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The Diaries

One day in – first impressions of the “House”

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I showed up 15 minutes early, starting on the right foot (just not sure which one that is). Two black male inmates – just fired from their jobs and needing passes to retrieve their (what?). The desk guard said, “You can leave for an hour.”

White female inmate, hip-wide tattoo on her upper ass, above the belt-line and below the blouse of her EMS uniform shirt. Angry, loud because someone had just stolen $600 from her locker with a broken lock (that she had reported two days earlier.). “Fucker”. “Mother-fucker”. The new “you know” in my new world.

She left mad and crying and then came back in. Called for a ride to work, and sat next to me while waiting. My first conversation inside. She asked how much time I was here for (I said 18 months, she said I’d do six (!).) I asked about her, a NYC criminal, something to do with fraud I think, unable to work in ways for which she was trained, now picking up drunks and helping shovel them into the backs of meat wagons. Pretty, hard, knowledgeable. “This isn’t a bad place”, she said. The staff are OK, inmates mixed, administrators on a revolving door.” She left and I arrived.

Unloaded my bags, had them searched. My double handfuls of books caught the guard’s eye, quick search, only lost my bottle of hydrogen peroxide (mouthwash for the bitter taste that’s been in my mouth for weeks. In here, a weapon, maybe.) Brought in my soft satchel, more books, more papers, more looks.

Finally assigned my bunk (bottom, #48) and locker (also #48). A few inmates in bed, some asleep, some just looking forlorn. Back downstairs, watched two videos as my introduction to the “rules”, took a true/false test.

Bone-tired, I ate lunch (two sliced meat – beef maybe – on dry bread (no condiments) and two glasses of Kool-aid.

Then back upstairs to lie on bunk #48, since everyone was sent upstairs so the downstairs could be cleaned. A half hour of loud, aggressive but friendly talk of pussy and ass, of crack and crank, of losing more jobs (thanks to the job counselor here) and of getting an ID. Lots of talk about getting an ID. Who doesn’t have an ID? Well, maybe people coming out of prison after 15, 17, 20 years – my new housemates.

Spider-man (or Spidey as the inmates call him) – a tattooed tall white guy whose whole face is a spider web – the loudest but no longer the most frightening. One or two more, quieter but with more toughness in their voices – no nonsense violence. They were not looking for trouble, but they were willing to dish it out in a heartbeat. Mother-fucker.

Whites using one room downstairs, blacks another. Now (after no rest), I sat writing in the day room, the only place to write. TV loud – some stupid sitcom. Three people sitting passively, reading. There are exercise bikes, coke machines, someone beating on the front door – no one answering. I’m ready to leave.

Ten hours later: Things I’ve learned already

When someone asks you to tell someone else what you’re in for, it’s not about your crime – it’s about your time. Everyone here I’ve spoken with can’t believe my sentence here – 18 months. They roll their eyes and act surprised. When a few asked where I came from and I said my farm, they paused – because they expected the name of some prison. Or that I’m a parole violator. To be sentenced directly here – and for so long – is not what they expect. And soon after, several have said “You’ll be on home detention soon. Six months, maybe more, maybe less. You won’t do 18 months here. At least I hope not.”

The women are friendly, as they usually are. No prison dyke stereotypes here. Just heavy-set young women, the tattooed New Yorker, a pretty blonde who’s just done eight years and a bald and scarred black woman (Frances) who fell down (getting off a bus) and who sat with me in one of the TV rooms, slowly feeling worse as the goose-egg on her forehead throbbed. I offered to get her ice, not knowing if I would be able to. But she said, "No, my coke can helps some." ”And then she got up and went to bed.

Other things I’ve learned: the sunsets can also be beautiful through shuttered blinds, and even better when I pull the blinds up and away. An amazing bright-blue/orange/red/white sky, with the contrail of a single jet flying straight up, through waves of sunset clouds and sky. All by itself, but making its mark.

Other lessons: There are periodic calls to congregate and be counted: 3:30, 5:30, 7:30. Ten minutes of waiting to prove to them that we’re still here. Yes, we are.

“We”? Boy, how quickly I bond.

In between the bed checks and the dining room checks, I found a Lewis and Clark special on PBS and was graced with ten minutes alone, the Wind River vistas, Crow Heart Butte, the river, the snow-capped peaks, the beautiful Indian women in full shell and bell dresses. I could tell the others there that I knew the place and the people – though that didn’t matter to anyone here. A young black man approached and asked, “Are you watching that?” Because he and his friends had a DVD they wanted to watch – American Psycho.

Found out that my AT&T phone card doesn’t work, after spending two hours yesterday making sure it would. So I could not call anyone or collect my messages. The internet was at least a century away.

Good news though. There are two computers and one of them has MS Word. Now to find a disk and start this diary on a computer. Maybe as soon as tomorrow. I may be able to be visited by Dana (my sister) and Zach (her son) – maybe not. About to leave a message for Jonellie – sorry I can’t be there – sing a sweet song for me.

Sitting in a room full of convicts, watching “How to Lose a Man in Ten Days”. A bet going on as to whether the man will fuck her senseless or stuff her yellow-dressed skinny-ass self into a garbage bag.

Enough writing – I know it is isolating, protecting me. Smearing fingerprint ink on this page. Hope I will be able to sleep tonight and to speak in another day or two. Need to slow down, need to relax, need to read “When Things Fall Apart” and “The Prayer of Jabez”. My horoscope in today’s paper: “Your assignment is to be as agile in your dealings with people as a circus contortionist…. The unity you sow now will bring you unforeseeable benefits in 2006.”

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