Love Made Me Do It (27 page)

              It was a little scary walking around with convicted killers.  There was the pretty black girl, who shot an AK-47 at the police they gave her 40 years to life.  Her girlfriend used to beat the shit out of her.  I used to ask my girlfriend why they stayed, in those situations.  Of course it was none of my business.

              You never ran to the police, which was pretty much the same as on the streets.  Some people followed the rule of not talking to or befriending any women that were convicted of killing their baby.  My Bunkie was a baby killer.  I loved the shit out of her and I never knew that she really killed her baby until I googled it when I got out.  She was on OG even though her conviction was the worst kind I was allowed to talk to her.  She was a soft stud that was known for liking and spoiling black women. 

              The rules were the rules, and you followed them or you were fucked up.  I’m not sure what rule I had broken, but the time that me and my girlfriend had as a couple was aggressively coming to an end.  I just remember that it was late at night, more like early morning.  It was about 3am, and she came and woke me up and told me to get up.  I told her no, that it was late and I had group in the morning.  She said “Either get your ass in this bathroom, or you’re going to the hospital and I am going to the hole.”  Needless to say I got my ass up.

              She directed me to the last stall, the biggest one…the handicap stall.  She stood across from me on the back wall and I stood on the wall, adjacent to the next stall.  Although her exact words are a blur right now, I know that she said something like, “you bet not cry.”  She socked me in my stomach and choked shoved me.  A small stream of blood trickled down the left side of my neck.  One solitary tear fell from my eye.  I had to make sure that the collar of my tee shirt covered it up or the police would sure to be asking questions.  That was the last thing that I needed.  

              Whether or not I followed or broke these rules, my girlfriend was so aggressive and volatile all the time.  I was relieved when she broke up with me.  I was so tired of catering to her.  Yes I was a pleaser, but in all reality I was supposed to be there working on my criminal characteristics.  After we broke up, she would still get an attitude with me her bullshit that technically did not fall under the umbrella of her concerns.  But yet another rule was, once I was hers, I would always be hers.

              When we broke up, I became a ghost on the yard.  People, who once broke their neck to speak to me, looked right passed me.  People bumped into me more often.  Dirty looks were everywhere I turned.  There was even a time when someone came up to me, questioning about bullshit.  I never buckled.  My ex tried to take a pair of leather New Balances back from me, but I wouldn’t take them off my feet.  She ran up, we were chest to chest, I never bucked and she did not get those shoes back.  I stayed indoors for two weeks, only going outside to get my meals.  I was miserable and the fact that I was in prison was taking a toll on me.  I made myself miserable because instead of getting rehabilitated I had fallen for another abuser. 

              I broke the rule and started talking to Scarface.  The chocolate soft stud.  We were broke up so I thought it was cool.  Or maybe I was just looking for some sexual gratification.  When my ex found out, she let me know that I could leave prison with something I didn’t come in with.  She was referring to HIV one of her close friends had it.  I was terrified it was about four months until my first eligible date to go home. 

              There was other bullshit rules… don’t sit your ass at a card, domino, or pinochle game and not know how to play.  A lot of times girls were gambling, or you were playing “rise and fly.”  Nobody wanted to loose and honestly since more than 50% of the population were doing more than just a few years, there was a lot of anger and tension built up.  So anything that may seem minor to you was major to them.

              I stopped breaking all those punk ass rules and just enjoyed my last few months.  I knew I needed to spend the remaining time I had there clear of anything that would potentially get me killed.  I took heed to all those rules and prison life became a little easier.

              Good thing I took head to those rules, because I was in an honor dorm called the Arch Program, where you went to groups all day long from 7:30 to 3:30pm that focused on recovery.  I needed to concentrate on that so I could have as many tools under my belt as possible to remain drug free once I was released. 

              It was good program that also had a lot of rules, and there were particular jobs that each person was assigned.  There was a rotation of several different jobs.  If you did not do your job correctly you were subject to punishment including being kicked out of the program.

I got a lot out of the program and I had a lot of heart to hearts with the director of the program.  I studied the material and applied the homework assignments to real life situations I had or anticipated having.  There was a comradery in the program that was similar to sisterhood.  It was far from perfect, we were in prison, but we also were all in there trying to reach the same goals…sobriety, and staying out of the system.

              There were so many women that were institutionalized.  I saw it in their actions, the way they spoke and when I knew that this wasn’t their first trip to prison.  It was heartbreaking and I didn’t want to be like them.  I never thought that I was better than anyone however I did know that a lot of my upbringing and childhood circumstances was better than more than half of the women there.  That makes a difference.  Life isn’t Rocket Science but it is Psychology. 

              My time ticked further and further down and I had less problems.  I worked my program that is until I was kicked out.  Remember I told you about rules and punk ass rules.  I got caught up in a punk ass rule.  Over a card game with a convicted killer, it was true that I wasn’t the best Spade’s player but it was also true that the women with long sentences did punk ass shit to get short timers sent to the hole.

              Since my time was winding down and my patience with the whole prison life was paper thin, I didn’t give a fuck and if I had to go home from the hole I would.  She was talking to much shit that night, and her partner was the Scarface soft chocolate stud.  My partner was my buddy L Dog.  I did something wrong and the killer, started talking shit to me.  I talked shit right back.

              She threw down her cards, and I had to remind her that she was just a stone cold killer she had killed that girl by accident.  It was all over a pimp.  The killer had been picked on and started carrying a knife with her and stabbed the girl accidently during a confrontation.  At that point I had already been threatened to be infected with HIV.  I planned on beating the dog shit out of this
killer.

              We didn’t do anything but bark at each other, but my body language let her know that my bark damn sure matched my bite.  Even though we didn’t physically fight, I was kicked out of the honor dorm and sent to the adjacent pod 9B.  That was considered the ghetto.  9B was the 24/7 house party.  The C.O’s didn’t care, and you better know how to fight because if anything jumped off, the police would not break it up. 

              So off to 9B I went.  My next stop was home anyway.  Fuck Smiley Rd. and its rules.  I only had 30 days and a wake up.  My year was damn near over.  Just don’t fuck with me and I won’t fuck with you was my mentality.

CHAPTER 37

BUTTERFLY DOORS

My release date was around the corner.  I barely slept because I dreamt of life out of here, away from a life that I never want to see again.  The feeling of being caged like an animal is so cruel, and so cold.  There is no escape you literally have to grin and bear it.  I had grinned, I had even cried but I bared it and I had long been ready to go.

              I started making phone calls with the last little bit of money I had and let certain people know that I was coming home.  There were so many surprise letters, cards and money put on my books from people who I thought forgot about me.  I wanted to get a jump start on doing the next write thing.  I called my mom and told her as soon as they approve my half way house I would call her back.  I heard her happiness and relief thru the phone.  That’s my mama, she had my back.  She sent mail and cards every week and she sent me her hard earned money.  It’s hard to explain the exact relationship that I have with my mama, but I know that she loves me and I love her way more then she could ever imagine.

              My halfway house took about two weeks to approve and it cost $700, I had to put all of that together from a pay phone.  Nothing in there was free.  You better have it, fuck with someone who has it, or know how to get it.  Luckily, I had it.  I wasn’t ballin by far…but I never wanted for much.  Blessings were pouring down on me, a very good friend that hadn’t heard from me found me and not only wrote me, but put in more than half for my release to the halfway house.  My mama paid the other half.

              They took my exist blood and approved my release to the halfway house in the same week.  Exit blood means they are done with you; they’ve compared your current blood to your blood test when you came in.  If it all looks the same, you’re ready to go thru the coveted butterfly doors.  Those doors are the doors that separate you from tangible and intangible.  I was ready.

              Although things had previously been tense, with my ex-girlfriend and Scarface, I made peace with them.  You never know what situations you may find yourself in later on down the line and the bottom line is…even if I had no intentions to consistently keep in contact with them, these were women that I had built some type of relationship with.  Making peace is always good but only if it’s genuine. 

              My any my ex, talked for days in a row leading up to my release and I remember before we actually spoke her girlfriend told me it was okay.  I looked at her girlfriend early on a Sunday, and asked her to take off her glasses so I could see her eyes, and let her know that when I was ready to talk to my ex, I would…I wasn’t ready yet.  It was nice talking to her on the yard, away from everybody.  All the busy bodies, gossip mongers and haters. 

              She gave me advice on staying clean and doing things for myself and to never speak to my lover again.  She was right; she was giving me game that I should have been applying to my life years ago.  But I was still living and I was for damn sure still learning.  We talked about writing each other and how I would send pictures.  She asked me not to forget about her and I told her that I could never.  I told her not to beat that poor girlfriend of her to death.  She laughed that missing tooth laugh, which only she could laugh.  She was a barracuda but had a few teddy bear characteristics.

              I had a long therapy session with the director of the Arch Program.  Even though I had been kicked out of the honor dorm, I requested to see her and it was granted.  Sure I picked up a lot of prison game that could be essential to surviving in the streets; I need therapeutic advice to keep the demons away that came with fighting an addiction.  At that time I had been clean 1 year & 5 months.  She was such wonderful genuine lady and she directed the program from an honest and genuine place in her heart.  It touched me and I listened to every word she said.  I was honest with her and she was honest about believing that I could and would make it.

              Saying goodbye wasn’t tough, but it surreal.  Women who I could never being connected or exposed to, became a part of my life and a lot of nights parts of my prayers.  Prison is tough, it’s not staged to look rough for cinematic purposes when you see shows like “Locked Up.”  If you are serious about changing it will change you.  My heart hurt for the ladies serving life without parole.  My heart hurt for the people who hadn’t come to terms with the change that needed to be made within their selves.  My heart hurt for those who had no family support and depended on other inmates to help take care of them once they got out. 

              Crazy emotions stirred inside me my very last night on Smiley Rd.  I thought about my lover and what was going on with him.  The whole entire year that I was in prison, I only talked to his mama once and that was when I was in the fish tank.  Although our relationship was far from perfect, I felt totally abandoned by his family.  I called a few times with my calling card and no one ever answered. 

              What no one knew but me and God was that I prayed for a separation from my lover, and I would take that in any form that God gave it to me in.  Prison was my way out.  Prison was the time when I could get comfortable with my shadow and tested the boundaries in which I was the strongest.  Prison made my skin just a little thicker.  I have yet to know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.  I am still searching for the balance in between passive and aggressive. 

              The morning came and so did joy.  I was called over the loud speaker by my back number…I was stepping back into the world with everything to prove.  I grabbed a manila envelope with my letters, pictures, cards, and phone numbers in it and my paperback Bible and walked towards the sunshine.  I had to go thru the yard and that when I saw my ex, and everyone else.  There wasn’t ever supposed to be hugging between inmates and I hugged my ex.  We exchanged I love you’s, I looked back once….she was still there waving.  I waived back.