“You didn’t need to know.”

“I thought you was my friend, Cuddles.”

“Shit.”

“I thought we was tight.”

“Shit.”

“Now I’m the faggot, huh, Cuddles? I liked you, man. I trusted you.”

“Shit.”

“Now get the fuck out of my face.”

I lost him as the line of prisoners I was in approached the shower. Steam was everywhere, like a wall with four sides. Cuddles must have been in it somewhere. Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw him talking with Maxie and Lou, or guys who looked just like Maxie and Lou. I couldn’t tell. The steam made everything look the same, but weird. But then I felt cold and empty inside right before I entered the steam and followed the sound of rushing water. I got chilled. And then I saw coming close to me those two black guys, both naked, that I remembered from the visitors’ room talking to that girl they called Rooms and the guy they called Jesse who was yelling at me, “Murderer! Killer!” and I remembered Moms’ voice in the background where I left her whining on Patty’s shoulder and shaking her head like none of this was true and really happening to her. The black guys looked at me like they knew who I was. They hurried away like I stank. Maybe they really didn’t see me. Who knows? But I was still cold as I got close to the shower and was already shivering when I entered the steam and the soft, hot water. I scrubbed myself clean, lathering soap everywhere, rinsing, lathering, rinsing. My skin squeaked ’cause all the shit was coming off me. I felt clean. Real clean. Locked away from the outside, enclosed in steam, naked of everything except some feeling you sometimes get standing with other naked men. The first thing you cover is your balls, then your eyes if you’re lucky enough to move that fast.

Steam on your skin could feel like a new set of clothes. You didn’t worry about seeing too much, but you started to hear differently. You could hear the water gurgling each time your feet or other people’s feet moved. You could hear the quiet too. The end of the hot water? No more showers? You could hear the steam settle on tile. Then one by one the shower heads turned off. Like on signal. End of shower period. There’d be a bell soon. Some BRRRIIINNNGGGGG sound to send us back to the block. It’d be coming soon to make us dress and haul ass back to cinder-block rooms. Any moment. I still had time before the bell. Like we was naughty children and had to be told to go to our rooms. Shit. Then laughter. Voices of grown men, not children. Steam now and silence settling like a cat’s paws on tile. My shower head was still on. A single jet of warm water. If it wasn’t the end of the hour, then what was it? My hair was still wet, the lather dripping onto tiles, my feet feeling slippery and loose. A hand? Was that a hand on my back? Suddenly no water from above. Someone had turned off my shower.