April 11th, 2026
“Oh, Kitty, how nice it would be if we could only get through into Looking-glass House! I’m sure it’s got, oh! such beautiful things in it! Let’s pretend there is a way of getting through into it, somehow, Kitty. Let’s pretend that the glass has got all soft like gauze so that we can get through. Why it’s turning into a sort of mist now, I declare! It will be easy enough to get through—-“
The quotation above is an excerpt of Alice speaking to her cat in the first chapter of Through the Looking-Glass by Lewis Carroll
I sat in the Nikiya Harris-Dodd Visitation Center, which is part of the Community Reintegration Center (CRC) in Franklin, Wisconsin. The CRC is a jail, and all jails have the same depressing vibe. It’s part of their essence. As far as jails go, the CRC is not that bad, but it is still intimidating. The visitation center is clean and neat and utterly uninviting. When I checked in at the counter for my scheduled visit, I had to show the guard my photo ID, which she kept and explained that I would get it back upon my departure from the facility. I was there early because I didn’t know how busy the place would be, seeing as visits to the “residents” can only happen on the weekend. I had an appointment to see the young woman at 9:15 AM. The waiting area was almost empty, which was a good thing since there are only six chairs available. The walls are painted a dull bureaucratic grey color. There are two vending machines containing overpriced snacks and beverages. There is also one vending machine tucked in the corner of the hall that dispenses Narcan for opioid overdoses, Deterra bags for safe deactivation and disposal of drugs, and fentanyl detection strips. Everything in that machine is free of charge.
The little boy sat near me in a chair with his legs folded underneath him. The young man had never been in a jail before. It was his first time visiting his mama while she was locked up. He was excited about seeing his mama, but he really didn’t like his environment. He and I waited for the guard to call us through the security check.
A Black family walked into the lobby. There was a very elderly woman, a middle-aged lady, and a small child. They checked in with the guard and handed over their IDs. The middle-aged woman asked about getting a locker. This confused the guard. The woman explained that they had to put all their belongings into a locker at a different facility when they visited their incarcerated family member. The guard said they didn’t need one at his jail. They could take their purses and keys with them. I wasn’t surprised that they didn’t know the rules for visitations at the CRC. Every jail and prison is its own little kingdom, and each one has slightly different regulations. A visitor really can’t know what the rules are until they actually get there.
I talked with the family after they sat down near the boy and me. Their little guy was two years old. I told the great grandma that my boy was five. Their two-year-old was there to visit his mama, just like my boy was. The two women were raising that toddler just like my wife and I are raising our boy. Our families are in very similar situations. We are all just doing what has to be done to care for the children.
My little guy and I finally went through security and entered a big room with several long, narrow hallways, each of which had many windows. None of the windows looked outside the building. They all looked into another hallway where the inmates were. The boy and I were assigned to window 51. We sat on a stool apparently molded from concrete. There was an old school telephone receiver attached to a cable. The receiver was made of some kind of dense plastic and heavy enough to be used as a bludgeon. My boy did not want to hold the phone, so I held it for him.
His mama was extremely excited to see her son. She wanted to know everything he had been doing. The boy was reluctant to speak with her. He sat on my lap so that he could see her better through the window. His mama kept joking with him. She kept saying how much she loved him. The boy did not like talking on the phone and he did not like the glass that separated him from his mama.
At one point, he reached out and touched the window with his index finger. His mama did the same, and their fingers almost met. Almost. Almost wasn’t quite good enough. It never is.
“Let’s pretend that the glass has got all soft like gauze so that we can get through.” Alice said that. It worked for Alice, but this boy couldn’t get through the glass into this particular Looking Glass House. And his mama couldn’t get out. It’s probably better that he didn’t go inside.
We left after twenty minutes. The boy doesn’t want to go back. I don’t blame him. Maybe he will change his mind. I hope so for his mother’s sake.
Frank is Emptiness 