Excerpt
No one can explain the ebb and flow of group dispositions in a prison, but it is a known fact moods such as expectancy, tension, relief and anger surge and retreat among the prison population in unchartable cycles. Experienced C.O.s and prisoners can sense these wave-like changes in advance, whereas others never quite tap into the collective psyche well enough to predict the tide.
We were half way through our Making Choices class on Thursday afternoon, advancing through Workbook Three at glacial speed. I sensed one of those enigmatic “moods” rippling through the group like the onset of communal PMS. Thinking I could stave it off by switching gears, I decided to stop the formal part of the class and turn to our “prayer and share” time.
“First, I want to announce I’ve found someone to head up Angel Army, so we’ll be able to have an Angel Army drive this Christmas.”
Everyone cheered.
“My little girl wants a doll. A skinny one.”
Dinky’s fixation grated on my nerves. How did the inmates who had to live with her stand it? “You’ll be getting your applications soon. But please pray for the new director. It’s her first time and she’s also a busy attorney, so it’s not going to be easy for her. Any other prayer requests?”
“My appeal is coming up,” Pyro said. She picked at the skin on her forearms, a habit she hadn’t broken, even though she was supposedly off drugs.
“How can we pray for you, Snake Eyes?” Snake Eyes, broad shouldered like a swimmer, was a tall, dishwater blonde who never talked in class. She may have been pretty once, in a large-featured, classic sort of way, but years of smoking, rough living and hard drinking had chiseled hardness into her face.
“Keep your prayers to yourself, Chaplain. I don’t need your religion.”
I noticed Jonette hadn’t shown up. “Let’s continue to pray for Mother,” I continued. “Anyone know where she is this morning?”
“She’s in the Hole.”
I sucked air into my lungs and froze. “The Hole? Mother’s in ad-seg?” I had just seen her yesterday. What had she done?
As if reading my mind, C.T. spoke up. “She punched Sergeant Morris. He was feeling her up.” C.T. grinned at me. I swear she likes to show off her missing front teeth.
My mind reeled with this new information. Jonette had been close to being eligible for parole. Ad-seg would change all that. You couldn’t have been in ad-seg within 15 months of your application for parole. A lump formed in my throat.
“Yeah, she went back to work this morning. She was cleaning in the stair well. He probably thought he could get away with it. You know, nobody around.” Postal added.
“It’s ’cuz she’s thin. Sergeant Morris wouldn’t think about touching the rest of you chunky lards,” Dinky chimed in.
“You couldn’t get any, you anorexic little shit,” Postal retorted. “Looks like you got some sort of disease.”
“C.T.’s the one with the diseases, not me.”
“You all be trippin’ off some unusual shit,” C.T. said, hurling her notebook at Dinky.
That was the last distinct act I saw. Arms were swinging, fists flying, and the C.O.s from the back of the room were on it in a second. But not fast enough. Everyone sustained scratches, cuts and bruises.
I knew my butt was going to be in a sling over this one, so after the fracas was quelled, there wasn’t anything for me to do but go to my office. A fight like that on my watch could mean death to my career. I was so rattled I could hardly concentrate. I checked the daily online news and roster. Sure enough, Jonette Fox had been moved to ad-seg. Worse, she was “on restricted.” That meant not even I could visit her for the first three days. I suspected Sergeant Morris should be in ad-seg, not Jonette. What was going on? I sat with my head in my hands and awaited The Summons.
My phone rang, startling me. I picked up.
“Chaplain Sorenson,” I snapped, attempting to infuse my voice and my life with some professionalism.
“Ronia, it’s Tim Cooper.”
My heart stopped. Tim was the head of the Department of Ministry for our denomination, a very high level position, in charge of all the pastors and their care, credentialing, and discipline. Had the Warden called him even before she talked to me? Oh, I’m in such big trouble!
“Hi, Tim,” I said, my voice sounding faint to my own ears. I waited for the boom.
“Say, listen, Ronia. We’re due for a one-on-one visit soon. You know, just our regular annual checkup, heh-heh.”
“Mmm?” was all I could muster.
“I’m going to be in Colorado the week after next. I could drive to Cimarron on Wednesday. How would that work for you? Could we spend some time together? A lunch? Maybe a tour of your facility?”
Tim sounded friendly. Cheerful. No signs of trouble. I relaxed a little. I checked my calendar. “Sure, Tim. Lunch on Wednesday is fine. Spend some time together. A little tour. I’ll get it all arranged. Looking forward to it.”
I marked Tim’s visit on my calendar but I wasn’t looking forward to it. I wasn’t even sure I’d still be here! The muscles in my neck contracted and my stomach twisted in a different direction than it was supposed to go.
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