Upon arriving at the jail, the other inmates and I were seated in a room with a payphone and two metal picnic-like tables that were bolted to the floor. Our handcuffs were removed by a redheaded officer dressed in all black with the name Jones stitched in front in white. I got the impression the officer was a lesbian, which made me hope that perhaps there wasn’t a lot of prejudice after all within the jails. However, I knew it was different for men than for women.
“Ok, folks,” said the officer, “fill out these forms.”
The forms asked us general information. What were our full names, where did we live, were we or could we be pregnant, what were our ages and medical history, etc. After the forms were completed, Jones collected them and ordered us to strip, shake our hair, and do the old squat-and-cough routine. Then we were given orange uniforms to change into, along with socks, panties, a sports bra, and plastic sandals. We were ordered to put our clothes and any purses we had in plastic bags. Because I was asthmatic, I was allowed to keep my inhaler.
Jones communicated by walkie-talkie to another officer who came to fetch the other women.
“Where are they going?” I asked Jones when we were alone.
“To the dorms. You, on the other hand, are eligible for a room.”
“A room?”
Jones nodded. “Medium and max security go to the dorms. Those are the large rooms. There’s a dozen of them. Each houses one hundred and thirty women.”
“Wow! That’s a lot of people in one room.”
“Sure is. Lucky you, who’s minimum security, gets to go to a room for two equipped with a private bath and all,” she said as we stepped out into an area with four hallways stemming off from it. “Another factor in eligibility for that section is that you gotta be here short-term. No more than thirty days, so with a thirty-day sentence, you just made it in.”
“So, it’ll be just me and one other person?”
“Usually. Along with the DO on duty that’s assigned to that room.”
“DO?” I asked.
“Detention officer.”
“Oh. That’s what you’re called here? Not COs as in corrections officer?”
“Nope. We don’t even wear typical uniforms, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“Yes, I have.”
“Better to be in all black than in all white like a nurse. Hides the bulges,” Jones said with a slight smile on her face.
I couldn’t help but smile for a second myself, though my heart was still hammering with nerves.
Officer Jones seemed to sense this. “You’ll be ok.”
I followed her towards one of the hallways at one end of the building.
“How many rooms are there?” I asked.
“Five on each side of the hallway.”
As we approached the start of the hallway, I saw two DOs talking about midway down. One of the officers was plump and ordinary looking. The other, although I could only see her profile, was stunning. She was very tall and slim with straight, shoulder-length dark brown hair. I liked the sound of her voice as she spoke to the other officer. Not too loud, not too soft. Her mannerisms suggested she was rather carefree and confident as she laughed in response to something the other officer said. Then she spotted us coming and turned to face us. Our gazes locked. The closer I got to her the more I could see that she had dark brown eyes to match her hair. Her makeup was perfectly applied. She wore small gold hoop earrings and two thin gold chain necklaces which stood out brilliantly against the black of her uniform. A thin-banded gold wristwatch completed her attire.
“Well, hi there,” she said in a pleasant tone.
K. L. Jackson, her shirt said. The other was T. C. Brea.
I nodded a greeting as Jones asked, “Who’s got room?”
“We both have a bed available,” said Brea.
“In about five minutes I’m going to have two available,” said Jackson, gazing at me and then at Jones, “so she can come with me.”
“You serious? You don’t want a night off so you can have the whole room to yourself?” Jones kidded.
Jackson and Brea chuckled before Jackson said, “Nah, that’s ok. Gotta earn my pay.” Then she looked down at me. “So sad,” she said in a poor-baby, yet seemingly sincere tone of voice.
“Not as sad as I am mad,” I assured her.
As the others laughed, she grinned long enough to show a mouthful of sparkling white, even teeth. She held out her hand to Jones, who in turn handed her a card with my name and charges of vandalism on it. A slight look of surprise crossed her face.
“Scary, ain’t it?” I said.
Again she flashed a quick smile as she placed the card against the wall and wrote something on it with a pen she pulled from her pants pocket.
Although a little too thin, the near six-foot-tall officer didn’t seem the least bit frail or weak. Never before had I been so attracted to someone I hadn’t even known for five minutes. I felt my knees tremble.
Around her waist, as was the case with the other officers, was a thick black belt with several things attached to it, the handcuffs being the most obvious.
I glanced around the hallway. Each of the doors was steel with one large square pane of Plexiglas in the upper section. They were spaced evenly along the hallway on each side about twenty feet apart. There was an extra door at the end of one side. Straight ahead at the end was a door with an exit sign above it.
An older lady around sixty years of age suddenly appeared in the window of the door closest to us.
“Ready?” Jackson asked.
The lady nodded and Jackson unlocked the steel door.
Out stepped the lady who then spoke with a German accent. “I guess this is it.”
Jackson took the lady’s card out of the clear plastic holder at the base of the window and handed it to Jones. Then she placed mine in the holder.
“I guess it is,” said Jones. “Come on, Farrell. Let’s get you checked out of here.”
They retreated in the direction we had come while the other officer entered the room next to ours, door locking shut tight behind her.
“Ok, it’s just you and me now,” said Jackson as she unlocked the door and held it ajar for me to enter.
I looked up at her.
“Don’t worry, I don’t bite.”
I smiled, thinking to myself that I might not mind it so much if she did. Nearly a foot taller than me, she gazed into my green eyes with such intensity as I passed by her that it almost made me wonder if she’d read my thoughts.
Although windowless, the room was nothing like I pictured it to be. In my mind, I had pictured a cell of some kind, but this wasn’t even remotely like a cell. If anything, it sort of reminded me of a hotel room with the bathroom and main room. Only this main room was smaller and had three cots instead of the usual two double beds.
To the right, just inside the door, was the bathroom. It was a typical bathroom with a toilet, a sink in a surprisingly long counter, and a bathtub with optional shower. The only thing to suggest you weren’t in a real hotel was the aluminum mirror over the sink.
Past the bathroom was the main room, which ran the whole length of the back wall. Out of view from the entry door, behind the bathroom wall, were three small cots side by side just inches apart from one another. Across from those were a couple of built-in shelves on the back wall. In the corner where the back and left walls met, which was the only thing that could be seen from the hallway, was a round table with a few folding chairs around it. I was surprised to find it wasn’t bolted to the floor, which was surprisingly carpeted, if only with that hard, flat outdoor carpet. The biggest surprise was the TV that sat on a built-in shelf between the table and the other shelves. With the way it faced, it could be seen from either the table or the beds. It even had a digital clock, which now read 7:23.
“Wow!” I said in shock.
“Yeah, the emphasis here is more on rehabilitation than punishment.”
“Just learning that one of the cars I egged belonged to a cop was enough to rehabilitate me,” I assured her.
She laughed. “Is that what this is all about?”
I nodded. “A friend of mine and myself got into a rather pranksterish mood one day. He’s doing the same amount of time I’m doing.”
“Oh.”
“That brings me to a question I have for you if you don’t mind my asking.”
“No, not at all.”
“My friend Andy’s gay, and I know society’s not as tolerant of gay guys as they might be with women. Think he’ll be ok?”
“Yeah,” she said, nodding confidently. “He’ll be fine. They probably put him in Ad-Seg.”
“Ad-Seg?”
“Administrative Segregation.”
“That’s good,” I said.
“So you’re twenty-four?”
“Mmm-hmm. And you?”
“I’m twenty-nine,” she laughed, apparently amused with being asked her own question.
“Sativa Nicole Collins,” Jackson said. “That’s a pretty yet unusual name.”
“Guess I’m an unusual girl,” I said with a bit of a sigh.
“Ok, unusual girl,” Jackson said, taking a more serious tone as she leaned against the wooden table. “These are the rules, which I assure you are quite simple. No drugs, no fighting, no trying to escape.”
My eyebrows rose. “That’s it? They don’t run us ragged?”
“What do you mean?”
“No classes or groups of any kind to attend all day?”
With a smile, she said, “Honey, this is jail. This part of the jail may not look like an ordinary jail, but it is. It’s not a school or a hospital of any kind. As long as you behave, follow orders, and aren’t hurting either yourself or others, you can sleep all day and do nothing the rest of the time, for all we care. There are, however, times you’ll be permitted out for various reasons. Visiting hours are Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays between the hours of 10 AM to 6 PM. Between the hours of 7 AM to 9 PM, you’ll be allotted three ten-minute phone calls a day. In addition to that, you’ll be taken outdoors at any time during the daylight hours for a half hour. Then, provided you have no write-ups, you’ll be allowed in the room at the end of the hall on Friday nights for commissary if you have money on your books.”
“What’s commissary?”
She looked at me, then slowly smiled. “You really haven’t done time before, have you?”
I shook my head.
“Commissary’s where you can buy hygienic and snack items. You can even get yourself a little radio and some writing supplies, though we give you some paper and envelopes for starters.”
It was then that she noticed my empty hands.
“Didn’t you get anything yet?”
“Nope.”
“Alright then, just sit tight and I’ll be back in a few.”
“Ok,” I said.
I sat in the chair as she unlocked the door and stepped out into the hall, shutting the door tight behind her. I was surprised at how quiet it was. The only sound was the ventilator circulating the air.
A few minutes later, Jackson returned. “Got some goodies to start you off with.”
I stood up. She handed me a sheet, a tan blanket, a towel, a navy gown, and also a plastic bag containing a comb, a small tube of toothpaste, a small toothbrush, deodorant, a bar of soap, a few short pencils, several sheets of lined paper, and five stamped envelopes.
“Do you need to make any phone calls?” she asked me.
“One. To my friend Mary. I’ll need her and her husband to put money on my books till I get out and pay them back. She’ll also watch my apartment and feed my pets.”
“Oh,” she said, “what do you have for pets?”
“Two large fancy rats.”
Her eyes bulged.
“Very good ones, I assure you.”
She shook her head in distaste.
“Their behavior’s so cute and doglike.”
“I hear they’re pretty smart, as creepy as some of us may find them to be.”
“They are,” I said.
“Why don’t you put your stuff on the table and we’ll go to the phones now.”
I laid the stuff down and followed her to the door. As she inserted the key in the door, I noticed I could see into the room across the way. Someone was sitting at the table writing. Since they were in orange and not black, I took it to be an inmate. Jackson pulled the door open and yanked my card out of its holder, then led me back to the room I was in earlier with the other inmates.
“You need to give your friend your ID number, which she’ll need in order to write to you, visit you, or put money in your account.
We reached the phones.
“First, punch your ID number in, speak your name when it asks you to, then you’ll be established with the phone.”
“Ok,” I said. I looked at my ID card and punched in the six-digit number. After speaking my name, I then had a dial tone and could go on with calling Mary, a well-known writer and wonderful friend. She answered on the first ring.
“Hello?” she said anxiously.
“Hi, it’s me.”
“Oh, thank God! I was so worried.”
“I’m fine.”
“You sure? You holding up alright?”
“Oh, yeah. I’ll survive.” Especially with such good-looking company to watch over me, I wanted to say but didn’t. I glanced at Jackson, who sat reading a magazine at a table. After telling Mary a little about the jail and promising to write, she assured me she’d have some money in my account by Friday.
“In fact, I’ll get it in tomorrow.”
“Thanks so much.”
“Hey, what are friends for? You’d do the same for me.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll come and see you at least once a week, too.”
“Ok,” I said. “That’d be nice. How’s José and the kids?”
“Just fine. God, girl! You sound like you’ve been away for weeks. It hasn’t even been a day.”
“I know, but it sure doesn’t feel it.”
“I’ll bet. Well, you just hang in there and I’ll be seeing you. I’ll take the rats home with me too, so I won’t have to go to your place every day.”
After a few more words, I hung up the phone.
“All set?” asked Jackson as she looked up at me and dropped the magazine on the table.
“Yup.”
She got up and escorted me back to the room.
“That’s nice that you have a friend to help you,” she said.
“Yeah, it is.”
“Any family?”
I shook my head.
“That’s too bad.”
Not when your family’s like mine it isn’t, I thought to myself.
“Where are you from?” she asked.
“Massachusetts.”
“I thought you sounded Northeastern.”
“What about you?”
“I lived in California for quite a while, but I’m originally from Alabama.”
“I thought I detected a slight southern drawl there,” I said, and she chuckled.
Back in the room, I asked her which bed I should use.
“Well, the DO always gets the outer bed, so pick either of the other two.”
“The DO gets the outer bed?” I asked with surprise.
“Yeah,” Jackson said with a nod.
“Wait a minute—you mean you live here with us?”
“No,” she said with a smile, “but we do twelve-hour rotating shifts, so when we’re on the 7 PM to 7 AM shift, we usually sleep at night right along with the inmates.”
“My gosh, I didn’t know that. And you rotate shifts?”
“Every other week we rotate between the 7 AM to 7 PM and the 7 PM to 7 AM shifts. Espi and I work four days a week, Monday through Thursday, and Palma and Peréz work the other three days of the week. The only ones with three regular eight-hour shifts are those who work the dorms and do hallway patrol.
“What’s hallway patrol?”
“Jones is on hallway patrol. She walks the halls every twenty minutes, does intake like she did tonight with you, among other odd jobs like taking people to medical when they need to go, escorting people to visitation. There’s five hallway DOs—the three that work regular eight-hour shifts five days of the week, then the two that fill in for them on their days off.”
“I see,” I said, eyeing the beds and wondering if I had the guts to take the one next to hers, even if that meant I could end up with people on both sides of me, something I wouldn’t normally prefer. Before I could decide, there was a knock on the door. It was Jones.
Jackson went and opened it. “Yeah?”
“If not tonight, then tomorrow you’ll more than likely have another person in here.”
“Ok,” said Jackson.
“Everything okay otherwise?”
“Yes,” Jackson said with a smile before locking the door and turning to face me. “Why don’t you take the bed next to mine,” she suggested.
“I was just thinking I’d do that,” I said with a smile.
“Wow, that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile. You have a very lovely smile.”
“Thanks. I didn’t think I would smile at all in this place.”
“It’s not too bad. I mean, it’s not home sweet home, but there are worse places to be,” she assured me.
As long as you’re around, it’ll be okay, I thought.
After I put some of my stuff on one of the shelves and some in the bathroom, I began making up my bed, tying the sheets at the corners as she suggested so it wouldn’t slip off the plastic-covered foam mattress.
“You must hate having to sleep with so many people, as funny as that may sound,” I said.
She chuckled and said, “You just do what you gotta do. It goes with the job, though I’m leaving in early May.”
“Oh yeah? How come?”
“Just so I can have more of a life and concentrate on my other job.”
“What’s the other job?”
“I’m a private detective.”
“That’s cool.”
“What do you do, Sativa?”
“Me? Oh, a number of things.”
“Is that so?”
I nodded. “All legal, of course,” I said with a laugh that brought out her smile. “One of the things I do is make and sell porcelain dolls.”
“Oh, how nice. That must be fun, huh?”
“It’s hard work, but I like it because I can work at home at my own pace. What kind of private eyeing do you do?”
“Various investigations.”
Changing the subject, I asked, “You’re not allowed to tell people your first name, are you?”
“Nope. Can’t do that, as much as I’m sure I can trust you.”
“It’s okay. You’re probably a Kathy,” I said.
“You think so?”
I shrugged.
I plopped myself down on my now-made bed and gazed at Jackson, who sat at the table.
“So what do we do all night?” I asked.
“You like TV?”
“It’s so-so. I enjoy reading, writing, and music more.”
“That reminds me, every Friday during first shift someone will take you to the library for books if you’re interested. Would you like me to go see if I can find you a book to hold you over till then?”
“No thanks. I don’t think I could concentrate on one right now.”
“Want to talk instead?” she asked.
I shrugged, suddenly feeling self-conscious in the way that I only did when I was attracted to someone.
Forget it, girl. You can’t have a woman this good-looking and who at least seems to be as nice as she is. You know only the ugly or plain-looking assholes are reserved for you. Besides, she’s an officer in a jail. A jail where you’re an inmate!
“Before we do, I have to go pee,” I said and headed for the bathroom. A few minutes later I returned.
She was still sitting in the chair.
“I noticed a little bit of shampoo in the shower. Can I use it when I take tomorrow’s shower?”
“Yes, you may. You can also use the paper cups in there for drinks.”
“What about clean uniforms and underwear?”
“Someone will take you to the supply closet once a day for a change,” she said, pulling a deck of cards from her pocket. “Wanna play?”
“You know Crazy 8’s?”
“That I do.”
“Sure,” I said, taking a seat next to her.
We didn’t talk too much about anything other than the game for a while. Then a few games later, the question came.
“So, does the lovely big-eyed, long-lashed Sativa have a boyfriend?”
“No, I don’t. I have a girlfriend.”
A smile.
“Do you?” I asked.
“You asking if I got a boyfriend or a girlfriend?”
“Either or.”
“Nope, nothing at the moment.”
“Wow, what a shock,” I said. “I thought all cops were taken.”
“Not this one,” she said with a laugh. “Maybe someday, though.”
After a few minutes of silence, I got up the nerve to ask if she was going to keep me guessing as to whether or not she was straight.
She grinned. “You really want to know, huh?”
“Well, I’m curious. I won’t tell anyone anything you tell me.”
“I’m sure you won’t. However, I really think you just might figure it out for yourself one of these days soon enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I said,” she told me in a tone that was both playful and mischievous-sounding at the same time, making me giggle.
“Maybe so, but you do like the idea of me guessing for a while, don’t you?”
“Yeah, it could be a rather interesting game, don’t you think?”
“Oh, loads of fun,” I said, and so began my mental guessing game. She was no butch, but she wasn’t all that feminine either. I mean, she was and she wasn’t. I was certainly more feminine than she was. Her body and her movements made me think she might be a lesbian, but she was just oh so beautiful either way! Not many lesbians wore makeup and were as attractive as she was, but if she were straight, wouldn’t she want to come right out and say so to ensure I never got any wrong ideas about her? On the other hand, given our officer/inmate relationship, I’d think she’d warn me off either way.
After the fourth game, in which we each won two of, she went to use the bathroom.
“I’m split,” I told her when she returned.
“Split?”
“Half of me thinks you’re a lesbian and half thinks you’re straight.”
“How is that?”
“What’s all that stuff you carry with you?”
“Oh, there you go, just change the subject why don’t you.”
I laughed. “Yup, you gotta do a little guessing and wondering of your own, girl.”
She laughed and explained to me about the mace and the stun gun she carried.
“No guns?”
“Not in here.”
“How long have you worked here?”
“Three years,” she answered.
“Any kids?”
“No. You?”
“No.”
“You want any?”
“I used to want one,” I told her, “but I’m content with none these days. How ‘bout you?”
“One would’ve been nice, but I can live without them. I have enough nieces and nephews.”
After a little more small talk, I informed her that I was going to exercise.
“Suit yourself,” she said. “I think I’ll turn on the TV while you’re at it.”
I began a series of stretching exercises before beginning my muscle-toning routine. Out of the corner of my eye, I was aware of Jackson’s frequent glances toward me.
“You’re pretty fit,” she told me after a while.
“I try to be. Do you work out?”
She nodded. “I have a home gym.”
“Oh, lucky you.”
After about twenty minutes of exercising, I went into the bathroom and changed into my gown. When I emerged, her eyes followed me as I reached for my comb from the shelf and began to work it through my long, thick brown curls in which I could sit on.
“How long did it take you to grow your hair so long?”
“Just a few years.”
“It’s beautiful. So thick and curly.”
“Thanks, but I’d take your straight hair any day over this,” I assured her.
“Yeah, that’s how it usually works. You want what someone else has.”
After I put down my comb, I reached for my inhaler.
“You got asthma?”
I nodded. “And allergies.”
“You smoke?”
I shook my head. “I quit five years ago.”
“Good for you. That must’ve been hard.”
“It was, but I really didn’t have much of a choice.” Then, “You don’t smoke, do you?”
She shook her head.
We settled into doing our own thing. She watched TV and I began a letter to Mary describing the room I was in, the way the jail was run, and most of all, the tall, dark, and utterly gorgeous woman who stirred feelings within me beyond anything I had ever felt or imagined before.
ns216.73.217.39da2
and then Add to home screen.