Mad Maddie
written by: Patricia Pease
The handcuffs pinched her wrists as Maddie rapped her knuckles four times on the metal bench. She knew it wasn’t rational but, even numbers calmed her–until now.
She had removed the odd-numbered items from the supermarket shelves, putting them in her over-sized purse for a more uniform appearance. She’d explained to the police, ‘this pursuit of a level aesthetic relaxed her.’ The cops, however, were not sympathetic.
They deposited her in a jail cell with fourteen women. Good. An even number. Her shoulders loosened slightly.
A dead-eyed, young woman squared off with Maddie, her voice flat and hard. “You call me Queenie, ‘cause I am the queen of this cell and you gotta follow my rules, or I’ll cut a bitch.”
Maddie felt her chest tighten, and it was hard to breathe.
Queenie nodded to a frail, quivering girl. “This’s her first time gettin’ busted. Now that’s a bad case of the shakes.” She chuckled.
“And then, hidin’ underneath them covers, is Ghetto Junkie.” She yanked back a blanket, revealing a skeletal woman drenched with sweat. “She stab her husband just to steal his smack.” Her gold tooth flashed as she threw back her head, cackling.
Maddie smoothed out the wrinkles in her shirt four times on each side and nodded twice.
A guard called lights out.
A whisper traveled through the cell like poisonous gas, “Watch your back, old lady. Night- night-sleep-tight.” The cell belched laughter that sounded like barnyard braying. A female guard, with a voice like a baritone in a men’s choir, yelled ”Shuddup!” Then there was silence.
The last time Maddie was this scared was six months ago. After thirty-five years of marriage, her husband was dying. Helpless to relieve his pain, she listened to him moan and gasp for air from his hospital bed.
She’d arranged his pill bottles to face labels out… If they all face the same way, nothing bad will happen. She turned the paperbacks face up and placed the get-well cards in two lines. She was counting his breaths when he took his last. It was an odd number.
Now she counted her own. She spent the rest of the night bunching up her thin blanket, then smoothing it out.
In the morning, her cellmates huddled together, mumbling something that made them snicker.
“So what chu do to get your ass thrown in here? Burn the toast?”
Maddie struggled out of bed and protested, “They…they said I was stealing, but I only wanted to level the shelves. It creates harmony, you see…”
This caused howling. “Oh, so you a nut job. You ain’t gotta worry then, we don’t cut wackos.” Laughter volleyed off the walls of the cell.
“Okay, Wacko, you gonna love this.” They giggled as they wrapped themselves in toilet paper and started a strip tease.
They peeled off toilet paper one ply at a time. She focused on the corners of the cell and began to hyperventilate. Her distress delighted her cellmates, who started groping each other.
Maddie tapped her foot in a repeating pattern: two, four, two, four. Her rhythm was interrupted by a low moan drifting from the bunk next to her. Sweat was beading on a young woman’s face and her teeth were chattering. Maddie moistened toilet paper with water and patted the woman’s forehead, then wrapped her in blankets and sat beside her. The young woman reached for her. Maddie gathered her close, singing a lullaby, as she rocked her gently.
Queenie watched intently a few feet away, arms crossed, chewing her bottom lip. She sauntered over to Maddie.
“Old crazy lady, keep singing, and I’ll let you pet my hair, but do it right so I don’t gotta cut you.” She curled up in a fetal position on the next bunk.
Maddie approached this hardened young woman with the caution of someone encountering a wild animal. With a shudder, she touched her hair and carefully stroked each strand, expecting something awful to happen.
Queenie’s eyes were closed when she said, “Okay, I got your new cell name. From now on, you’re ‘Little Wacko Mama.’”
Air filled Maddie’s lungs and she could breathe again. They’re not going to kill me. I’m Little Wacko Mama.
The woman who threatened to cut her was now curled up beside her, trying to hum the lullaby during an attack of the hiccups. She was giggling like a girl. Underneath the crude behavior, tough bravado and threats, Maddie saw her for what she was: a girl in need of someone…in need of Little Wacko Mama.
As this revelation sank in, she flexed and closed her hands four times. She smoothed Queenie’s hair and patted her twice on each side of her vulnerable face. She was her girl. They were all her girls.
- Mad Maddie - February 12, 2025
