BOTTLED UP

The clank on the bars came soft, but firm.

"Chapel's open."

DJ didn't answer.

The CO paused, then moved on to the next cell. The clop of the boots faded down the row.

DJ rolled over on her cot, pulling the coarse blanket higher. Her face pressed against the wall where the paint peeled in delicate curls. There was one larger flake under her window that vaguely looked like Oklahoma when she relaxed her eyes.

Today, she turned thirty-one. She'd been in this place for fifteen years.

Her breath caught as her thoughts drifted to where they always did on her birthday.

Ruby Pearl would be fifteen.

Fifteen.

The number washed over her like cold, mountain rain. Her daughter-- her precious baby girl with those deep chocolate eyes and soft round cheeks-- would have been the same age DJ was when her life changed completely.

When Brandon Reynolds saved her.

DJ clenched her jaw and shut her eyes.

She didn't want to think about Brandon. It was hard enough to think about Ruby Pearl.

But the memories came anyway.

Her mind hovered on the time his mom took her to visit him in rehab. She could see him clearly, sitting on the edge of a folding chair. All skinny and sober and wide-eyed as he fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve.

DJ knelt beside her cot, the way she had knelt beside her husband so long ago. Her lips trembled now as she remembered the way she took his hand in hers and whispered, "We're gonna have a baby."

Tears welled in DJ's eyes as she remembered the way Mama Pearl had taken Brandon's other hand and told him,

"God's giving you a second chance, son."

How come no one thought about the things-- DJ blinked hard. She would not cry. Not today. She'd cried enough for ten lifetimes.

She crawled back onto the mattress and curled herself into a tight ball, her body forming a wall against the question.

Fifteen.

Would Ruby Pearl have hair like DJ? Would she have loved music? Or poetry?

Would she have fallen in love by now?

DJ's mind shifted to a faceless boy. A good boy. Maybe the kind of boy Ruby pearl would have met at youth camp or Sunday school. Someone gentle, who would call her "ma'am" and hold the church door open for her.

Nothing like the boys DJ had known. She bit her lip, hard, as the ache rose in her throat.

Somewhere far off, down the corridor, the sound of worship drifted peppered with soft singing and muffled claps.

She couldn't go there.

"God don't want my kind," she whispered against the wall. "I don't blame him for it."

The visiting room buzzed with low voices and chair legs scraping the floor.

DJ sat at the cold metal table, waiting with her arms crossed loosely over her chest. She never asked for a visit, but her father-in-law came once a month like clockwork. Sometimes she wondered why he bothered, but she had never been able to make sense of it.

Henry Reynolds entered the room with slow, steady steps. His gray coat was neatly buttoned, and his eyes were as soft as ever. He glanced toward the guard against the wall, who nodded, then he sat a small item on the table. "Happy birthday, Sweetheart."

"You didn't have to do that." DJ studied the item in front of her, but she didn't reach for it. It was a rectangle about the size of a half sheet of paper and two inches tall. A worn cloth was wrapped around it loosely. Something stirred in DJ's chest. A faint memory moved in the periphery of her mind.

"What kind of man forgets his daughter's birthday?"

DJ's eyes drifted to the floor behind his chair.

"Go on," he urged her. "This one is special."

Dutifully, DJ unfolded the worn cloth to reveal the brown leather inside, soft and creased with years of hands and prayers. She knew it instantly and her eyes raced to his. "Pearl's?"

Henry nodded. "She told me she wanted you to have it. It felt like it was time."

DJ opened the cover with slow, reverent fingers. Inside, a flower-pressed bookmark rested in Psalms. The verse was underlined: Thou tellest my wanderings: put thou my tears into thy bottle: Are they not in thy book?

Her breath caught. DJ swallowed hard and flipped back a few pages. The ink was faint, but Pearl's handwriting was unmistakable. Notes, prayers, little arrows in the margins. The kind of things only a woman like Mama Pearl would leave behind.

Suddenly, DJ was back in that little hillside church with fluorescent lights that buzzed and air that was heavy with prayer and perfume and tears. She was sixteen again, broken and tired, rocking back and forth at the altar. Mama Pearl was right beside her with one hand on her back and the other lifted high. She whispered in DJ's ear, "Just let it go, That's it. Give it all to Jesus. Let him fill you up."

And he had.

Like water breaking through stone, with lightening and fire, he had filled her up to overflowing. She had spoken in tongues, sobbed with joy, and shaken with release. It was the first time in her life she had felt clean. All the past was gone, all the sorrow and the shame. She was made new. Born again.

Now, fifteen years and a lifetime of regret later, she whispered back to the memory, "Does he regret it?" If Henry heard her, he gave no indication. DJ closed the Bible gently and ran her hand across the worn leather. "I don't think I can ever pray like that again," she said more to herself than to Henry.

"He still listens, Darla Jean." He met her gaze. "And I'm sure Pearl's still praying."

They called time.

DJ slid the Bible toward him, but he pushed it back to her. "It's yours now. I got permission to leave it with you."

As she was escorted back to her cell, DJ clutched Pearl's Bible to her chest. The tears that gathered behind her eyes felt different than yesterday's. And for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel completely empty.

The next Tuesday, chapel was open again.

DJ stood in the corridor just outside the door. She held Pearl's Bible close with both hands. She didn't know why she was here. Not exactly, anyway. She'd told herself that she just wanted to see who was speaking. That didn't mean she was ready to lift her hands, or cry, or sing. She hadn't done anything like that in fifteen years.

But something had beens stirring since Henry's visit. She kept finding herself turning back to the page with flower pressed between the pages, reading the underlined verse over and over. Long after the lights went out, she would lie awake, remembering that moment at the altar.

She peered inside the small room. The chapel wasn't much. Just folding chairs and scuffed tile. One poster of a cross was taped to the wall. There were a few donated hymnbooks stacked on a shelf and a small podium at the front of the room. But the atmosphere was different. Softer. Peaceful, even. She took one slow breath, stepped inside. She took a seat in the back row.

At the front, stood a woman in a modest navy skirt and white blouse. Her hair was pulled back in a loose bun with wispy tendrils hanging around a clean, natural face. She reminded DJ of Mama Pearl. Grief squeezed DJ's heart painfully at the realization.

The woman offered a warm smile as women entered the room, maybe a dozen of them. She didn't raise her voice or sound preachy. She just greeted everyone like she knew each of them personally. "My name is Lisa." She made eye contact with each woman. "I came today to remind somebody," her eyes moved to DJ, "that Jesus hasn't stopped loving you."

Tears sprang to DJ's eyes and she looked down, tracing the embossed words on the cover of Mama Pearl's Bible. Her heart pounded and she could barely hear Lisa say something about Psalms.

"In Psalm fifty-six and verse eight, David speaks to the Lord and says, 'thou tellest my wanderings: put thou my tears into thy bottle: are they not in thy book?'"

DJ closed her eyes tight against the tears. Her throat tightened. Why had Mama Pearl underlined that verse in her Bible and marked it with a dried up flower? Why had Henry brought the Bible to her now? Why had she come to chapel? Why was this woman here, today of all days, reading this verse to her?

Lisa went on. "You've cried tears you didn't think counted. Prayers that felt like they bounced off the ceiling." It was like she could read DJ's mind. "Nights you told God, 'You don't want me anymore.'"

DJ nodded. She had done that so many times.

Lisa continued. "But he does. He does want you. He does love you. And not one tear has been wasted. He kept every single drop."

DJ opened Mama Pearl's Bible to the pressed flower and inhaled the faint scent of it.

After a short message on the value of tears and the power of prayer, Lisa led a quiet prayer for the group. Some women wept openly. Some raised their hands. DJ sat still, staring at the floor, wondering what it all meant.

She didn't move as the other women filed out.

Lisa approached her tenderly, crouching to meet DJ's downcast eyes. "Haven't seen you in chapel before."

DJ sniffed. "Been a long time."

Lisa smiled. "I'm glad you came today."

DJ turned Mama Pearl's Bible toward Lisa. "That verse... I've been reading it."

Lisa's smile deepened. "I think that verse was reading you."

DJ let out a short breath-- half laugh, half disbelief.

Lisa straightened, but didn't leave. "Could we visit together sometime? Maybe talk?"

DJ nodded. "Maybe."

"Good. I'll try to come early next Tuesday."

DJ stayed seated a while longer. The chapel was almost empty. The only sounds were the clank of the old industrial fan and a few chairs creaking. She opened the Bible once more to Psalm 56:8 and whispered the verse under her breath.

Put thou my tears into thy bottle...

She wasn't ready to believe all the way, but she was ready to try again.

That night, DJ fell asleep with Mama Pearl's Bible open beside her. Her hand rested on Psalm 56. She hadn't meant to fall asleep reading, but something about the soft rustle of the onion-skin pages and the dim light overhead had drawn her in, like a lullaby wrapped in Scripture.

She drifted off somewhere between weariness and surrender.

And then she dreamed.

Pearl sat in a worn white rocker. It looked so familiar. The wide porch opened into a golden field that seemed to breathe sunlight. The sky above shimmered with an iridescence more glorious than anything DJ had ever seen before.

In Pearl's arms rested a baby girl with copper-kissed curls and round, full cheeks. Her little dress glittered like sunlight on water, and her tiny, dark hand curled around Pearl's bony, pale finger.

"Ruby Pearl," DJ whispered breathlessly,

Pearl looked up at her and smiled. Not a word was uttered, but the look of joy on her face wrapped DJ in warmth, and memory, and something deeper than both.

Peace.

The kind of peace that doesn't come from understanding, but from knowing you are known.

Pearl rocked slowly, humming the same melody DJ had once heard at the altar. The one she had forgotten about. The one she had cried to as she spoke in tongues for the first time.

Ruby Pearl cooed, eyes bright, face aglow.

Then Pearl reached beside her and held up a small crystal bottle that sparkled and shone.

DJ knew what was inside it. Her tears.

One by one, Pearl gathered the tiny drop of pain and sorrow, joy and hope, love and regret-- scooping them up with reverence, pouring them into the bottle. As she worked, she looked up and spoke. Not aloud, but straight into DJ's spirit.

"He never stopped keeping them, Darla Jean." Warmth seeped into every crevice of DJ's being. She locked eyes on Mama

Pearl. "And he never stopped keeping you."

DJ woke with a gasp. Her cheeks were wet with tears, but for the first time, it didn't feel like her sorrow was drowning her. It felt like it had been seen. And known.

She pressed her hand to her chest, breath shaky. A sob rose, but it wasn't bitter or angry.

It was release.

A long, aching exhale that finally came out after fifteen years of silence. The unknown thing that had suffocated her since her daughter's death was gone. In it's place, certainty had taken root in DJ's heart.

Ruby Pearl was in heaven. The realization was still taking shape within her. With Mama Pearl. If DJ couldn't hold her baby, if she couldn't raise her and love here here on this earth, there was no one else in the world DJ would want her baby with than Mama Pearl. Joy bubbled up inside her as the final truth embraced her. They were both with Jesus now.

DJ curled onto her side and let her tears fall freely, whispering the name of Jesus through her sobs. Not begging for anything this time. Just grateful and giving praise.

The room was plain with old gray paint and two chairs next to a small table. Really, it was just a wide closet, but DJ wasn't thinking about the surroundings. She was thinking about the dream.

About Ruby Pearl.

And about how much she wanted to believe that what she saw was more than just her own imagination.

Lisa sat across from her, Bible on the table, hands folded loosely in her lap. She didn't prod. And didn't rush.

DJ wasn't sure where to start or what to say. She had never told the whole thing. She took a deep breath. "I met Brandon at school. At least, when I got to go to school, I saw him there." DJ stared at her own fingers. Scarred, tired hands that had held a hand and shattered a heart. "He always looked at me like I was a real person. Most people didn't."

These were the hands that had held life and failed to protect it. Tears gathered again, bitter tears of defeat. "It was so bad at home. I couldn't take it no more. Brandon saved me."

It was a truth she had claimed since the day they married, but suddenly she doubted it. Her stomach twisted.

"His parents... they took me in when Brandon went to rehab. They didn't judge me. They just loved me."

Lisa nodded gently.

"Mama Pearl took me to church with her. And one Sunday, I broke. I went to the altar, and Mama Pearl was right there behind me, praying with me, crying with me. And God filled me with the Holy Ghost."

A small, broken laugh escaped. DJ looked up at Lisa then. "I thought I was finally clean. Really clean. Brandon got out of rehab and came home. We all went to church together. Everything was so good." DJ's lips trembled.

Lisa reached across the table and covered DJ's hand with her own.

"Mama Pearl got sicker and sicker until the cancer finally won." Her voice dropped. "Brandon quit church. I think he got back on drugs."

Lisa's eyes glistened.

"There was this verse in the Bible about being more precious than rubies. I loved that verse so much. When the baby came, I named her Ruby for that verse and Pearl for Mama Pearl."

"That's a beautiful name." Lisa's voice was thick and choked.

"She was perfect," DJ whispered. "I still remember every detail. The way she curled into me. The way she blinked like she already knew me. I didn't know I could ever love something so fast."

The silence between them swelled as DJ contemplated how much more to share. She swallowed hard. "But Hawk..." DJ tensed against the mention of his name. Oh, how she hated him. For all that he had done. To her. to her mom. To Brandon. But most of all for this. Her shaky voice rose as she went on. "Hawk came to the hospital. I didn't want him to touch my baby. I didn't even want him to see her. So I stood in front of him to block him. I tried to tell him to leave. I was so scared of him. But for Ruby's sake..."

Sobs took over and her chest heaved as her shoulders rocked. She didn't know how long she cried like that. Finally, she was able to go on. "Ruby cried behind me. When I turned around to look at her, I felt something sting my arm."

Lisa closed her eyes for a second, then opened them again. Sill quiet. Still present.

"I don't remember everything after that. Most of it is jumbled sounds and shapes and colors. I did see a needle in his hand. I know I did. And I still remember the sound of his laughter as he walked out of the room." DJ shook her head from side to side. "I don't think he planned what happened." More tears? How could one body hold so many tears? "I think he meant to spin me out. Get me addicted again. But then there were alarms. And shouting. And someone screaming code blue." All the strength she had dissipated. She buried her face in her arms on the table and cried with everything she had.

Lisa pulled her chair to the side of the table and patted DJ's back while she cried. More than once, she leaned down close to DJ's ear and softly murmured, "I'm so sorry you went through that."

DJ heard Lisa tell someone they were doing okay and didn't need intervention. DJ glanced up just as the CO turned from the open door and walked away. Letting her cheek lay across her arm, she offered Lisa a pathetic attempt at a smile. "I haven't prayed in fifteen years."

Lisa's eyes seemed to glow. "Would you like me to pray with you right now?"

DJ nodded slowly.

Lisa leaned in, close to DJ and put an arm around her shoulders. She closed her eyes. "Lord, we come to you today seeking your will and guidance."

DJ closed her own eyes and held her breath.

"Lord, a lot of mistakes have been made, and we can't undo that. But, Lord, from this moment forward, we surrender ourselves to your will and your divine plan for our lives. In Jesus's name, amen." Lisa cupped DJ's face in her hands the way Mama Pearl had so many years ago. With her thumbs, she wiped DJ's tears away. She offered DJ a thin smile, then she turned to reach into her bag. "I had a gift for you, but the guards wouldn't let me bring it in." She rifled through her bag and lifted out a piece of cardboard folded in half. "So, I traced it on this."

DJ took the piece of cardboard from her. A bottle was drawn on the front in black marker. DJ knew, before she opened the makeshift card, what was inside. She read the verse and blinked hard. When she looked up, she saw the most loving and compassionate eyes staring back at her. Mama Pearl's eyes on Lisa's pretty face.

Lisa shrugged one shoulder. "I could tell the verse meant a lot to you at the chapel."

DJ nodded.

"So, I wanted to give you a reminder."

DJ was reluctant to wake up. She had been in the golden field. It was beautiful there with a warmth that flowed through her, infusing her bones with something special. Something hopeful. But she hadn't found the porch yet. She wanted to see Mama Pearl again. She wanted to tell her that she started praying again. And maybe, just maybe, she could hold Ruby Pearl this time.

Soft sobbing pulled her from sleep. The warm field faded away, leaving her in the cold stone cell. And just like that-- Ruby Pearl was gone again. The grief curled into her chest, and each breath became an effort

DJ heard the sobbing again and strained against the darkness to identify the source.

The new girl.

DJ remembered her own struggle to adjust to life behind bars.

If God really bottled her tears the way the Bible said, wouldn't he bottle this girl's too?

DJ began to pray. For herself. For the baby she lost. And for this girl, crying in the night.

Dayroom rec buzzed like usual. Low TV volume, dominoes clacking against the metal table, and voices bouncing off the block walls. DJ sat on her cot, Bible in her lap. She whispered the words to Psalm 56:8 under her breath for the hundredth time.

She had made her own makeshift card with a paper towel and the CO's felt tip pen.Her handwriting wasn't as neat as

Lisa's, but it would have to do.

Movement caught her eye.

Two cells down, a girl huddled in corner, shoulders shaking. She couldn't be much older than DJ was when she came in.

The CO had said her name was Lacey.

She was trying not to be noticed, muffling sounds with her pillow. But DJ recognized the pain and the fear.

For a moment, DJ sat frozen with indecision.

It's none of your business.

But her fingers curled around the paper towel. After a reassuring nod from the CO, DJ stood and made her way toward the girl's cell.

Lacey looked up, startled. Her eyes were puffy and red. Her body curled tighter. "I ain't looking for trouble," she mumbled.

"I know," DJ stood just outside the door. "I heard you crying."

Lacey blinked fast. "Sorry."

"You don't have to be."

Lacey sat up slightly, swiping at her face with a sleeve. "I thought I was tough, but I feel like a ghost in here."

DJ nodded. "I did too."

"But you're so calm."

DJ gave a faint smile. "Only on the outside." She stepped a little closer and held up the folded paper towel. "You ever hear of Psalm 56?"

Lacey shook her head.

"It's in the Bible. It says God keeps our tears in a bottle. All of 'em. Not just the holy ones. Even the angry, hopeless ones."

Lacey's lip trembled.

"This is to remind you." DJ handed the paper towel to Lacey. "A lady named Lisa gave me one. She volunteers at the chapel on Tuesdays. You should come. She's got a real gentle spirit."

Lacey leaned forward slightly. She opened the paper towel and read it.

"She said God never misses a drop," DJ added. "And I believe her."

"You think," Lacey swallowed hard, "she'd talk to me?"

DJ nodded. "I know she would. I can go with you, if you want."

Lacey gave the tiniest nod, a flicker of something hopeful passed between the two. "Thank you."

"No big." DJ turned to go back to her cell. "Just... don't keep it all bottled up, alright?"

Lacey gave a broken laugh. "That a joke?"

DJ smiled. "Maybe." As she walked, her heart felt light. She didn't have all the answers.

But she had this verse.

And she had a prayer.

And for now, that was enough for her.

The chapel buzzed softly with morning voices, hymnals rustling, chairs scraping across the floor. Tuesday services had gained in popularity over the last three months. Lisa had been invited to lead come on Sundays once a month as well. DJ stood just inside the door, Mama Pearl's Bible tucked against her with the cardboard bottle in hand.

She didn't usually come early, but today was different.

Today, Henry was coming too.

She spotted him through the open gate, standing taller than usual in his Sunday suit. His graying hair was combed back, shoes polished, and a quite gleam lit his face when he saw her.

"Hey, Sweetheart," he said as the guard led him in.

DJ smiled. "Didn't expect you this early."

Henry patted his chest. "Are you kidding? I wouldn't miss this for the world."

She chuckled softly and led him to a seat near the back.

Lisa noticed them as they walked in and gave DJ a warm nod. DJ returned it with a heart full of calm peace.

Lacey joined them.

The service was simple. A few old hymns. A devotion on the grace of God. An invitation to prayer. As Lisa spoke, DJ opened the Bible in her lap to where it all began. Psalm 56:8. The verse blurred slightly as her eyes brimmed with gratitude for all the Lord was doing here.

When the service ended, Henry turned toward her. "Pearl would be so proud of you."

DJ smiled. "You really think so?"

He tapped the Bible in her hands. "She would say you finally believed what she always knew. He keeps you. Every day."

They stood, and Henry gave her one last hug before he left. "Keep it up," he said. "You're not who you were."

"No," DJ agreed, "I'm not."

Back in her cell, DJ leaned the card against the wall next to her Bible.

And as easy as it was fifteen years ago, she whispered a prayer-- not for mercy, not even for healing.

Just thanksgiving.

Thank you for keeping what I couldn't.

Thank you for not throwing me away.

Thank you for thy bottle, Lord.

And thank you for her.