Things continued along those lines for quite a while. It was very uncomfortable for me but it didn’t seem to bother SueAnn at all. She was enjoying my company and that was all that mattered to her at the time. She always did have a way of living in the moment. I used to envy that about her when we were children. I was always the one worrying about the consequences – what other people might think, how much trouble we would get into, etc. SueAnn, on the other hand, just did what she wanted and enjoyed herself. She worried about all the other stuff if and when it actually happened.
I realize now that I was just exercising good judgment and self control – two things that seem to have been omitted from SueAnn’s genetic make up. I guess you could say that’s been the story of her life. I can’t tell you how many times she’s paid the price for her bad judgment. Every time something awful happened to her, I would think ‘maybe this will be her wake-up call’. I kept hoping she’d have a moment of clarity somewhere along the way and turn everything around for herself. As it turns out, even prison wasn’t a big enough wake-up call. In true SueAnn fashion, she managed to make a bad situation even worse.
Eventually, the small talk came to an end. One of the guards popped in with the five minute warning. The hour was almost over. “You’re comin’ back, right?” she was begging more than asking.
The question threw me off guard a little bit. I hadn’t anticipated it. I don’t know why, though. It was a logical question. I guess I just hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Well, I’m only in town for the day. I’m on my way to a job assignment.” She just stared at me. “I have to do some research for a new documentary. I’m headed straight back to the airport when I leave here.”
“But you can come back when you’re done, right?” This was breaking my heart. “How long will you be gone?”
“The assignment is supposed to take a few weeks. I should be able to come back after that.”
“Can you write me? Maybe send some pictures? They do let me have mail in the hole, you know. And I can write you back.”
“Sure.” What else could I say? “I’ll give you my address. My mail gets forwarded when I’m on assignment.”
“You’ll have to give it to the guard. You ain’t allowed to give me nothing directly. It all has to go through them.”
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Friday, May 8, 2009
Camille's First Visit (continued)
When they brought her in, my first thought was that they had the wrong inmate. I didn’t recognize her. Then she saw me and her face lit up. I’ve often wondered what my own face looked like in that moment. Did she see shock? Disbelief? Or did she see the guilt that was tearing me apart?
The truth is that, even once I knew it was her, I still didn’t recognize her. The honey blonde hair of her youth had turned dark and mousy. It looked like straw. Her bare face was rough. She had aged so much since the last time I saw her. How long had it been? Ten years? Twelve? I couldn’t remember.
I watched while she waited for the guards to remove her shackles. A chain around her waist was attached to the handcuffs that she wore. The shackles on her feet were larger versions of the handcuffs and were connected by a short chain which forced her to take very small steps. The chain around her waist and the leg irons were connected in front by another chain. I knew from my research that the shackles were not one large contraption. They consisted of individual pieces that could be used together or separately. The removal process was very slow and methodical. I hated watching it, hated knowing that she had to go through this every time she left her cell for recreation, visitation or medical appointments. I also knew that she didn’t get to leave her cell all that often and that made my stomach hurt all over again.
The guards removed the waist chain and then helped her to her knees. Once she was on the floor, and at a tactical disadvantage, her handcuffs were removed. She turned and faced the wall, keeping her hands clasped behind her back. Then her leg irons were removed. She remained in that position until the guards had left the room. Then she rose and came over to the Plexiglas. She seated herself in a molded plastic chair which was the only movable object on her side of the partition.
“Hey, Girl!” She said it as if we had just bumped into one another at the mall. It was more than a little surreal. “You’re lookin’ good these days.”
What was I supposed to say to that? I couldn’t very well return the compliment. I mumbled something about how good it was to see her and how long it had been. In that moment, I wanted to leave. I wanted to run away from that place and never come back. I wanted to remember my SueAnn the way she had been as a young girl, not as this haggard, old-before-her-time creature in front of me. But the guilt kicked in and I stayed right where I was.
I asked the standard questions – ‘Are you feeling okay?’ ‘Are you getting enough to eat?’ – that sort of trivial bullshit. I knew the rules in these places. As long as she was here, she would be fed, she would receive any medical treatment that she required and no real harm would come to her – at least for now.
Finally, she interrupted my questions. “You don’t wanna hear about this place. Besides, there really ain’t much to tell. I eat and sleep and watch a little TV. Mostly I work on my case, though.” Again, I didn’t know how to respond to that. Luckily, she kept right on talking and I was off the hook for a comment on her case. “Tell me about you. What’ve you been doin’ all these years? Norma told me you were on TV.”
I couldn’t help but smile. My family tends to be a little confused when it comes to exactly what I do for a living. “Well, I’m not actually on television. I work for a media company that owns a few cable networks.” She gave me a quizzical look. “Channels. They own TV channels.” That was better. She seemed to understand.
“Well what do you do if you ain’t on TV?” I could never tell how much SueAnn really understood and how much confusion she was faking for the sake of getting some attention. She’d been doing that for so many years that I’m not sure she knew either.
The truth is that, even once I knew it was her, I still didn’t recognize her. The honey blonde hair of her youth had turned dark and mousy. It looked like straw. Her bare face was rough. She had aged so much since the last time I saw her. How long had it been? Ten years? Twelve? I couldn’t remember.
I watched while she waited for the guards to remove her shackles. A chain around her waist was attached to the handcuffs that she wore. The shackles on her feet were larger versions of the handcuffs and were connected by a short chain which forced her to take very small steps. The chain around her waist and the leg irons were connected in front by another chain. I knew from my research that the shackles were not one large contraption. They consisted of individual pieces that could be used together or separately. The removal process was very slow and methodical. I hated watching it, hated knowing that she had to go through this every time she left her cell for recreation, visitation or medical appointments. I also knew that she didn’t get to leave her cell all that often and that made my stomach hurt all over again.
The guards removed the waist chain and then helped her to her knees. Once she was on the floor, and at a tactical disadvantage, her handcuffs were removed. She turned and faced the wall, keeping her hands clasped behind her back. Then her leg irons were removed. She remained in that position until the guards had left the room. Then she rose and came over to the Plexiglas. She seated herself in a molded plastic chair which was the only movable object on her side of the partition.
“Hey, Girl!” She said it as if we had just bumped into one another at the mall. It was more than a little surreal. “You’re lookin’ good these days.”
What was I supposed to say to that? I couldn’t very well return the compliment. I mumbled something about how good it was to see her and how long it had been. In that moment, I wanted to leave. I wanted to run away from that place and never come back. I wanted to remember my SueAnn the way she had been as a young girl, not as this haggard, old-before-her-time creature in front of me. But the guilt kicked in and I stayed right where I was.
I asked the standard questions – ‘Are you feeling okay?’ ‘Are you getting enough to eat?’ – that sort of trivial bullshit. I knew the rules in these places. As long as she was here, she would be fed, she would receive any medical treatment that she required and no real harm would come to her – at least for now.
Finally, she interrupted my questions. “You don’t wanna hear about this place. Besides, there really ain’t much to tell. I eat and sleep and watch a little TV. Mostly I work on my case, though.” Again, I didn’t know how to respond to that. Luckily, she kept right on talking and I was off the hook for a comment on her case. “Tell me about you. What’ve you been doin’ all these years? Norma told me you were on TV.”
I couldn’t help but smile. My family tends to be a little confused when it comes to exactly what I do for a living. “Well, I’m not actually on television. I work for a media company that owns a few cable networks.” She gave me a quizzical look. “Channels. They own TV channels.” That was better. She seemed to understand.
“Well what do you do if you ain’t on TV?” I could never tell how much SueAnn really understood and how much confusion she was faking for the sake of getting some attention. She’d been doing that for so many years that I’m not sure she knew either.
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