Editor’s Note: Harris, the author of this essay, is incarcerated at the Lane Murray Unit in Gatesville. The following piece is drawn from her memory of events in approximately 2010 at another unit. Before being released into the general prison population this May, she spent over eight years in solitary confinement.
One hundred and five nude women stand in alphabetical order, forming a huge oval. We silently scan each other’s bodies, looking for flaws.
To my right is Lindsay, a 40-something redhead with splotches of psoriasis on her limbs. She whispers that it’s not contagious. She says this every time we’re naked. We’ve just completed our 10-hour work shift at the print shop in a Texas women’s prison. The guard stripping us announces that the tool room is missing a screwdriver.
