Trace

Michael was twisted around, holding a mirror so he could see his back. Sucre stopped dozing and started to pay attention. He knew something was up. It always was when Michael started reading his tats like they were tealeaves. Michael didn't even turn to look at Sucre. With his free hand, he handed Sucre a transparent strip of paper and some tape. Sucre looked down at the flimsy paper, waved it around to get Michael's attention.

"What's this?"

"Do you see this line?" Michael asked. While one of Michael's hands held the mirror over his shoulder, the fingers of the other hand traced along his lower back. Sucre squinted.

"I see lots of lines," Sucre told him. All the blue lines intersected, formed pictures. Underneath they were hiding the plans. But the pictures were distracting. Sucre couldn't see what Michael saw.

"This one. It's a pipe. I need it to be exact. Tape the sheet of paper then trace that line," Michael gave the instructions. His finger traced the line over and over like he was marking it. Sucre could see it now.

"I am no artist, Michael," Sucre complained.

"You don't need to be. Just be precise."

"Oh, precise. Right. No pressure or nothing."

"Well, I am ticklish," Michael said as Sucre draped the thin paper over his skin.

Sucre looked at Michael to see if he was serious, but all he could see was the side of his face. Michael held his breath. Sucre taped the sheet of paper flat. Then he started drawing. He did it carefully so as not to rip the paper. Sucre had his face close to the skin. One of his hands held on to Michael's waist.

"I used to do this when I was a kid with comic books and stuff. I'd put a lamp under the glass table," Sucre said as he drew. Michael could feel his breath as he spoke.

"You're a pro then," Michael said while being careful not to move.

"Yeah. I don't know if I'm doing this right. How much of this paper you got?"

"You're doing fine," Michael assured him though he couldn't see what Sucre was doing. It felt right though. Sucre pressed lightly along the line Michael had traced with his fingertip. The line had a physical presence. As he got lower, Sucre started having trouble.

"This is no good. You got to lie down," Sucre said.

Michael sighed with annoyance. Then he lay down stiffly so he wouldn't mess up the paper stuck to his back. Sucre sat next to him on the bunk. He shifted around till he was in the right position. Sucre was half lying next to Michael with his elbow right between Michael's shoulder blades.

"You are gouging my back," Michael told him.

"Shh, man. You'll mess up my tracing."

Michael held still, and Sucre eased off his back. He was breathing on Michael's skin again. His breath made the thin paper rustle a little.

"How did you know there would be someone to do this for you, Michael?" Sucre asked.

"There would have to be."

Sucre's hand was spread over Michael's spine. He rested his face on the back of his hand. He could feel and hear the faint, steady beating of Michael's heart.

"So I was in your plan?" Sucre asked.

"From the beginning."

The end