Purgatory

¨Hi, little bear¨...started the letter as tears started rolling down my pale cheeks. I was sitting in the middle of a piss smelling, spit reddened concrete holding cell. I read the letter hearing Mr. T´s voice clearly in my head. It was like being with him. I missed him so much. I missed my life so much I couldn´t bear the thought of never returning to it. It had been weeks in that shit hole and still no resolution. The famous three day stay had turned into a torturous endless wait for destiny to decide what was going to be of my so called life. The screeching Hindi voices yelled words I couldn´t understand. It was like purgatory in there, lost souls voicing screeching sounds begging for redemption of their sins. They had all killed people or tried to, stolen money, trafficked drugs, bought fake passports, anything they could do to get out of a place they considered hell only to get stuck on the way out on the purgatory floor. And I was there, I tried to get out of my own hell and got stuck on that shit elevator too. I was hungry and exhausted from thinking so much. The gate was opened and a tray full of little plastic bags came in and started making the rounds. It was yellow curry broth in a bag. Our meal of the day. I saw that salmonella ridden juice and took it. My stomach was like a sock flipped inside out. I was starving. We had a 6 hour wait until we were hauled back to Tihar, the big house. I made a hole at the bottom of the bag and sucked on the salmonella cocktail. Who knows what Indian water it was made with. In any case, it was an alternate way out of purgatory. I drank it all. Then, a sharp pain piercing through my chest reminded me of that lucky apple I had been baking in my breast for hours. I wasn´t sure if I should eat it or if it was an amulet I should keep with me. I decided to put it back in my breast. I wasn´t in the mood for apple pie.
Hours passed and the screeching voices never stopped. Suddenly, the gate was opened again and everyone started piling up to get out and on to the moving cage that waited outside for us. As we crossed the back patio, I caught a glimpse of Mr. T., looking at me he muttered the words ¨I love you¨ in silence, and got on his bus back to jail.
The ride always happened at sunset. You could see the orange sun pierce through the clouds of burnt shit they use as cooking gas. It made for a very poetic picture, the orange sun, behind the barred bus´ window, going down as you went into the city like prison. It reminded me of L.A. and it´s smog enhanced sunsets. I suppose we all have our own shit to deal with.