The Sheet

When Sucre stepped into the cell, Michael was lying on his bunk with his hands behind his head. His eyes were open, staring at the bunk above like he could see through it. The beds shifted as Sucre climbed into the top bunk. They could always feel when the other one moved. The cell doors shut. The lights dimmed. Michael got up, took the sheet off his bed, and hung it on the bars.

Sucre watched Michael tying the sheet. Damn, the sight of it made Sucre nervous.

"Are we digging?" Sucre asked not moving from his bunk.

"No."

"What? Drilling? A test run?" Sucre asked.

Michael just stood there against the white sheet.

"No."

"What then? You're making me nervous, Papi."

"I make you nervous?" Michael stepped forward with a smile.

"You make the devil nervous. Or you are the devil. I don't know which."

Surce wanted to turn away. The way Michael was looking at him - it was indecent. It was like passing a car wreck. You know it's not right to look – some poor bastard might be all mangled up in there. Sucre could never turn away from those either.

"What do you call me?" Michael asked. He was really close now - standing while Sucre lay on his bunk. The sheet made the cell seem even smaller.

"Fish?"

Michael shook his head. He leaned his arms on Sucre's mattress, then leaned his head on his arms. Their faces were close. They only had to whisper to hear each other.

"No. The other thing."

Sucre knew what he meant.

"Papi."

"That. I like that. Keep doing it."

The End