100 feet away, and we still couldn't talk. She sat there behind bars on a rotting metal cot while I was wearing designer jeans with a designer purse, just to visit her in jail.
I stared at her through the glass, and she hung her head until the guard whispered to her that someone was there to see her. Slowly raising her head, she looked toward the plexi-glass visitors room; the room where we could watch the prisoners like they were in a zoo or something.
She looked up at me and gave a the smile you give that still shows you're sad; that you're about to cry, and that you're utterly humiliated.
This was my daughter. My 18-year-old, blonde, Connecticut-raised daughter, wanted for taking a knife to her girlfriend's throat after she found out she slept with my daughter's boyfriend. She didn't just take the knife to her throat, she used it. Really used it.
I'm here in a fucking animal/zoo/cage/jail "thing" and my daughter killed a girl she grew up with for something so stupid. And what am I doing here when she's guilty? Support I guess, and she asked for hairspray and Twizzlers.