|Crinkly, aqua-teal, plasticized batting replaced mattresses at FPC Duluth.|
I'll Fly Away: Further Testimonies from the Women of York Prison by La (Google Affiliate Ad)
As much as I would miss my old mattress, I did not particularly titter with glee at the prospect of carrying it down two flights of stairs, its besmirched fabric pressed against my skin and face, years of inmate skin dust clouding around my head. But I did.
When I got down to the back of the dorm, I tossed my mattress on a pile, coughed out a cloud of bed dust and was handed a six-foot long, greenish-blue vinyl bag of heavy recycled rags. Wrapped in dusty plastic. It was really heavy. And it was my new mattress. So I hauled it back upstairs to my my room, managed to lever it onto my upper rack and re-make it to FPC Duluth standards -- two sheets, square corners, one blanket on the bed, the other folded into thirds at the foot of the bed.
The entire exercise took about an hour. I was dusty and tired. I waited for count to clear -- which means that somebody says that we're all still there and are free to roam the compound -- then hopped in the shower and got cleaned up. I finished up my work detail for the morning, just wiping down the bathroom, went to lunch and came back to the dorm to read until it was time to start my afternoon routine.
As I was sitting in my chair, reading, my name was called over the intercom. I was told to report to the counselor's office in Dorm 209. When I got there, the counselor informed me that I would be moving dorms and to go get my stuff packed and hauled over before the 4:00 p.m. count. "And hey," he called after me, "Don't forget to strip your bunk and bring your bedding with you!"