The door is locked. I climb up to my top bunk and sit cross-legged. I wish I could open the curtains more than a quarter of the way across, but I have learned that I need to choose my battles carefully, and today is not the day for curtain wars.
I hear Him exhale loudly below me, a loud throaty gushing sound:
Hhhhhhhhh…………………………………….
He fills his lungs again and then holds his breath for 8 – 10 seconds. He exhales again, followed by another silent pause as he holds his breath. This pattern will continue for the rest of his waking hours:
Hhhhhhhhh…………………………………….
Hhhhhhhhh…………………………………….
Hhhhhhhhh…………………………………….
An image comes to mind: I am a little fluffy cat, wide-eyed, de-clawed and poised – perched up on top of a tall cupboard. It is the safest place in the room.
In my lap rests a pile of emails, sent from friends and family, my greatest source of comfort. As I read them I feel my shoulders relax and my own breathing becomes deeper. I angle the pages towards the small gap in the curtains so that I can read the texts without straining my eyes.
Beside me on the bed are the things I think I might need for the next 4 hours (the time remaining until our cell is unlocked): a pad of paper, a biro, a “Teach Yourself to Code” book, and a calendar. I continue to read my emails, smiling often, then suddenly the loud breathing is interrupted by speech: “Right, ya fucker…time to get dressed”. He stands up and removes his outer layer of clothing – pyjama bottoms that are made of soft material and printed with cartoon characters. Underneath he is wearing the grey knee-length shorts that he will wear for the rest of the day and every day. I almost smile at the weirdness of this form of “getting dressed”, but instead I hold my breath, waiting for his next move. I avoid making any noise or movement that could set him off. I keep my eyes down, looking towards a printed email. But I’m not reading. He takes two small steps to reach the kettle, which sits on the “desk” at the far side of the room. He turns it on before sitting down in his plastic chair in front of the TV. I hope that he will now be settled for the next hour or two.
I start to breathe again and allow my mind to drift into the worlds that are described on the pages in front of me.