Velvet Dogma About 3300 wds by Weston Ochse Page A

last twenty years. And like all homes, she missed it, no matter how crazy or pathetic that sounded. She likened it to the pride people from Watts, Hell's Kitchen or Compton showed for their homes. They knew that where they lived was a hell hole. They knew that they'd lost the good place to live lotto and wore it as a badge of honor. The few times Rebecca had been in with the general prison population, she'd encountered the same thing. I'm from Chino. I spent time in Sing Sing. I did a stretch in Folsom. The cons were proud of their survival. They were proud of the memories they had. They'd earned them. But it wasn't just that. The prison had been their home. When a person walks down a sidewalk to the store every day, passing white picket-fenced yards, flower gardens bursting with roses, barking dogs, the smell of freshly cut grass in the air, and then moved away, they had memories of the good times, of the good smells, of the peace and beauty of the moments. Such was also the way of prison. In the joint, everything revolved around regimentation. Wake up, lights out, breakfast, lunch and dinner were all at the same scheduled times. She saw the same guards, passed the same doors. If anything, prison was a world in a microcosm. She sighed. Part of her even wanted to return.
    "What are you thinking about?"
    "Kumi," she said, unwilling to talk about what was really bothering her.
    "I wonder what happened to her."
    "I was wondering the same. She saved us, you know?"
    "Oh, I know all right. I wished I could have been more help, but I don't do well in those situations."   He held up his hands. "Afraid I'm techno-geek all the way. The last fight I was in, I was beat up by my best friend's sister."
    Rebecca turned to look at him, the moment popping to the surface of her memory.
    "Oh...that was you wasn't it, Bec?"
    "I didn't beat you up!"
    "Then what do you call punching and kicking me, if not beating me up?"   His eyes sparkled as he baited her.
    "I'd call it physical reminders that getting my brother drunk and leaving him in the front yard wasn't the smartest thing you'd ever done. And it seemed to have worked. Clearly you remember."   She held an edge to her voice, but was actually enjoying the effects of the words on him. He'd been leading her around and in charge for far too long. He needed to be reminded of who she was and what she could do, even if it was all in jest.
    "Well, I sure felt beat up when it happened."
    "As you should have. But you can't tell me that you can't take care of yourself."   She noted his biceps and his shoulders, clearly the musculature of someone who worked out. Back in her day techno-geeks were soft and heavy. Andy didn't have an ounce of fat on him. She could just make out his chest muscles and was willing to bet he had a six pack. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I can tell you work out."
    He grinned, his left arm going right away to his right to grip the bicep. He seemed to admire it a moment, then gazed into Rebecca's eyes. "Glad you noticed. I'd like to say they came from years of training and dedication, but I've never even set foot in a gym."
    "Then how?"
    "I started with Tai Chi a few years ago, but it was slow going. I don't think I had the discipline for it. I got bored easily."
    "I know Tai Chi too. It's what kept me sane in prison."
    "Tai Chi was nice. A girlfriend taught me and until we broke up, we used to do it on the roof of our apartment building. Last year I switched to Lua. It's a Hawaiian Martial Art, emphasizing moves from Kenpo, Jujitsu, Kali Escrima, and Wing Chung Kung Fu."
    She cocked an eyebrow. "I thought you said you couldn't take care of yourself."
    "I can't. Or at least I've never tried. I learned Lua through osmosis. I wear PODs every night to receive my lessons. I wear electro-magnetic cuffs on my arms and legs. The stimulation trains the muscles for each specific maneuver."   He flashed an embarrassed grin. "I've tried the moves in the mirror. They look pretty