One day I began to hear loud banging from the other end of the wall. "Perkins! What the hell are you doing!"
"Me? I thought that was you jacking off."
I made a face and leaned back against the far corner of my room opposite the door, which was my favorite corner. This, I was later able to determine, was about a year into my incarceration. The banging continued for days and days. I asked him probably twenty times a day whether he was screwing with me. "No, man! I'm starting to think you're the one screwing with me. I think it's coming from above me."
Were they making an addition to the building? More prison cells? This sort of idle speculating gave way to a darker chain of thought. Had they forgotten us? Were they taking a wrecking ball to the building? Who were they? How long had it been since I was last shoveled my food and drink through the hatch? Had it been two hours or two days? How could I be sure? What if Perkins were bullshitting about his window? Maybe he didn't even have one. He's always been more collected and sure of himself than I. Maybe he doesn't know when it's night or when it's day. He says it's been two hours but it feels like eight. My internal dialogue grew to a deafening volume.
I decided to start my own nineteen-minute clock. I counted each of my fingers and toes off every minute, or what felt to me like a minute. I couldn't trust Perkins anymore for reasons that began and ended solely in my head. One day, I finally asked him.
"Hey, uh...is. Is there really a window in there?"
"Yeah man."
"Man, are you sure? Is there really a window? Be serious."
His voice struck an unfamiliar inflection. "Yeah! What the fuck, why are you asking me that?"
"I just don't know if you do. I mean, have you just been saying all this stuff to keep me alive over here? Because you don't have to keep up the act, I don't have to be lied to."
There was a long pause. "Dude. Casey, why are you asking me that? Why the fuck would you ask me that?"
"Just answer the question. Please. Just answer it."
He screamed. "Fuck you, man! You think I'd lie to you? Fuck you!" There was a frustrated slam against the wall. I crawled over and put my ear to it. He was crying. I didn't say anything. My question was answered, and my heart hit the floor. What I said wasn't true. I needed that light. Needed it more than I needed the food that came through the hatch. I started gasping for breath, overwhelmed, and we didn't say much for days.