God. Gaw.

The men took her away. Sam. The Briton. Who lived down the hall. Who arrived with the boxes. Who knows how long she was dead in her apartment. Still and rigid, letting the dust collect on her like a desk. But the men came and when I went to take Warden and Regrette for a walk, I passed the men in the hallway, and I saw them enter Sam's apartment. My ear rattled. I knew something was wrong. That was two nights ago.

In prison, people die all the time. It's not the same. Mom died while I was in prison. But I was in prison. She was out there, in the world. We were separated.

Sam is the first human death I've experienced since prison. I don't know how I feel. I didn't know her at all, but she lived next door. She was dead next door. She might have cried out for help next door. We were not that different. Two people, living alone. Involved in a world, just barely, the name no one recognizes on a class roster.

I want to say that I am sad. But I'm not. I'm hungry. There's a hole inside me now I try to fill with water. Glasses of water. There's something I'm always looking for outside my window. But I don't know what it is, but I look anyhow, at the people moving about like they understand something I don't. I tried crying, for Sam and for Mom, but nothing came out, just hoarse noise and something I said but don't remember. Something like, "God," or "Gaw." What it is inside me is too big to come out through my eyes. It needs to come out through my chest. Needs to tear through me. But I'm not ready yet to give in.

I listened to the tines of a fork on the kitchen table and thought I heard something real nice. Like a song playing faraway.

I drank another glass of water.

God, I miss Sam.
Is it silly to realize this? To miss a woman I hardly knew?
Gaw. I miss her.