Free Lily of the Valley by Sarah Daltry Page A

today because some guy is arguing with the guard about his belt. They want him to leave it at the entrance, since it keeps setting off the metal detectors, but he’s apparently really attached to the stupid thing and doesn’t want to give it up. They argue back and forth and it’s the dumbest conversation I’ve ever heard. And I go to college with frat boys.
    “Buddy, you have to take off the belt and leave it, or you can’t get in. Unless you can pass through here without setting off the machines, you aren’t going to see anyone.”
    “You’re just trying to rob me. You’re all part of the system, man, and I ain’t giving you shit.”
    “You’ll get the thing back,” the guard tries to reason.
    “Fuck you. You’re just trying to keep me down.”
    The guard sighs. “Look, just put the belt right here on this shelf. I will personally watch over it and make sure it’s safe.”
    “Why should I trust you? You work for them.”
    “I do and I make less than twenty bucks an hour. I don’t care about your damn belt.”
    “More than I make. Think you’re so special, judging me, acting like you’re too good for something that belongs to me-”
    “Holy fuck, just give him the fucking belt,” I yell. The guard, the random dude, and my grandmother all turn to look at me. “What? This is fucking stupid.”
    The guy seems so taken aback that he quietly removes his belt and hands it to the guard. He goes through the metal detector, this time without setting anything off, and turns back to look at me. He shakes his head and mumbles to himself, “Crazy ass motherfucker.”
    The guard just stares at me. I walk through the machine and the thing goes insane. It’s my belt ironically. He raises an eyebrow and just holds out his hand.
    “I need you to leave your belt here.”
    I don’t care about the belt or this visit and the sooner we get in, the faster we leave. I hand him my belt and then my grandmother is through. The guard buzzes us into the next area, where a few more guards are sitting in a small office. I wait for them to lead us to the room where we’ll meet my dad. The metal table shines in the fluorescent light. If I stare at it long enough, maybe I’ll go blind.
    “No outbursts,” my grandmother warns.
    “It wasn’t an outburst. He was wasting time.”
    “I don’t care. Your actions impact your father.”
    “Yeah, well, his kinda impacted me.”
    She shakes her head and turns to face the door through which my dad will enter. I hate it here. I hate the way the lights are covered in weird metal mesh grates that make it always feel like five o’clock on a winter evening. I hate the way the voices of other visitors and prisoners bounce off the walls, disembodied and incomprehensible, but invasive enough to remind you that you’ll never be alone in here. I hate how the guards try to treat me like their own kid, as if by being sympathetic it will fix anything. And I especially hate the stupid look of hope that refuses to leave my grandmother’s face no matter how many times we come here. Sometimes, I think maybe it’s that look that makes me limit my visits as much as I do, more so than even hating my father. Because the fact that she believes someday things can be okay? Well, there is just nothing I can say about that.
    My father is led in by the same two guards who showed us to the room. He doesn’t make eye contact with me but smiles at my grandmother.
    “Janine,” he nods.
    “Bobby.”
    He sits in the chair across from us, his hands cuffed and the guards standing close enough that if he decided to make a run for it, they could stop him. He has never tried to run for it, though. I feel like if the entire prison burned down around him, my father would be found sitting in the middle, unsure where to go, even with no walls left standing.
    “Hi, son,” he tries.
    I grunt in his general direction and focus my attention on the flicker in one of the fluorescent bulbs. It’s going to burn out any