The Benders by Katie French

plastic chairs. They eat gray slop out of bowls with spoons or their fingers. My stomach growls, but what they’re eating, a mixture that looks like wet cement, does not look appetizing. I remind myself that I have to eat to keep up my strength.
    Bukowski herds us to the front of the small cafeteria and up to a serving window. Two men in messy cook aprons wait for us with bowls. I accept mine and realize its cold. Whatever we’re eating either hasn’t been cooked or was cooked long ago. I flick a glance at Nada to see her reaction to the food, but her face is as expressionless as a corpse’s.
    We’re shuffled into a corner and told to sit on the concrete floor. I fold into the floor, my legs grateful for a rest. It’s been a while since I did hard labor. The last time was in the garage with Rayburn and the grease monkeys at the mall. Another pang of loss and guilt hits me. Rayburn. He rests on the hill beside my Mama. How can so many people I love be dead?
    Nada has begun eating and hasn’t dropped dead yet, so I try a trembling bite of gray goop. The texture is exactly like wet cement to be, but the taste isn’t…terrible. Something like oats and honey and flour. I chew slowly and swallow, the lump moving thickly down my throat.
    “Eat up. Some days we only get one meal. Tastes like dirt, but it fills your belly.” Nada speaks through a mouthful of slop.
    “Full belly’s nothing to sniff at,” I say, scanning the cafeteria. I wasn’t expecting to see Auntie Bell, but I am disappointed when there’s no sign. “Hey, you wouldn’t know what they’d do with an old woman, would you?”
    Nada raises curious eyes to my face. “No. Why?”
    I shrug, not sure if I can trust her.
    Nada acts like she’ll probe further, but then her eyes are drawn to the figure striding in the open doorway. Doc walks in, looking fresh in clean jeans, a fitted blue T-shirt, and boots. His hair is damp and combed back from his forehead, giving him a fresh out-of-the-shower appearance that makes me crave the feel of water running over my skin. Seeing him makes that angry fire rekindle in my belly. I could take a swing at him right here, but it’s a terrible idea. Still, my fists ache to connect with his face. I take a drink of water to quell the feeling.
    Doc walks past the guards with a nod and heads our way. When he reaches us, he squats down in front of Nada, one palm to the concrete floor. Nada looks around nervously.
    “It’s okay,” Doc says, his face soothing in its calmness. “They know it’s you. There’ll be no further punishment other than powder duty. And I’ll try to get that down to a week, max.”
    Nada licks her busted lip. “So, I did this to myself for no reason?”
    Doc shakes his head in frustration. He glances around the cafeteria to make sure there are no guards nearby and speaks in hushed tones. “I never told you to bust up your own face. What I did tell you was not to run, but you did it anyway. What d’you want me to do, Nada? Anyone else, they’d just take you out back and shoot you.”
    There’s anger in his voice and a flush in his cheeks. Nada glowers from her place on the floor and they’re silent for a while. Finally, Doc seems to remember I’m there. He looks me over, a frown creasing his brow.
    “You all right?” he asks.
    I scoff. “Beaten bloody, thanks, but maybe that’s what passes for a warm welcome ’round here.”
    Doc puts on an apologetic look that I am sure is for show. “I had to,” he whispers, looking around again. “They can’t think I’m favoring you. We took so long in that office there was no other option.”
    “How about,” I say leaning in, “you took your sweet-ass time? How about you weren’t feeling well?” My spit flies in his face, but I don’t care. “No, you go with beating. Thanks,” I hiss, “for the help.”
    His eyes flood with shame, but I don’t feel sorry for him. A guard swaggers our way and Doc Cretends to wipe something off his boot.