Prison Time Page 9

  ‘So what kind of a woman do you think I should look for?’

  His brow crinkles. ‘She’s got to be a caring and gentle person. Maybe a bit of an intellectual, or at least a reader. But let me give you one piece of very important advice: if she don’t care for you, don’t be afraid to get the fuck on down the ramp.’

  21

  The day of Jade’s visit, I rise at dawn and bounce around the cell. As some chow items are so foul they unleash bad breath all day, I check the breakfast schedule to avoid repelling Jade. Hot cereal. Biscuits. Grilled potatoes. Three ounces of cheddar cheese. Toothpaste won’t even disguise the cheese smell. I’ll give it to Slingblade. I examine myself in a $1 mirror – a piece of tinfoil on cardboard. Holding my shaver, I ram the corner of the beard trimmer into each nostril to excavate my nose hairs. I wash my face and ears with a flannel – a piece of cloth ripped from an old towel. I check my clothes. Trousers pressed by George. New boxers bought for $3.50 and a new T-shirt for $5. Tube socks. White Riddell sneakers. I’m set. To prevent my orange outfit from getting sweaty, I sit in boxers, reading, aiming to get dressed when the visit is called.

  Four hours later: ‘Dog 11, you’ve got a visit, but it’s headcount, so you’re going to have to wait!’

  Wow! She’s here. My heart gallops as I dress. Unable to leave, I stew for 30 minutes like a sprinter at the block waiting for the pistol to fire. The door clicks open. Go! Go! Go! I bolt out and charge down the stairs, heckled by prisoners.

  ‘Look at 007 run!’ Bud yells. ‘Must be some fine-ass chick come to see him.’

  ‘Have a nice hand-job!’ Booga shouts. ‘And don’t forget to save some jizz for me.’

  Swerving around Slingblade – with his hands in the garbage, rummaging for food – I almost run into Ken, who tries to grab me, but I race away like a greyhound.

  ‘Shall I place medical staff on standby in case you get too excited?’ yells Officer Rivero, a baby-faced Hispanic.

  ‘It might not be a bad idea,’ I say.

  At Visitation, I arrive at the guard station and await clearance to join Jade, but the guards are busy dealing with other people. The large room contains chairs, circular tables, vending machines, a microwave oven and board games. The lingering smell of cheese, beans and hot flatbread provokes instant hunger. Outdoors are picnic tables under a wooden roof surrounded by chain-link fence. I spot Jade at a table, her long curly raven hair in a half pony tail pulled back from a face that’s a combination of American beauty and Irish mischief. She’s wearing a black polo shirt, trousers and flip-flops. She sees me and smiles. I wave.

  After five minutes, a guard takes my ID, cautions that the visit will be ended if any sexual contact is made and tells me to keep my hands on or above the table at all times.

  Approaching Jade, I admire the freckles across her nose and cheeks, spread out like a bird’s wings, and her sparkly peachy-pink nails. She stands and we hug.

  ‘Thanks so much for coming,’ I say, sitting down.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ she says, blushing. ‘I was so nervous coming in. I had sweaty palms. I was late because I went to the wrong prison.’

  ‘The wrong prison!’ I say, gazing at her big eyes.

  ‘I went into the lobby of the federal prison and asked them where the state prison is. They said, “It’s a little further down the road.” Their lobby is nice – and then I got to this shabby place. Parking, I was thinking, I’m here. Oh my God! I can’t believe I’m actually voluntarily going into a prison. Shaun better know how much he’s worth it. I had to stand up against a chain-link fence while the dog went by. I felt violated. Then some guy with a teardrop greeted me when I got to the building. What’s the teardrop mean?’ Jade asks loudly, staring around the room at the tattoos on the prisoners.

  Smiling, and in a gentle voice, I say, ‘You’ve got to stop looking at other tables – and please don’t talk to anyone at other tables or else the guards will end our visit.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry.’

  ‘The teardrop means he’s killed someone.’

  ‘Oh my God! And there I was just making conversation with a convicted killer.’

  I chuckle. ‘So, out of all of the people I know, what made you start writing to me at the jail?’

  ‘I really like writing letters and cards and sending things through the post, so you’re a great pen pal. Stuck in here, you’re forced to write,’ she says, grinning like a pixie. ‘What made me really sad was when you told me that absolutely no one other than your family and Claudia was contacting you when you were first arrested. But I didn’t do it out of pity. I did it because I’m a loyal friend.’

  ‘How are things going with Theo?’ I ask, referring to her Greek boyfriend.

  She stiffens. ‘I feel like I’ve given up everything for him. I moved to England. But I do all his laundry, cleaning, cooking, grocery shopping, and he won’t even give me a ride down the road. He’d rather sit and watch sports and not do anything. I have to walk two and a half miles to get home because my boyfriend won’t give me a ride.’

  ‘Wow. That’s insane,’ I say, shaking my head, outraged, feeling sorry for her but wondering why she puts up with him.

  ‘It takes fifty minutes on the bus to get to the grocery store, when it would take ten minutes in his car. I have to text or call him when I’m nearly done, then he meets me at the checkout and pays for it. No woman should have to tolerate this.’

  Restraining myself from criticising him, I reply, ‘I can’t believe what I’m hearing!’ A thought pops up – If only I were free and she was with me – that clashes with my feelings for Claudia. Guilt and my awareness of the difficulties of maintaining a prison relationship enable me to shake the notion off. I don’t want to put her through the same as Claudia. But the more we sit and laugh and talk with intense chemistry – our eyes shining with something beyond friendship – I can’t stop thinking what a great girlfriend she would make. Stop it! She has a boyfriend. She’s just a friend. We discuss her goals and ambitions. She wants to do a Master’s and a Ph.D. She intends to return to America and maybe work for the FBI.

  When the visit ends, I stand and give her a quick kiss on the lips, which sends an electrical charge through me.

  After the strip-search, I walk across the field, flustered. Have I lost my mind? My sister’s right about me falling in love too easily. What’s wrong with me? Is this what happens after almost four years inside? But it feels great! What was the chance of us getting along like we did? But it’s no good because I’m in here and she has a boyfriend. Everything is stacked against us. As I approach my cell, the fantasies keep unfolding.

  I walk in to George sniffing the boxers that he was supposed to have washed, stroking his crotch. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ I yell, snatching them off him.

  ‘Governor! Governor! I heard you traded me in for a little floozy!’ he yells, distraught.

  ‘Calm down, Jeeves. She’s in no way, shape or form a floozy. She’s a criminologist.’

  ‘Then let her come and do your fucking laundry, tidy up your room, wipe your royal ass and count your scrotal moles!’

  I raise a hand. ‘Jeeves, slow down. What’s come over you? You should be glad I had a nice visit.’

  ‘You’ve got female company in here: She-Ra and Mochalicious! What’s wrong with them?’ he asks, throwing his hands up, referring to two transsexuals.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with them, except they have penises.’

  ‘But neither of them want their penises, so it’s like not having one.’

  ‘Sit down, Jeeves. Relax,’ I say, pointing at the chair. ‘It’s not the same.’

  I sit on the bottom bunk. He pulls the chair close to me, sits and leans forward. ‘So that’s why you spent 30 minutes in the shower when you came back from Visitation!’

  ‘I’ve not showered yet!’

  ‘You must have whacked your tallywhacker! I bet you went to town on it, you little perv,’ he says, flicking his gaze from my face to my crotch
.

  ‘The visit wasn’t about that.’

  ‘Puh-leeze! I bet you got a boner out there.’

  ‘I must admit when she leaned towards the vending machine, I couldn’t help but admire her rear and—’

  ‘That must have pumped up your Prince Harry!’ he yells, shaking and raising his head. ‘What would the Queen Mum think if she knew you were running around Visitation with a trouser tent pitched?’

  ‘The visit wasn’t about sex, Jeeves. Jade is intelligent and great to talk to.’

  ‘If she’s such a good conversationalist, why were you gawking at her ass?’ he says, squinting in disgust.

  ‘’Cause I’m only human, and she’s an attractive woman. You wouldn’t understand, Jeeves, but for us heteros, being without a woman is one of the hardest parts of prison.’

  ‘You make me sick! What kind of woman likes pale, bald-headed, pernickety Englishmen?’

  ‘I’m hurt, Jeeves,’ I say, shaking my head, faking sad eyes. ‘I thought you’d be happy for me, but instead you’re trying to put my day down.’

  ‘I wish you all the happiness in the world, but I don’t wanna be hearing about her all the time or to find you staring into space, daydreaming about her ass, getting boners, pitching tents.’

  I smile. ‘I’ll try not to. I certainly won’t bring her up around you again.’

  ‘Actually, it’s nice a person visited you who floats your boat. I would never stand in the way of the governor’s happiness.’

  George leaves. I start a letter to Jade, but Frankie bursts in. ‘Englandman, I decide who you kiss and who you don’t kiss! This Jade has to have my approval. I wanna see a picture of her in a swimsuit.’

  ‘Are you jealous?’

  ‘Why should I be?’ Frankie puts his hand on my shoulder. ‘I’ve got you real close.’

  I twist away and stand. ‘It was only a kiss. No need to be jealous,’ I say, grinning.

  ‘I’m not a bad guy, Englandman. In fact, I’m a nice guy. I’m into open relationships. But you’d better recognise I’m always the man in the relationship. If she’s gonna visit you again, you need to start practising your kissing with me. I’m down to practise, Englandman. I’m game.’ His eyes rove over my body, widening, narrowing, lingering on parts men avoid. His lips alternate between a half kiss and a sleazy smile. His tongue slithers across his bottom lip. ‘Mmm-mmmm. You know this ain’t my first rodeo. I know how to do these things. I’m easy to please. Besides, homey, I’m gonna practise on the back of your neck one of these days.’ He opens his arms and leans forward.

  ‘In your dreams!’ I fold away from him into a plane-crash position, hands on my head.

  ‘Englandman, you know you’re gonna give it up one of these days.’

  ‘Never.’ Concentrating on Jade will keep my mind off resorting to sex acts in here.

  During the lockdown for headcount, I get the quiet I need to finish the letter to Jade:

  I’m writing this shortly after the visit. I’m at an emotional peak and I’ll probably write stuff I’m embarrassed about later on, but I feel these thoughts need to be captured, so I’ll get this written and in the mail before I change my mind.

  Thanks so much for braving the prison to see me. You are great! We chatted and giggled like little kids in the midst of a prison Visitation room surrounded by poker-faced people, some of whom didn’t even appear to be talking to one another. I feared this would happen. I hoped it would – and hoped it would not, as I fear we can have no future, and it breaks my heart. You’re an incredibly beautiful and intelligent woman. I’m electrified – still – just from being in your presence. The emotional explosion is oh so real. As you probably noticed, I couldn’t take my eyes off your eyes. It was as if our eyes were speaking in a language of their own. You definitely have a magnetic pull over me. I’m left wondering what it all means. I’m stunned.

  I hope these words of affection don’t put you off me in any way. I’m not fishing for a relationship. There’s just a massive battle raging in my soul. Seeing you was like winning a prize of four hours of bliss and happiness in this hell. I’m still drunk from that.

  I am stubbornly loyal to those who have done extraordinary things for me, like you writing since my arrest and now visiting. No matter what happens for the rest of your life, I’ll be there for you.

  Let’s keep things as they are – exactly as they are. And I’ll try not to blow any gaskets in the meantime.

  The next day, I debate whether to post the letter. If she doesn’t feel the same, I might put her off.

  You never get anywhere in life unless you take chances.

  I send the letter and wait, my hopes high.

  22

  ‘Give it me! I wannit!’ yells She-Ra – a tall transsexual with long, flowing blonde hair. In cut-off shorts, She-Ra’s hips swing as she strides towards Bud, who is crouched over dirt, holding a scorpion by its tail.

  Squinting at She-Ra, Bud drops the scorpion. ‘You can have it.’ Bud leaves.

  She-Ra picks the scorpion up by its tail and puts it on the back of her hand. As it stings one of her fingers, She-Ra laughs. She carries the scorpion towards 50 or so prisoners awaiting the opening of the chow hall, their orange clothes giving off a radioactive glow under the intense sun. Noticing the scorpion, the prisoners split in half.

  ‘Look at She-Ra’s crazy ass!’

  ‘She’s nuts!’

  ‘What’s wrong with you, She-Ra?’

  ‘Wow! That’s a big-ass scorpion!’

  Curious, I stop walking the yard and follow She-Ra, who’s been asking me in a playful tone since Buckeye prison if I want to go party. I’ve always been attracted to colourful characters and She-Ra is off the scale. Her random outbursts soften the dangerous atmosphere and get everybody laughing. She shares a cell with her boyfriend and protector, who’s never lost a fight since I’ve been here. ‘Does it hurt where it stung?’

  She-Ra cranes her neck and stares down at me through large, compassionate eyes that are different colours – one blue, one green – adding to her supernatural aura. ‘It hurts like a motherfucker, but it’ll stop hurting soon.’ She raises the scorpion to chin height. In a motherly tone, She-Ra says, ‘I know you didn’t mean to sting me like that. You’re just scared. I still love you, little buddy. I just wanna take you home with me, but I can’t.’ She-Ra squats and frees the scorpion. It hides under a rock on the outside of the fence.

  ‘You wanna see Dawg, my pet tarantula?’ She-Ra asks, her thin brows arching encouragingly.

  ‘OK,’ I say, captivated by her enthusiasm but wary of the spider.

  Inside She-Ra’s cell, she opens a cardboard box strewn with dirt and insect pieces. ‘That’s Dawg!’ She-Ra says proudly, smiling at a spider so big I take a step back. From a bulbous body, Dawg’s eight hairy legs extend almost as wide as my hand. His beady eyes in the middle are surrounded by three more on each side. She-Ra coaxes Dawg onto her hand. ‘Here, let me put Dawg on your arm,’ She-Ra says politely, as if offering a cup of tea.

  ‘But he has fangs. Big ones!’

  ‘Dawgie won’t bite you,’ She-Ra says, stepping towards me. ‘Don’t be scared.’

  ‘Unlike you, She-Ra, I like to keep a safe distance from scorpions and spiders.’

  ‘Dawg’s very docile. He’s beautiful. He’s always pleasant and great to play with. I wash him and give him baths. I’ve put his fangs on my skin and pushed his head down. He wouldn’t bite me. I wanted to see what being bitten felt like, but he wouldn’t do it.’

  ‘Knowing my luck, I’ll be the first he bites.’

  ‘Don’t be such a chicken-ass, limey!’ She-Ra says, shaking her head. She points at the chair. ‘Just sit there and let me put him on your hand.’

  Not wanting to disappoint She-Ra, I volunteer my left arm. My pulse rockets as She-Ra manipulates Dawg onto my wrist. His gentle feet – blue-green iridescent pads – tickle my skin. Dawg moves so slowly and lightly, I start to relax, enjoying the sensation of him ploddi
ng up my arm, dissolving my fear of tarantulas.

  ‘What do you feed him?’ I ask, flinching as Dawg approaches my shoulder.

  ‘Crickets. I keep him stuffed, so he won’t want to make a meal out of me.’

  ‘What else do they eat?’ I ask.

  Dawg disappears onto my neck.

  ‘Other tarantulas.’

  My head trembles as Dawg tickles the back of my skull. ‘Other tarantulas! How does that work?’ I clamp my eyes shut as Dawg crawls over my nose.

  ‘It’s mostly females eating males during the mating season after they have sex. I’d be a homosexual if I was a tarantula. Hey, I am a homosexual!’

  Hearing my name called for mail, I ask She-Ra to remove Dawg. Hoping to receive a letter from Jade, I dash across the yard. I slice through the ring of prisoners around the control tower, watching the guard lift each envelope from the pile, all of them standing still, rigid and tense, their eyes shining with expectancy like zoo animals at feeding time.

  Receiving only the Wall Street Journal, I walk away dejected, wondering whether the outpouring in my letter has scared Jade away.

  23

  In August 2005, I’m walking outside when I spot someone I’ve never seen before. Shannon is almost the same height and build as me, but with a bit more weight, short brown hair, friendly eyes and arms covered in tattoos and scars. He tells me that he’s 30 and is serving 11¼ years for stealing $800 worth of property, which was returned to the victim by the police. His first suicide attempt was at seven. He stuck a knife into an electrical socket. At 12, the State of Arizona put him on Ritalin. He has spent his adult life either trying to kill himself – he slashed his wrists, tried to shoot himself with his dad’s revolver, ate glass and razor blades – or in jails, prisons and psychiatric units for committing petty crimes to obtain drugs. About two-thirds of the prisoners in Buckeye have hepatitis C and Shannon’s has developed into stage-three liver cirrhosis. The last time he was released, Shannon was hoping to live a normal life. He filled out the forms to continue to receive the same psychiatric medication he had received in prison, but the company in charge of the decision, ValueOptions, denied the application because his behaviour had been normal in prison. True – because he was on medication. Shannon reverted to petty crimes to finance drugs. He believes his long sentence was punishment for refusing to sign a plea bargain and exercising his right to a trial, which cost the State of Arizona tens of thousands of dollars.