Chapter Twenty-Four
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
My new job on the grounds crew means six hours of freedom from the confines of our cell, fresh air to cleanse my lungs of the stagnant junk everyone breathes inside the block, October sunshine, and the reassuring sound of the river passing by at the back of the property.
And since the work is physical—mowing and raking, picking up litter, sweeping and hosing down the walkways—I start sleeping better.
Occasionally I’ll make it all the way through the night now, a minor miracle.
At noon, when Lieutenant Cavagnero blows his whistle, we walk back to the barn and he passes out our bag lunches.
They’re way better than the stale court lunches we probably would get otherwise.
Cavagnero is friends with the culinary arts teacher who has his students make them for us.
The day before, we got Italian hoagies and the day before that, it was BLTs.
Bacon at this place? I thought I was dreaming.
Today it’s chicken salad on a roll, chips, and an oversized oatmeal cookie.
I like the other guys I’m working with—Israel, Tito, Ratchford, Harjeet, Pacheco, and Spence.
They’re a good-natured bunch, easy to get along with.
And of course, Manny’s got the scoop on all of them.
Israel’s a former drug trafficker—a federal prisoner being housed here while he waits for his trial to start.
Harjeet, who’s Indian, is in for credit card fraud.
He’s the grandson of an old movie star, Sabu the Elephant Boy.
There’s a John Prine song about Sabu, but Harjeet says he’s never heard it.
Ratchford’s doing time for bigamy. Two wives, eight kids.
Manny says that back in the eighties, Spence was promised he’d be the next big thing in professional wrestling.
After his career tanked, he started doing heroin and drifted into porn.
The sex-crime cops nailed him after he performed in a film about a threesome with two sisters who turned out to be sixteen and seventeen. Statutory rape times two.
Angel says Tito’s a former gang member who turned Pentecostal.
Angel was working the parking lot at some tent revival thing, he says, jacking shit from unlocked cars when he poked his head in the tent to see what the commotion was.
“And I seen the spirit coming over Tito. I’m telling you, that was some spooky shit.
First, he stands there shakin’ and bakin’.
Then he drops to his knees and howls like a motherfucking coyote.
And when the preacher put his hand on his shoulder, Tito starts babbling in some crazy language I never heard before.
And I grew up in the Bronx. I didn’t know there was a language I hadn’t heard. ”
When I suggested that Tito must have gotten paid for that performance, Angel said, “Hey, I seen what happened and you didn’t, Ledbetter. What makes you the expert?” I feel appropriately chastised for sounding like my cynical father.
“Yeah, well, if the spirit entered him, it must have left later on, because he’s in here for aggravated assault,” Pacheco says.
“Found out his girlfriend was cheating on him, tracked down the guy, and slammed his head against a wall a couple of times. They had to put the dude in a coma until the swelling in his brain went down.” Someone at the table asks Pacheco how he knew all that.
“Because the family offered to pay me if I fucked up Tito while he’s in here.
I wouldn’t do it, though. I don’t need commissary money that bad. ”
So work-wise, things are good. Of course, I might be singing a different tune when Solomon joins us.
Day 456 of 1,095
Dear Emily,
Thanks for sending me those pictures of Maisie. I loved that one of her in her bunny costume. Damn, that daughter of ours is a cutie!
Hey, good news. I finally got the sketch pads and charcoal sticks you ordered from Amazon a while ago.
When an inmate gets a package, it has to be opened and examined first, so whatever comes in can sit in the mail room for days or even weeks before you get it.
The Pony Express probably delivered things faster back in the day.
But anyway, now that I have the drawing stuff, I’m thinking about doing a bunch of sketches that I can make into a kids’ book for Maisie.
Does she still love giraffes? Maybe I’ll draw her a story about a giraffe family and put her in it.
She can be their next-door neighbor or something—maybe best friends with one of the giraffe kids.
I was thinking about putting Niko in the story, too, but decided not to.
I drew one quick sketch of him and had to stop. It was too hard.
I started my new job a couple of weeks ago and I like it a lot.
Next week this kid Solomon joins us. Remember him?
The one who flipped out in the visiting room that time.
Being his “work buddy” was a condition of my getting on the crew.
The lieutenant who supervises us is a nice guy—not your typical CO.
He actually treats us like we’re humans.
He says he thinks I’d be a good influence on the kid.
I don’t know about that, but I’m pretty sure Solomon’s going to be a high-maintenance headache for me, especially if the other guys start busting his chops.
He gets a lot of that in here because of what he did and because he’s such a fish out of water. To be continued.
Speaking of headaches, that dumbass CO who gave you a hard time at the metal detector has been riding my ass.
I know you said to drop it, but I couldn’t let him get away with disrespecting you like that so I called him out.
A couple of nights ago, he and his shift partner treated me to a surprise shakedown (an unannounced cell inspection).
They didn’t touch Manny’s stuff, but they dumped all my property out of my box, threw it on the floor, and ruined some of it, including a couple of the drawings I’d started doing for Maisie.
Nice guys, huh? I know it’s useless to get into a pissing contest with the guards at this place because the deck is stacked in their favor.
Still, if those two keep it up, I’m not just going to sit back and take it.
Don’t worry, though. Nothing I can’t handle.
How are your sessions with Dr. Patel going?
I was thinking about that one time we saw her together.
I remember when she asked you what you wanted to work on, you said you needed to figure out if you could ever forgive me.
And if you couldn’t, you didn’t think we could stay married.
I’ll be honest, Em. It scares me to think you might be coming to that conclusion.
Just remember, we have a history and we’ve shared a lot of love through good times and bad before we lost Niko.
I’ve always needed you more than you needed me—I admit that—but I hope it doesn’t mean you don’t need me at all.
I’m getting ahead of myself, but let’s say we stay together while I’m in here.
Maybe when I get out, we could sell the house, pull up stakes, and move back to SoCal.
Just a thought. I liked hanging out with your dad and his girlfriend (forget her name) when we lived out there.
Do you guys still talk on Sunday nights?
If you think of it, ask your father about the job market out there.
Maybe if it’s better than the East Coast, I can get something in my field that offers a decent salary and health insurance.
I know you won’t have a problem getting work.
Schools always need good teachers and you’re one of the best.
Halloween’s this coming Wednesday, right?
Next thing you know it will be Thanksgiving and then Christmas.
No inmate visits on either of those days, same as last year, so that a lot of the staff can be home with their families.
Nothing special about the holidays for us—they’re just regular days.
I wish to hell I could be with you and Maisie for Christmas, trim the tree and all that stuff, but after my three years are up, I’ll be home again to celebrate.
I hope you’re having a good week, Em. I know it can’t be easy covering all the bases while I’m stuck in here unable to lighten your load.
By the way, have you gotten your oil changed yet?
If that red light’s still on, you don’t want to risk blowing the engine.
That’s all you’d need! Well, anyway, Happy Halloween.
I’m glad you’re not going to take Maisie trick-or-treating. Safer this way.
Love you babe,
Corby
(440 days down, 655 to go)
Dear Corby,
Hi. I’m sorry I’ve been missing your calls.
I’ve been wanting to write back since I got your last letter.
It’s 4:45 on Sunday afternoon and I finally have some time.
My mother’s taken Maisie to a performance of The Nutcracker and after that to supper.
My schoolwork is done, I’ve paid some bills, vacuumed the house, and washed the kitchen floor.
(Mom’s made two remarks about it being sticky in spots.) The only thing left on my to-do list is getting the oil changed.
I’m not even sure those lube places are open on Sunday, let alone after five. Don’t worry. It will get done.