William Myrl; Letters to No One (28)

Dear No One,

We had our annual "field day". It had its successes and failures. We went to breakfast in the morning as on any other day, and there was much grumbling that because of inclement weather forecasts there would be no picnic at all. That is what the memos suggested. We locked down after breakfast, and at or after nine o'clock the counselor came into the pod to begin giving out and affixing the paper bracelets, like carnival tokens, that signified our superior status. Those without bracelets could not participate. Anyone convicted of a charge within the last year would be barred from participating.

My name was on the no fly list because of a charge I received in May; I was accused of eating a regular tray when I was assigned to common fare meals. That charge had been dropped, not that anyone told me this, but I had request forms confirming it saved up for exactly this eventuality. I did get my strip of green wrist paper, if an hour after everyone else.

The picnic itself consists of everyone going outside and being rationed hot dogs and hamburgers. It's the best food we receive all year, even if they did give us stale white bread instead of buns. It is also the annual opportunity for the inmate bands to perform for the population. As we haven't had a rec supervisor for a few months, they hadn't been allowed to practice. You could tell. Live music was a novelty, though, and given the eternal absence of my music player it was a nice change.

It was dreary and wet throughout, and we were locked down until twelve thirty, herded back in at around two. We went back outside at three thirty, returned inside at five o'clock. It was about as much outside time as a normal day, but with more being locked in our cells in between. Still, the hamburger meat was real meat, and that's just madness.

They didn't want to let me out in the evening either, because the wristband system was not sufficient security to protect the hamburgers from the bad kids, I had to get the sergeant to clear me again so I could participate.They had a printout in the booth with pictures of all the people on the blacklist.

I'm a tad sick, just a tad. And the other day I had another psych visit. There was a girl who clapped, involuntarily, like a baby seal, when I read one of my shorter poems. Gratifying. She had a french name I could never spell.

I'm down to my last minute of kiosk time, so I will have to say goodbye.

Yours,

William Myrl (28)