Waiting to Be Heard: A Memoir by Knox Amanda

Author:Knox, Amanda [Knox, Amanda]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2013-04-30T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

January–May 2008

Clutching a garbage bag stuffed with my clothes and books, I stood at the gate of my third cell in nine weeks. The agente cranked the key in the lock and pulled. “What do you think this is?” she sneered. “A hotel?”

“No,” I said, knowing that she saw my relocation requests as diva behavior.

I’d asked for the changes for solid reasons. My first cellmate, Gufa, had been erratic and difficult to live with. My next cellmates were three middle-aged gossips who criticized my cooking and cleaning. They called me a snob because I liked to read and write. “What good are your studies now, when you’ll be spending the rest of your life in prison?” one asked.

They gave me a nickname: Principessa sul Pisello—the “Princess on the Pea.” The reference to the fairy-tale title was a two-sided jab: pisello is a colloquialism for “penis,” a reference to my supposed sexual depravity.

Now I was moving in with Cera. Young, with the tall, lean looks of a model, she worked as a portavito, delivering meals from a rolling cart. She was also in my weekly guitar class, another prison “rehabilitation” activity like movie time. But I was still secluded from the main prison population—a special status to protect young, first-time suspects. The downside was that it prevented me from participating in group activities or talking to anyone but my cellmates. Thankfully, Don Saulo convinced prison officials to let me attend the guitar lessons, just as he had weekly Mass.

One Wednesday, as Cera and I walked back to our cells from our lesson, I asked, “Would you be willing to let me live with you? We’re around the same age and we both study. I could help you with your English.”

She waited a few beats before saying, “Sure. I’ll write a request tonight.”

Cera had managed to make her cell homey, clean, and organized. There were bright colored sheets on the beds, postcards taped to the walls, and a colorful curtain tied to the bars at the window. We had a heart-to-heart talk while I unpacked. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed closest to the window. “I should probably tell you right off, I’m bisexual,” she said.

“That’s cool,” I replied. “I’m not, but I’m definitely live-and-let-live.”

“You’re not my type, anyway,” she said. “I thought you might be gay when you asked to live with me, but I decided you weren’t.” She hesitated. “You know, your former cellmates said you’re spoiled.”

Wow. Why hadn’t I realized they would trash me behind my back? They gossiped about everyone else. Cera read my disappointment. “They’re fake. Almost everyone in prison is fake. You’ll see.”

“But it sounds like you have friends, that you have fun with people.”

“What made you decide that?”

“I hear laughter coming from socialità.” I wasn’t allowed to go to the evening social time.

She rolled her eyes. “That’s all bullshit. It’s lighthearted, but everyone’s fake.”

How could everyone be fake? People are people.

“Prison is bad. You’ll see.” She leaned toward me. “Wait until you’ve been here awhile.

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