color is back. Little Jeannie looks up. She says, maybe he does.