She held the ukulele close, its nylon strings quiet under her fingers. She wasn’t looking for attention. She just wanted to play.

The day room was crowded, too loud. There’s no chapel on the minimum side of the prison to retreat into. Hanging around too long in places you weren’t assigned could raise flags. Adults in custody only have certain places to be and the officers didn’t like seeing them drift. But she had gotten permission—verbal, not written—from her unit officer that waved her on with a sigh, “Just stay out of the way and don’t cause problems.” So she found a hallway. Not quite forgotten, but away from the buzz of daily movement. Concrete walls, a flickering light, and a scuffed bench that was bolted to the floor. Good enough.

She strummed softly at first, the strings making a mellow, hesitant sound. A delicate melody began to form, hesitant and gentle, as if she were drawing it from memory rather than simply playing it. Time slipped a little.

Then: footsteps.

She looked up, hands pausing mid-chord. A Correctional Officer she didn’t recognize walked into the edge of the hallway. Tall, square-shouldered, face unreadable under the brim of his cap. She straightened, anxiety quickening. Unfamiliar staff could be unpredictable. Was she in trouble?

But then, as he neared, she noticed: he was humming.

She blinked.

He nodded toward the ukulele. “I recognize that song.”

She hesitated. “Do ya?”

The CO’s expression softened just a fraction. “Composer wrote that for his wife. Least, that’s the story I remember.” She didn’t know what to say. No one had ever talked to her about music like that in here. Not a CO, anyway. They stood in silence for a moment, the melody still hanging in the air. She strummed the chord again, and he hummed a few bars in tune before giving a small nod and walking off, his boots echoing lightly down the hallway. She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

It was a small thing, really. In a place built to keep things divided—guard and inmate, sound and silence—art had slipped through. For just a second, it had leveled them. No judgment. No roles. Just a song, shared. 

She kept playing.