Trust Your Struggle, page 7
“Jaz, baby, wake up. Jaz, wake up,” Mom gently shook Jasmine until she responded.
“What is it, Mom?” Jasmine asked sleepily.
“Jaz, honey, I need you to stay at home with your sisters today,” Mom said calmly. “I’ll call your school and let them know you won’t be going in and possibly tomorrow as well.”
“Why? What’s going on?” Jasmine’s voice revealing her fearful state. Jasmine knew something major must’ve happened because missing school was not an option Mom usually provided.
“I need to go help your sister, Judith. She’s in trouble and she needs me right now,” Mom paused unsure of how much to indulge with Jasmine. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone so I need you to take care of your sisters until I get back. Feed them and get them ready for the day, but don’t take them to school; you all can stay home today. Can you do that for me?”
“Mom, you’re scaring me. What’s going on? What’s wrong with Judith?” Jasmine was fully alert now.
“She got in trouble with the police and I need to go try to get her out of jail.” Mom decided to be somewhat transparent because she believed Jasmine deserved to know some of the truth.
“She’s in jail? Why? What did she do?” Curiosity overriding Jasmine’s fears.
“Shh, keep it down before you wake your sisters,” Mom said as she patted Jasmine’s chest. “I don’t know that much yet, but when I can, I’ll call you to check on the girls and, hopefully, I’ll have some answers by then. But in the meantime, I need you to keep the girls calm and safe. Can you do that? I need to hear you say you can.”
“Yeah, I can. I love you, Mom.” Jasmine hugged Mom around the neck and buried her head into Mom’s shoulder, sharing a rare moment.
“I love you, too, Jaz. Thanks for helping out. I’ll call you when the sun comes up to check on the girls.”
And with one last kiss on the forehead and a tight squeeze, Mom left the room. She got in her car and drove to the local police station, dread and fear clearly expressed on her face.
Grateful
In the spring of 1998, Judith was facing nine years in a Federal prison for the charges pressed against her. She had been caught in an attempt to take illegal drugs across the Mexico border for her boyfriend, who was also a convicted felon. She pled “guilty” in exchange for a plea bargain that eliminated any prison time and kept her adult record clean of any infractions. Her stipulations included restitution and a four-year commitment to the US Military. Even though she had sworn to never join any military branch because she hated what it did to our family, (she believed Dad chose it over being with us) she found herself trapped into enlistment. Life has a funny way of working itself out.
Mom had decided to take all of us to Judith’s court hearing to show support, but to also give Jasmine a preview of what could happen if a person didn’t respect the rules and laws in place. Jasmine had recently started getting in minor trouble at school because of the new crowd of friends she had gotten into. It wasn’t much, just detention for skipping a class here and there to go sit at the park across the street of her junior high, but Mom was worried she wasn’t doing enough to keep Jasmine safe from the ‘wrong crowds’ as she called them. I couldn’t think about that right now though, because as I watched Judith answer questions under oath, I couldn’t help but wonder if she was telling anybody else’s secrets.
“Big girls know how to keep a secret right? But what if you’re a big girl who’s under oath? Do you still keep a secret then?”
I never found out because when the court hearing finally ended, Judith wasn’t in the talking mood. We all piled into Mom’s station wagon and drove back home, forty miles west. Nobody saying a word.
Judith enlisted in the military three days later and within the month, she was gone. When she left, I was caught between feeling devastated and relieved. I was losing Ju-Ju, my best friend and mom, but I was also losing the nights we spent in secret, and for that, I was grateful.
Chapter Four
The Rundown
Wake Up Call
*KNOCK*KNOCK*KNOCK*
“YES! The pizza’s finally here!” I exclaimed.
It was noon and Martina and I had been starving since the marathon that morning. It was a short one, only 3K, that was for a fundraiser ‘Cruces was having. It was a cause we didn’t even know anything about, but we wanted to see what it was like to run in a marathon since we had never run one before. It turned out to be pretty cool and motivating.
Instead of stopping to get something to eat, we had decided to come home right after because we didn’t want to get stuck in the marathon traffic. That ended up biting us in the butt - we were waiting for over two hours for the pizza to come because the same traffic we were trying to avoid, delayed the pizza delivery person.
“It’s about time,” Martina said as she lounged back in the Laz-E-Boy recliner. Her hair was tousled and she was wearing sweats, watching a basketball game - her Celtics were playing and that took 99% of her attention, every time.
I couldn’t stop the smile that was spreading on to my face though. She loved basketball and I loved watching her love basketball. This was exactly how I wanted to see her - natural, relaxed, and within arm’s reach. I took a step towards her, to give her a kiss, when there was a second knock, only this time, with more force.
*BANG*BANG*BANG*
“Stand up count, McGee!”
Oswald was at my door again with a flashlight in hand, shining the light towards the ceiling in my cell. I was dragged back to my reality and it took a second to process what was going on.
“Huh?” I groaned in a daze.
“It’s stand up count, McGee,” Oswald said loudly. “I need you to put your feet on the ground so I know you’re alive.”
Oh yeah. I was in prison, not at home, about to enjoy a large pizza. And Martina was definitely not within arm’s reach. I felt the weight of my reality crush itself back onto my chest. I swung my right leg off the edge of the mattress and lifted my body up into a seated position, taking all the energy I had. Oswald remained at my door with the flashlight illuminating my cell with its blinding white light. I brought my left leg to the edge of the mattress as well and as soon as both feet hit the ground, Oswald dropped the light and proceeded to the next cell to my right.
*KNOCK*KNOCK*KNOCK*
“Stand up count, Martinez,” Oswald stated clearly.
A pause and then footsteps to the next cell.
*KNOCK*KNOCK*KNOCK*
“Stand up count, Valdez.”
Another pause and then Oswald’s footsteps and keys could be heard with each step as he walked out of the pod and closed the door. Then I heard a muffled,
*POP*
As another pod door opened,
“Stand up count, ladies!!”
Oswald yell was stifled by the layers of concrete blocks that were stacked between us, but now that I knew what I was listening for, I could hear him clear as day.
What a shitty way to be woken up. Stand up counts had been happening four times a day, every day since I had been here. First at 5 a.m., second at 11 a.m., third at 4 p.m. and the fourth at 10 p.m. It was not only shitty because you were reminded that you were a dancing monkey who was told what to do, when to do it, and how exactly to do it, but it also marked the time of each dread-filled day - religiously. Who wants to be reminded that you’re not only in fucking prison but that it’s only 5 a.m. and you still have the whooooole day to get through?
“I’m not going to make it. This is going to kill me… if I don’t kill myself first, that is.”
I had been having suicidal thoughts all day and night since arriving at this helluva home. When I wasn’t contemplating how I could most effectively end my sorry existence of a life, I was crying my soul out on toilet paper and snotty sheets. I hadn’t eaten because I had no appetite and I couldn’t fathom the idea of putting anything in my body that would aid its survival. I was drying out like a prune because I wasn’t drinking any water either, causing my sobs to become gasps and moans with long moments of rocking side to side in the fetal position.
Oswald and Bell, the weekend officers in seg., had both tried to get me to eat, but I politely refused the tray whenever they would open my porthole. Oswald had asked a couple of times if I wanted to speak with a therapist or exchange one of my books with another woman in the pod, but I refused that as well. I just wanted to be left alone to rot and die - that’s what was happening to my spirit and I needed my body to catch up. That’s how I endured my first weekend in hell and I suspected that’s how all my weekends to come would be spent, too.
I laid back down after listening to Oswald finish his 5 a.m. count, and closed my eyes, trying to remember my dream, but by now, all I could remember was Martina and something to do with pizza. I hated that about dreams - they only existed vividly when I was asleep. Why couldn’t they be vivid when I was awake and needed them the most?
My mind began to wonder, “Oswald wanted to know if I was alive? HA! I’m ‘alive’ because my damn heart won’t stop beating. My soul died a long time ago though. If this is supposed to be ‘alive’ then it’s nothing much to fight for.”
Visitors
Time passed, I don’t know how much of it, but I knew it was before 11 a.m. when there was a soft knock on my window, only it wasn’t the window in my door, it was the window on the outside wall. I was so shocked I jumped completely out of bed! There was a girl standing outside my window - literally standing outside my window.
“What the…” I said out loud.
The girl was Hispanic with black hair that was pulled back in a long ponytail and tucked under an orange baseball cap. She was wearing a green t-shirt, navy blue pants, had brown gloves on and had a garden tool of some sort in her hand. Her odd outfit was hard to take in at once but I immediately knew she wasn’t an officer. She did a quick glance around before signaling for me to get closer to the window. The window was four inches wide, like the one in the door, but this one was about four feet tall, allowing me to see all of the girl and what was behind her. My curiosity got the best of me and I jumped onto the bed and leaned as close to the window as possible. I didn’t know what was about to happen, but I didn’t hesitate to find out.
“Are you McGee?” the girl asked in the frame of the window.
Her voice sounded muffled, but I could hear her clear enough.
I nodded my head.
“I’m Lacy and I heard about you on the news. Do you need anything while you’re back there?” she asked while taking a couple glances over her shoulders.
“She heard about me on the news? What did she hear? How did she find my cell? What did she mean, ‘did I need anything’?”
I just stared at her and shrugged my shoulders. She smiled and nodded her head like she understood what I was saying.
“I’ll send you a care-package on Wednesday,” she said. “Look out for a girl named ‘Jokes’, she’s the Pod Porter for seg. and she’ll have some things for you, okay?”
“Okay,” I said out loud, still not sure if she could hear me.
“And I know you’ve probably heard this already, but keep your head up, you’ll be out of there soon.” She smiled and walked away.
“Okay… Did that just really happen?”
I couldn’t believe I just had a conversation with, what was obviously, another prisoner just outside of my window! She said so many things that I couldn’t begin to understand, but she also said something I did,
“on Wednesday… Look out for a girl named ‘Jokes’,” I remembered her saying.
Okay, I could do that.
Something funny was happening inside of me. I felt… excited. I felt like I had something to look forward to. I felt like I had hope.
“Keep your head up,” she had said.
I wanted to talk to that girl again but I already forgot her name. Maybe she’ll come back again later or tomorrow. I’ll be sure to be prepared next time so I could ask her some questions - like how did she find me? And how soon was “soon”?
I was sitting on my bed, staring out the window, lost in thought from the earlier incident, when the porthole to my door was opened - it couldn’t be lunch, they still haven’t done 11 o’clock count.
It wasn’t.
“Hey McGee, told you I’d be back. I’m glad to see you’re still in one piece,” Bellator joked lightly. “How was your first weekend?”
Bellator! I forgot she had said she’d come to see me first thing Monday morning. She had asked me to do something, too, but I forgot what that was, as well. She was squatting in front of the porthole and my manners made me get up so I could mirror her.
“It was tough,” I replied honestly.
For some reason, I wasn’t swimming in my emotions at the moment and could express a single emotion without freaking out. The hope that had come from talking with that girl helped put some of the overwhelming emotions I had been drowning in all weekend back into their bottles.
“I bet. Did you at least eat something? You look like you lost half your weight, and you had none to lose!” she exclaimed.
“I wasn’t very hungry,” I said lamely.
“Well, you gotta eat something, kid. I don’t want to be forced to deem you a ‘Threat to yourself by Starvation’ because that would make things difficult,” Bellator wagged her finger at me as a warning. “So do us both a favor: eat something off your lunch tray today, please?”
“Yeah,” I submitted, “I can eat something off my tray today.”
“Good!” she said seemingly satisfied. “Now, were you able to read through your Prisoner Rights so you could sign it?”
The Prisoner Rights book! That’s what I was supposed to have done by Monday. Well, shit.
“No, I forgot,” I admitted.
“Okay, well, if you read it and get it signed by the end of the day, I can come back and pick it up.” Bellator offered patiently. “There’s a small safety pen in the middle of the book that you can sign with. We need that for your record keeping.”
“Okay, I’ll get it done today,” I promised.
“Good. I’m starting your Classification paperwork today,” Bellator jumped to a new topic, “so that means you’ll be going to a few different places this week: Booking for photograph and fingerprints, Mental Health for a visit with the Psychiatrist and assessment, Education to test your reading levels and math skills, and you already went to Medical so you should be good as far as that goes. So don’t be shocked when an officer tells you to get ready to go to an appointment.”
“Okay,” I said. “What should I take with me?”
“Nothing. Just be dressed fully. And it doesn’t hurt to brush your teeth and comb your hair.” Bellator gave a small wink, “Speaking of which, have you taken a shower yet?”
“No.”
“That’s probably because your 72-hour hold isn’t up until today at 3 p.m.,” Bellator said nodding her head. “I’ll be sure that you’re given your shower. But you won’t need to take anything with you until after you have your photo taken. After that, you will be given a badge that will have your I.D. number, your commissary number, and your photo. You will need to carry that with you at all times because it’s your identification and that’s mandatory to have on you at all times.”
And just like that, the small amount of hope I was feeling was gone -
*SNAP*
- just that quick. The only identification card I should’ve been issued as a seventeen-year-old was my Driver’s License, but instead, I would be issued an I.D. card that had my new government name: 67018. Wasn’t that just fucking peachy?
“And I’ll get that after I go to Booking?” I asked for confirmation.
“Correct,” Bellator replied. “Alright, anything else you need? Are the girls in here treating you alright?”
“I haven’t talked to any of them,” I said.
“Well, the weekends are usually quiet for the entire compound, honestly,” Bellator said, “but things should liven up here as the week starts.”
Right on cue, a daytime officer I hadn’t seen with the name, “Jenkins” on his uniform top, came in the pod with a heavy set of chains and knocked on an inmate’s door.
“You ready, Chacon?” Jenkins asked loudly.
“I’ve been ready!” the woman in the cell yelled in response.
Jenkins opened the woman’s porthole and Chacon’s hands slipped out. Jenkins placed a pair of cuffs around her wrists and then stepped back.
“Open DK 103, inmate going to Medical,” Jenkins reported to a walkie-talkie that was on his left shoulder.
*POP*
Chacon walked out of the cell, tall, big, dark and dressed in the same ugly orange top and bottom that I had on; except, her uniform looked slightly different. It was subtle because, really, how much different can an orange top and pair of pants really be from any other orange top and pants? But there was a difference. It was in the way she wore the top and bottom set as if it was her outfit for the day and not just her State-Issued uniform. She took a quick glance at me through my porthole and winked. Then she directed her attention to Bellator, “What’s up, Ms. B? Any chance you’ve decided to reclassify me back down to level IV?”
“Any chance you’ve decided to behave according to the facility rules, Ms. Chacon?” Bellator threw back at her.
“Ha! Ya tú sabes, that’s never gonna happen. Us big girls like to set our own rules, am I right?” Chacon winked at Bellator like an old friend.
“Well, the choice is always yours,” Bellator said, sidestepping the reference.
“Turn around,” Jenkins instructed as he adjusted Chacon’s belly chain; Chacon complied.
He had secured ankle chains to Chacon while she was talking with Bellator and she had balanced herself as if she had done this a hundred times already.
“I only got three more months left, anyway, Ms. B,” Chacon continued, “and I’m doin’ just fine right where I’m at. Completely cozy in mi casita.”
“What is it, Mom?” Jasmine asked sleepily.
“Jaz, honey, I need you to stay at home with your sisters today,” Mom said calmly. “I’ll call your school and let them know you won’t be going in and possibly tomorrow as well.”
“Why? What’s going on?” Jasmine’s voice revealing her fearful state. Jasmine knew something major must’ve happened because missing school was not an option Mom usually provided.
“I need to go help your sister, Judith. She’s in trouble and she needs me right now,” Mom paused unsure of how much to indulge with Jasmine. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone so I need you to take care of your sisters until I get back. Feed them and get them ready for the day, but don’t take them to school; you all can stay home today. Can you do that for me?”
“Mom, you’re scaring me. What’s going on? What’s wrong with Judith?” Jasmine was fully alert now.
“She got in trouble with the police and I need to go try to get her out of jail.” Mom decided to be somewhat transparent because she believed Jasmine deserved to know some of the truth.
“She’s in jail? Why? What did she do?” Curiosity overriding Jasmine’s fears.
“Shh, keep it down before you wake your sisters,” Mom said as she patted Jasmine’s chest. “I don’t know that much yet, but when I can, I’ll call you to check on the girls and, hopefully, I’ll have some answers by then. But in the meantime, I need you to keep the girls calm and safe. Can you do that? I need to hear you say you can.”
“Yeah, I can. I love you, Mom.” Jasmine hugged Mom around the neck and buried her head into Mom’s shoulder, sharing a rare moment.
“I love you, too, Jaz. Thanks for helping out. I’ll call you when the sun comes up to check on the girls.”
And with one last kiss on the forehead and a tight squeeze, Mom left the room. She got in her car and drove to the local police station, dread and fear clearly expressed on her face.
Grateful
In the spring of 1998, Judith was facing nine years in a Federal prison for the charges pressed against her. She had been caught in an attempt to take illegal drugs across the Mexico border for her boyfriend, who was also a convicted felon. She pled “guilty” in exchange for a plea bargain that eliminated any prison time and kept her adult record clean of any infractions. Her stipulations included restitution and a four-year commitment to the US Military. Even though she had sworn to never join any military branch because she hated what it did to our family, (she believed Dad chose it over being with us) she found herself trapped into enlistment. Life has a funny way of working itself out.
Mom had decided to take all of us to Judith’s court hearing to show support, but to also give Jasmine a preview of what could happen if a person didn’t respect the rules and laws in place. Jasmine had recently started getting in minor trouble at school because of the new crowd of friends she had gotten into. It wasn’t much, just detention for skipping a class here and there to go sit at the park across the street of her junior high, but Mom was worried she wasn’t doing enough to keep Jasmine safe from the ‘wrong crowds’ as she called them. I couldn’t think about that right now though, because as I watched Judith answer questions under oath, I couldn’t help but wonder if she was telling anybody else’s secrets.
“Big girls know how to keep a secret right? But what if you’re a big girl who’s under oath? Do you still keep a secret then?”
I never found out because when the court hearing finally ended, Judith wasn’t in the talking mood. We all piled into Mom’s station wagon and drove back home, forty miles west. Nobody saying a word.
Judith enlisted in the military three days later and within the month, she was gone. When she left, I was caught between feeling devastated and relieved. I was losing Ju-Ju, my best friend and mom, but I was also losing the nights we spent in secret, and for that, I was grateful.
Chapter Four
The Rundown
Wake Up Call
*KNOCK*KNOCK*KNOCK*
“YES! The pizza’s finally here!” I exclaimed.
It was noon and Martina and I had been starving since the marathon that morning. It was a short one, only 3K, that was for a fundraiser ‘Cruces was having. It was a cause we didn’t even know anything about, but we wanted to see what it was like to run in a marathon since we had never run one before. It turned out to be pretty cool and motivating.
Instead of stopping to get something to eat, we had decided to come home right after because we didn’t want to get stuck in the marathon traffic. That ended up biting us in the butt - we were waiting for over two hours for the pizza to come because the same traffic we were trying to avoid, delayed the pizza delivery person.
“It’s about time,” Martina said as she lounged back in the Laz-E-Boy recliner. Her hair was tousled and she was wearing sweats, watching a basketball game - her Celtics were playing and that took 99% of her attention, every time.
I couldn’t stop the smile that was spreading on to my face though. She loved basketball and I loved watching her love basketball. This was exactly how I wanted to see her - natural, relaxed, and within arm’s reach. I took a step towards her, to give her a kiss, when there was a second knock, only this time, with more force.
*BANG*BANG*BANG*
“Stand up count, McGee!”
Oswald was at my door again with a flashlight in hand, shining the light towards the ceiling in my cell. I was dragged back to my reality and it took a second to process what was going on.
“Huh?” I groaned in a daze.
“It’s stand up count, McGee,” Oswald said loudly. “I need you to put your feet on the ground so I know you’re alive.”
Oh yeah. I was in prison, not at home, about to enjoy a large pizza. And Martina was definitely not within arm’s reach. I felt the weight of my reality crush itself back onto my chest. I swung my right leg off the edge of the mattress and lifted my body up into a seated position, taking all the energy I had. Oswald remained at my door with the flashlight illuminating my cell with its blinding white light. I brought my left leg to the edge of the mattress as well and as soon as both feet hit the ground, Oswald dropped the light and proceeded to the next cell to my right.
*KNOCK*KNOCK*KNOCK*
“Stand up count, Martinez,” Oswald stated clearly.
A pause and then footsteps to the next cell.
*KNOCK*KNOCK*KNOCK*
“Stand up count, Valdez.”
Another pause and then Oswald’s footsteps and keys could be heard with each step as he walked out of the pod and closed the door. Then I heard a muffled,
*POP*
As another pod door opened,
“Stand up count, ladies!!”
Oswald yell was stifled by the layers of concrete blocks that were stacked between us, but now that I knew what I was listening for, I could hear him clear as day.
What a shitty way to be woken up. Stand up counts had been happening four times a day, every day since I had been here. First at 5 a.m., second at 11 a.m., third at 4 p.m. and the fourth at 10 p.m. It was not only shitty because you were reminded that you were a dancing monkey who was told what to do, when to do it, and how exactly to do it, but it also marked the time of each dread-filled day - religiously. Who wants to be reminded that you’re not only in fucking prison but that it’s only 5 a.m. and you still have the whooooole day to get through?
“I’m not going to make it. This is going to kill me… if I don’t kill myself first, that is.”
I had been having suicidal thoughts all day and night since arriving at this helluva home. When I wasn’t contemplating how I could most effectively end my sorry existence of a life, I was crying my soul out on toilet paper and snotty sheets. I hadn’t eaten because I had no appetite and I couldn’t fathom the idea of putting anything in my body that would aid its survival. I was drying out like a prune because I wasn’t drinking any water either, causing my sobs to become gasps and moans with long moments of rocking side to side in the fetal position.
Oswald and Bell, the weekend officers in seg., had both tried to get me to eat, but I politely refused the tray whenever they would open my porthole. Oswald had asked a couple of times if I wanted to speak with a therapist or exchange one of my books with another woman in the pod, but I refused that as well. I just wanted to be left alone to rot and die - that’s what was happening to my spirit and I needed my body to catch up. That’s how I endured my first weekend in hell and I suspected that’s how all my weekends to come would be spent, too.
I laid back down after listening to Oswald finish his 5 a.m. count, and closed my eyes, trying to remember my dream, but by now, all I could remember was Martina and something to do with pizza. I hated that about dreams - they only existed vividly when I was asleep. Why couldn’t they be vivid when I was awake and needed them the most?
My mind began to wonder, “Oswald wanted to know if I was alive? HA! I’m ‘alive’ because my damn heart won’t stop beating. My soul died a long time ago though. If this is supposed to be ‘alive’ then it’s nothing much to fight for.”
Visitors
Time passed, I don’t know how much of it, but I knew it was before 11 a.m. when there was a soft knock on my window, only it wasn’t the window in my door, it was the window on the outside wall. I was so shocked I jumped completely out of bed! There was a girl standing outside my window - literally standing outside my window.
“What the…” I said out loud.
The girl was Hispanic with black hair that was pulled back in a long ponytail and tucked under an orange baseball cap. She was wearing a green t-shirt, navy blue pants, had brown gloves on and had a garden tool of some sort in her hand. Her odd outfit was hard to take in at once but I immediately knew she wasn’t an officer. She did a quick glance around before signaling for me to get closer to the window. The window was four inches wide, like the one in the door, but this one was about four feet tall, allowing me to see all of the girl and what was behind her. My curiosity got the best of me and I jumped onto the bed and leaned as close to the window as possible. I didn’t know what was about to happen, but I didn’t hesitate to find out.
“Are you McGee?” the girl asked in the frame of the window.
Her voice sounded muffled, but I could hear her clear enough.
I nodded my head.
“I’m Lacy and I heard about you on the news. Do you need anything while you’re back there?” she asked while taking a couple glances over her shoulders.
“She heard about me on the news? What did she hear? How did she find my cell? What did she mean, ‘did I need anything’?”
I just stared at her and shrugged my shoulders. She smiled and nodded her head like she understood what I was saying.
“I’ll send you a care-package on Wednesday,” she said. “Look out for a girl named ‘Jokes’, she’s the Pod Porter for seg. and she’ll have some things for you, okay?”
“Okay,” I said out loud, still not sure if she could hear me.
“And I know you’ve probably heard this already, but keep your head up, you’ll be out of there soon.” She smiled and walked away.
“Okay… Did that just really happen?”
I couldn’t believe I just had a conversation with, what was obviously, another prisoner just outside of my window! She said so many things that I couldn’t begin to understand, but she also said something I did,
“on Wednesday… Look out for a girl named ‘Jokes’,” I remembered her saying.
Okay, I could do that.
Something funny was happening inside of me. I felt… excited. I felt like I had something to look forward to. I felt like I had hope.
“Keep your head up,” she had said.
I wanted to talk to that girl again but I already forgot her name. Maybe she’ll come back again later or tomorrow. I’ll be sure to be prepared next time so I could ask her some questions - like how did she find me? And how soon was “soon”?
I was sitting on my bed, staring out the window, lost in thought from the earlier incident, when the porthole to my door was opened - it couldn’t be lunch, they still haven’t done 11 o’clock count.
It wasn’t.
“Hey McGee, told you I’d be back. I’m glad to see you’re still in one piece,” Bellator joked lightly. “How was your first weekend?”
Bellator! I forgot she had said she’d come to see me first thing Monday morning. She had asked me to do something, too, but I forgot what that was, as well. She was squatting in front of the porthole and my manners made me get up so I could mirror her.
“It was tough,” I replied honestly.
For some reason, I wasn’t swimming in my emotions at the moment and could express a single emotion without freaking out. The hope that had come from talking with that girl helped put some of the overwhelming emotions I had been drowning in all weekend back into their bottles.
“I bet. Did you at least eat something? You look like you lost half your weight, and you had none to lose!” she exclaimed.
“I wasn’t very hungry,” I said lamely.
“Well, you gotta eat something, kid. I don’t want to be forced to deem you a ‘Threat to yourself by Starvation’ because that would make things difficult,” Bellator wagged her finger at me as a warning. “So do us both a favor: eat something off your lunch tray today, please?”
“Yeah,” I submitted, “I can eat something off my tray today.”
“Good!” she said seemingly satisfied. “Now, were you able to read through your Prisoner Rights so you could sign it?”
The Prisoner Rights book! That’s what I was supposed to have done by Monday. Well, shit.
“No, I forgot,” I admitted.
“Okay, well, if you read it and get it signed by the end of the day, I can come back and pick it up.” Bellator offered patiently. “There’s a small safety pen in the middle of the book that you can sign with. We need that for your record keeping.”
“Okay, I’ll get it done today,” I promised.
“Good. I’m starting your Classification paperwork today,” Bellator jumped to a new topic, “so that means you’ll be going to a few different places this week: Booking for photograph and fingerprints, Mental Health for a visit with the Psychiatrist and assessment, Education to test your reading levels and math skills, and you already went to Medical so you should be good as far as that goes. So don’t be shocked when an officer tells you to get ready to go to an appointment.”
“Okay,” I said. “What should I take with me?”
“Nothing. Just be dressed fully. And it doesn’t hurt to brush your teeth and comb your hair.” Bellator gave a small wink, “Speaking of which, have you taken a shower yet?”
“No.”
“That’s probably because your 72-hour hold isn’t up until today at 3 p.m.,” Bellator said nodding her head. “I’ll be sure that you’re given your shower. But you won’t need to take anything with you until after you have your photo taken. After that, you will be given a badge that will have your I.D. number, your commissary number, and your photo. You will need to carry that with you at all times because it’s your identification and that’s mandatory to have on you at all times.”
And just like that, the small amount of hope I was feeling was gone -
*SNAP*
- just that quick. The only identification card I should’ve been issued as a seventeen-year-old was my Driver’s License, but instead, I would be issued an I.D. card that had my new government name: 67018. Wasn’t that just fucking peachy?
“And I’ll get that after I go to Booking?” I asked for confirmation.
“Correct,” Bellator replied. “Alright, anything else you need? Are the girls in here treating you alright?”
“I haven’t talked to any of them,” I said.
“Well, the weekends are usually quiet for the entire compound, honestly,” Bellator said, “but things should liven up here as the week starts.”
Right on cue, a daytime officer I hadn’t seen with the name, “Jenkins” on his uniform top, came in the pod with a heavy set of chains and knocked on an inmate’s door.
“You ready, Chacon?” Jenkins asked loudly.
“I’ve been ready!” the woman in the cell yelled in response.
Jenkins opened the woman’s porthole and Chacon’s hands slipped out. Jenkins placed a pair of cuffs around her wrists and then stepped back.
“Open DK 103, inmate going to Medical,” Jenkins reported to a walkie-talkie that was on his left shoulder.
*POP*
Chacon walked out of the cell, tall, big, dark and dressed in the same ugly orange top and bottom that I had on; except, her uniform looked slightly different. It was subtle because, really, how much different can an orange top and pair of pants really be from any other orange top and pants? But there was a difference. It was in the way she wore the top and bottom set as if it was her outfit for the day and not just her State-Issued uniform. She took a quick glance at me through my porthole and winked. Then she directed her attention to Bellator, “What’s up, Ms. B? Any chance you’ve decided to reclassify me back down to level IV?”
“Any chance you’ve decided to behave according to the facility rules, Ms. Chacon?” Bellator threw back at her.
“Ha! Ya tú sabes, that’s never gonna happen. Us big girls like to set our own rules, am I right?” Chacon winked at Bellator like an old friend.
“Well, the choice is always yours,” Bellator said, sidestepping the reference.
“Turn around,” Jenkins instructed as he adjusted Chacon’s belly chain; Chacon complied.
He had secured ankle chains to Chacon while she was talking with Bellator and she had balanced herself as if she had done this a hundred times already.
“I only got three more months left, anyway, Ms. B,” Chacon continued, “and I’m doin’ just fine right where I’m at. Completely cozy in mi casita.”
