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Yeah . . . I'm getting an idea.
Yes!
Excitement courses through me as the images of a plan form in my head.
Yes.
A damned brilliant one! So simple, I can't believe I didn't think it up sooner!
My chest swells with newfound hope, but I don't let myself smile as I reach for the shampoo and sloppily pour the thick liquid soap, making a big puddle in my palm that runs down my hand and arm, slowly making its' way down my body to the floor in front of me.
A wicked excitement cracks at one corner of my mouth as I massage the puddle between my palms and drag my toes over the dribbled spot on the slick shower floor.
"Blah, la blah, blah-blah! Blah, blah, blah-blah . . ."
Looking at the tiled wall, I am concentrating. I have to be quick and very cautious. On the off-chance that this latest stroke of genius doesn't work, I have to be able to try again.
This has to look like an accident.
"Blah, blah, blah, blah-blah blah, la blah, blah de blah, blah." Avery blabs on, waving a hand in front of her, examining her splayed fingers, as if she's just polished her nails.
I slather my hair with the shampoo that is so much better than the crap at the regular prison and start scrubbing, digging into my scalp with my fingernails. Working up a high pile of lather.
"Blah-blah, blah. Blah la blah, blah, blah. Blah de blah, blah-blah blah. Blah-blah, blah, blah. Blah de blah . . ."
I have to turn around. I have to get just the right angle.
As I spin, I carefully slide my other foot across the remaining puddle of shampoo on the shower floor. Letting the lather sit in my hair, I grab the bar of soap and move over, just enough, out of the showers spray to start greasing myself up.
"La-blah, blah-de-blah, blah-blah blah, la blah, blah. La-blah, blah, La-blah-de-blah . . ." Avery's annoying squawk slowly becomes background noise as I focus.
I need every surface of my body slicked down.
Once I'm done, I slyly check the proximity of the wall at my back and run my fingers over the sudsy mass on my head, dragging over my hair, pushing the suds down my body to pool at my feet before running down the drain.
The orderly that's been supervising my shower is just standing there with her hands in her pockets. I can tell by the bored look on her face that she doesn't have a clue.
Avery opens her mouth wide, "Blah, blah, blah, blah-blah-blah, la-blah de-blah, blah. Blah, blah, blah, blah-blah, la blah, blah de blah, blah . . ."
I open mine, too. But I am singing Jakes first song, Hall of Fire. "Now I'm finally getting old. Drinking Sherry, growing mold-"
On the count of three.
"Blah, la blah, blah . . ."
"This life is not what I was sold." I let the melody hang, like my head. Tears of joy mingle with the shower spray.
One.
Bending my neck as far forward as I can, my chin touches my chest. I'm coming, Jake.
"Blah-de-blah-blah blah, la blah, blah de blah, blah." Avery babbles in tune, singing along.
My feet begin to move, slipping across the floor in what I hope appears to be an impromptu dance to the rhythm in my head. "We didn't make it . . ."
Two.
With one last deep breath and all the momentum I can muster, I jerk and shift, whipping my neck back, aiming for the cement tiles of the shower wall.
