Dear Kim Davis,

I took a job as a Corrections Officer. You know this because I’m looking at you right now. My standard black stiletto heels are kicked up on the desk. I’m dangling fried chicken skin above my open mouth. My other hand lets the entire chicken breast fall into the trash beside me. The grease and meat squish at the bottom of the dirty tin releasing a delicious smell into the air. I can almost see the smell wafting towards you. Your hands clasped in determination with your eyes squeezed shut begging for an answer.

The taste of the skin lingers on my lips as I reach into the bucket for another piece. I know you haven’t eaten since morning. It’s been a busy day. You must be hungry. A bit of grease and saliva dribbles from the side of my mouth. I lazily lap at it letting it form a trail down to my chin. I’m sure it’ll glisten in the dimly lit corridor we’re inhabiting. You’ll open your eyes and imagine different things I could have been thinking about that would cause me to drool. You’ll be thinking all of them, but I won’t take my eyes off of you. I’ll be able to see everyone you think; the ones that terrify you and the ones that excite you. I’ll even get to watch the thoughts that disgust you play across your face.

It’s time to put you in your prison clothes.  I look around as I slurp the fried skin into my mouth. No one has come with your clothes, yet. Have they already forgotten about you? What would become of your vessel-dom and message if that were the case? Would you still be the person chosen for this place and this time to carry out God’s message? There’s no phone. There’s no news. There’s just you.

You’re praying right now, unaware that 5 other clerks have sworn before the judge to hand out marriage licenses; the only person holding out is your son. The world will carry on. You’ll be down here… waiting. The one who sits next to you has betrayed you.  The smell of fried chicken is so strong you can taste it. Your stomach must be rumbling. No one is coming to your rescue. What’s gonna give out first? Is that the question whispered in the corner of your mind? Are they going to call a special legislative session to change how the government works for you? Will you have to wait until January when they reconvene? You can’t change your mind now. This is for God, above country. They’ll think you had no real conviction if you give up. Did you really believe in the first place? That’s what they’ll ask themselves behind their eyes that stare into you. Was this just a stunt to get money like that pizza place in Indiana?  They’ll follow up with as their eyes follow you through a room. What was it called? You don’t remember? Is that going to be you next? How long must you wait in the Lion’s Den before you are delivered?

I giggle as I rip another skin off the chicken, listening to the thud. The unequivocally happy sound breaks through your tense silence. I see your head twist towards the sound. Your hair ripples. Your hair that has never been treated with the care it deserves. Bowing to modesty and a distrust of the homosexual agenda, you’ve left your hair care right off their schedule. Highlights, a cut, and maybe some body — those homosexuals could really turn that hair around. She dug her own grave to look this miserable, I think to myself. Your clothes bely ignorance suggesting that modesty requires your skin to be fully covered. The outfit screams that you forgot your religion said you were made in God’s image. Is that not cause for celebration? Is that not a cause to find yourself beautiful? Therein, witness the beauty of your Lord.

I’m impressed with your wardrobe. I’m impressed that you manage to get three husbands and rerecruit one. It’s like a reverse Big Love. You must be very good on your knees. I don’t think it’s shameful. I’m happy you’ve lead such an interesting life. I do think it is slightly confusing. You may need to do some reading. Your book doesn’t quite agree with what you’ve done… which makes what you’re doing now far more confusing.

I have the last breast in my hand. I’m slowly peeling off the skin. You really are hungry now. I can see it in your eyes. They lock with mine, briefly, and then look at the chicken. I drop the chicken on the ground. I see you look at it. I’m walking out the door. I’m poised to flick off the light. I turned around and look. I can see you reach through the bars of your cell, the one you created.

I run my finger up my chin collecting the grease. With a satisfying smack it plants the deliciousness on my tongue. Your prize is waiting for you. I flick the lights. In the dark you will stretch and strain. It is waiting for you. It has been stripped of all it’s glory and everything that makes it delicious. In the dark you know it is there. Just beyond your reach. If only you could get to it. Just for one moment. All of it would be yours. Your hunger would be ended. It would be…Heaven.

The door closes. There is no light. Footsteps fade into silence.

Goodnight,

Crepè LaBouche