“I’m missing all the guys spraining their neck’s walking by staring at you.”
I was visualizing what the protest would look like holding signs on the beach where other protest had been held. It was an ideal spot on the Coast Hwy. It was bogged down in stop and go traffic from all the locals and summer visitors.
My mind was also thinking about my high control parole officer. She was a down-to earth black woman who had transferred from L.A to Orange County. This was a blessing in that she brought an L.A type style where she was grateful for her government job and compassionate to my lack of one. She did her job and didn’t feel it necessary to send a certain percentage of her case-load back to prison to validate that she did her job. I, however, was going to make her do her job in that every time a parolee moved he had to notify the parole officer. Being homeless puts the parole officer and the parolee in a tough spot. With these thoughts in mind I imagined where I could run from the protest to escape to a waiting car or borrowed residence. Laguna Beach offered more than enough routes for a known runner like me. I studied a path south on the beach side that would take me behind buildings to gain enough distance to be out of the view of the boardwalk; to seeing myself race across the busy Coast Hwy to the other side where underground parking lots and one way streets offered enough space for freedom. Then I studied how to get out of Laguna Beach. I knew the streets well enough to go north in a round-about way to get to Newport. Looking in that direction I saw a rock on Laguna’s most prominent hill. It looked intriguing. The rock was more of a boulder around 8 feet high with most of its center hollowed out. It was wide enough to fit inside. I imagined an Indian chief sitting or squatting in it meditating or smoking a peace pipe. The view of Laguna from that point looked ideal. I asked Annette, “Do you see that ancient looking rock up there honey? Do you want to hike up there with me and pray?”
“Sure baby.”
We walked through a crowded beach to a crowded boardwalk and crossed the Coast Hwy, then passed a movie theater, art galleries, boutiques and then the hills started. I walked backward up the steep narrow concrete to take pressure off my lower back and see Laguna better. Two thirds of the way up we turned into a dead end cul-de-sac where the dirt hike started. There was a fire path that cleared most of the climb to our ancient rock. I looked at Annette walking next to me and felt overwhelmed with gratitude to have been blessed with my dream girl, part ballerina-part tom boy-all gorgeous princess who looked for the good in people. Our dirt fire-path climbed through wild terrain to within 100 yards of our rock. It was nearly a vertical climb filled with smaller rocks, bushes and dried brush.
Annette said, “We can’t make it up that!”
“Do you want to wait here?” I knew she wouldn’t.
“No way!”
We climbed leaning so far forward our hands touched the ground. I found narrow passages around and through bushes by going from rock to rock. I felt my feet slide and caught myself and worried about Annette. We didn’t need either one of us sliding down the hill, getting torn up, or hurt to add to an already uncomfortable homeless life. I imagined Annette ahead of me. The view would be way better and if she slid I could anchor us. Then I imagined something more heroic, climbing with Annette on my back. I looked under my left arm. Annette was breathing hard, looking determined. I asked, “Do you want to climb on my back and get a free ride for a few?”
I saw her determined face get more irritated than I’d yet encountered.
Annette thought what a chauvinist! He can’t climb up this hill with me on his back! “Sure. Let’s try it.”
I felt Annette on my back and as light as her exquisite frame felt the steepness of the hillside was too much. Instead of admitting I couldn’t do it, I tried anyway. I lowered my body and inched forward. Squeezing my stomach and hips for core strength, I reached an arm forward to make my legs catch up. I brought my weaker leg forward in a knee to chest climb and planted to transfer my weight and climb. I struggled and struggled and just as I started to move small inches my other foot lost traction. I tried to stop the slide by pinching my toes and hands into the earth. It didn’t work. Our descent was increasing into a mini dirt-rock avalanche. I flattened my body to the ground and used my hands, arms, legs and feet as brakes. We kept sliding. I felt the dirt and rocks scraping my skin until I felt a bush ride up my crotch. It held us.
Annette climbed off me laughing. “That was fun. Can we do it again?”
My skin was burning. I examined the damage. My knees were skinned, then I felt the burning in my scraped arms and then...I felt that fearful lump building in my balls that can turn all of a man’s attention to his internal jewels, and said, “Oh no.”
Annette looked at B.J. He had a confused look on his face. He bent over to look at his bleeding knees and then lifted up with his arms and stretched for a second and then doubled back over and his hands flew to his crotch.
I held myself carefully while one of my balls moved back into place. I waited for the expectant indescribable feeling to magnify from between my legs and up my body to the point I’d start choking and lose my breath. Seconds turned into a minute and I realized I could stand all the way up. My knees and arms burned but I was okay. I looked at Annette. She was trying not to laugh. I grunted, “Stay here.”
I ran climbed the last 15 yards to our rock. The rock was almost like I imagined, 6 feet high and 4 feet wide. Its core had been hollowed enough to climb in. Before I climbed in and turned, I imagined God’s ocean sweeping it from a far away place thousands of years ago and establishing it on this hill. I felt the edges of the rock and thought about how in the Bible people kept turning to false gods. Did anyone ever worship this magnificent rock as if it had the power to move God? I climbed in and turned and noticed Annette had finished the climb also.
The view of Laguna wasn’t what I imagined. Did that mean my imagination was corrupted? I thought from this rock we’d have the ideal view and the best angle to observe Laguna. Not so.
Annette said, “Let’s pray and go back down to the beach and put some aloe plant on you.”
We got on our knees and I prayed. “Father God we climbed this hill to get closer to you and seek your will in our lives. We ask that as we seek deeper into our souls that you plant Christ’s cross there for a foundation so we don’t get lost in this world. We ask you to flood us with the Holy Spirit and remove the strongholds the enemy uses to tempt us into behaviors that block us from You. Guide our thoughts in Jesus name. Amen.”
A wave of realization hit me…I might not have another chance to marry my beautiful being on the run! This felt like a Spiritual moment, and the moment to ask, I got down on one knee and took my fiancé’s hand in mine and asked, “Will you marry me right here?”
Annette felt her knees buckle and a smile fill her face. “Yes!”
I pulled out a white Bible and found the letters to the Corinthians. I read from 1 Corinthians 13: 4-7 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, and it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with truth. It always protects, always trust, always hopes, always perseveres…Annette, as God as my Witness I promise that as we stand at this rock, overlooking the ocean below, that my love will always be constant and as unchanging as the never ending waves crash the shoreline, flowing endlessly from the depths of the sea, I promise to love, protect and keep you and promise to never betray to until the end of time.”
Annette felt the tears flow down her cheeks and gathered herself and said, “I love you B.J…You are my best friend. Today I give myself to you in marriage. I promise to always encourage you, inspire you, laugh with you, and comfort you in times of good and bad, sorrow or struggle. I promise to cherish you, be true to you all the days of my life.”
I acted out the part of the preacher by taking a step to the side and said, “This marriage ceremony is sealed by God and may all his angels protect and guide
you in Jesus name. You may kiss the bride, be fruitful and multiply.”
I stepped back and pulled Annette into my arms. We were both laughing and crying, and then we kissed.
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On the way down the hill Annette asked, “Do you want to go to your P.O Box and see how many new prisoners wrote?”
I said, “Sure.”
On the way to the P.O Box I thought about the responses I’d already received, over a 100 letters, some with pieces of art, some with short stories and even a few with poems and song lyrics. In many of the letters prisoners affected by the 3 strikes law not changing to focus on only violent crimes, were giving me their family’s phone numbers for my upcoming protest.
At the P.O box there were 7 more prison letters, 3 of them encouraged me to contact their families for the protest. One of the letters had 4 amazing pieces of art. The artist was Mexican and his work depicted Toltec-Mayan times.
Annette brought up a good point. “Being Christian, are we supposed to market this kind of art?”
“Most Christians would probably say no but I would say yes. We are trying to offer Hope to inmates that there are alternatives to a life of crime, not smash that hope in more judgment.”
“So we shouldn’t pick and chose and just let our actions represent Christ’s Love?”
“Exactly.”
“Let’s go to church then!”
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Driving to the church I noticed the cross on top of it from a few streets away. My eyes kept going to it. I parked and got out and stood staring at it and wondered why I hadn’t noticed the size of it before?
Annette noticed Pastor Angelo. He was staring at B.J and shaking his head. Annette thought, I better talk to him before B.J loses his temper.
“Pastor Angelo why didn’t you call the shelter and tell them we were working?”
“Pastor Christy didn’t call the shelter?”
Annette shook her head and watched the pastor march inside the church. Annette looked back at B.J. He was holding the cross around his neck staring at the cross on top of the church.
I noticed Annette’s hair flash from the corner of my eye. She was following Pastor Angelo into the church. I caught up to her standing at the door to the CARE Department. We both listened.
“Pastor Christy didn’t you call the shelter and tell them B.J and Annette were volunteering with the orphans until a job opened up?”
“No I didn’t. You could see the way those two held each other they were having pre-marital sex!”
“You should leave that kind of judgment for God!”
“They stopped volunteering anyway!”
“Because your lack of a phone call put them on the streets!”
Hearing Pastor Angelo taking our side felt good. It made it easier to forgive the church in my heart.
Annette looked at B.J listening and thought, he’s going to lose it. I better do something! She opened the door and surprised the pastors with force. “I need to talk to you both in private!”
I watched Annette silence both pastors and my heart overflowed. She cared about me to the point I felt her love shield me. She went from looking at the pastors with fire in her eyes, to me like a protective mother.
B.J I will be out in a few minutes.”
I walked away from the CARE Department. Along the way I noticed a room with a sign, PRISON/HOMELESS OUTREACH.
Annette looked into Pastor Angelo’s eyes. “Thank you for defending us. Did you know B.J wrote a powerful novel while in prison on drug charges? You need to get behind this novel. It’s about destinies. It can help people stuck in a cycle of crime and addiction break free of the devil’s hold on them through the Blood of Jesus and then turn all they have been through into a blessing.”
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CHAPTER—22
That night at the shelter’s garage, life got harder. The lock had been changed. We walked to the laundry room window. It was closed. That left pulling on the corner of the garage door with all of my might until enough space was afforded to slide under.
I leaned into it and pulled. The door strained against the lock. Annette got under and now, the hard part, somehow trying to get myself under, while holding the corner of the garage door up. Annette did her part by wedging herself against the door by lying on her back and holding it up with her legs. I held it up with her and twisted my body under until I was almost laying with my head under the door facing it closing on my neck in a pinch. Annette and I struggled until we got the door off me enough to slide all the way through. The process was painful and noisy with a final closing of the straining door.
In the pitch dark we listened and held hands. A couple minutes later, satisfied the shelter’s employees hadn’t been alerted, we used our lighters to spot our path. We climbed our way to our camouflaged tuck and wrapped a comforter around us and slept.
I woke up to Annette curled up all the way on my chest and heard my high-control parole officer standing on the other side of the garage door talking to a shelter employee.
“Is Benny Johnson still a resident here?”
“No. B.J left almost a week ago.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“No...He told us he was volunteering at a church until a job opened up but the church didn’t verify that with us.”
“What church?”
“I think it’s in our files but I’d have to see if we are allowed to give out that information.”
“I have almost 100 high control parolees to chase and don’t have time for these games.”
“I’m not trying to play games. I just have to check with rules regarding confidentiality.”
“Tell your supervisor to call me. B.J has a P.A.L warrant out for his arrest.”
“What’s a P.A.L warrant?”
“Parolee At Large, you have to give us those files because public safety trumps confidentiality based on the Tarasoff Law, a Supreme Court ruling.”
Annette curled up on my chest even tighter and wrapped her arms around me. She held me with so much strength it felt like we were one. I felt her tears on my neck and heard, “I can’t lose you.”
My mind was flooded with images and possibilities at a million miles an hour. Every image flashed into a relentless chase that ended with me behind bars unable to reach out and hold Annette. I was scared to death of losing her.
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CHAPTER—23
PELICAN BAY SHU SENDS ORDERS
Pelican Bay Level 4
The word came from the SHU, Security Housing Unit, where the politicians, prison administrators and district attorneys labeled these prisoners the - worst of the worst, the most violent, the highest up the gang leader food chain were locked down in isolation for 23 hours a day, where physical access to each other, other than your cell mate was impossible, where mail was read through a projection screen and visits through glass were the only contact with the outside world and cell raids by, helmeted-oxygen-masked-wearing, shield-carrying-tear-gas-throwing, billy-club-smashing, massive deputies were a weekly occurrence.
On this occasion the inmates found a way. The word was a hand written plastic wrapped message sent by an inmate who walked under heavy armed escort shackled down in chains to the medical wing for an MRI for a herniated disk. The limping inmate’s left leg was suffering from partial paralysis and he waited in pain for the 4 escort deputies to lower their awareness enough, and then he spit the message into a trash can as if he were coughing.
An inmate working as a janitor was allowed to get to the trash can after the escort passed and threw the trash away into a dumpster minus the plastic wrapped message, all on video, yet the transfer wasn’t detectable. Later that evening, the message was taken to the level 4 yard a half a mile away
from the SHU and passed under the cell door of the shot caller. It was a hot potato.
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The next morning all hell broke loose shortly after yard release. Each building allowed a group of inmates, whose turn it was, to go to yard. It started with a strip search just outside of their cell doors where they stood with their backs to deputies who waved a metal detector for security before the inmates walked beneath a gun tower with a deputy holding a block gun in hand trying to detect tension. This level of security was the highest in the state for anything under a SHU known as a level 4 180. Only a half a dozen other prisons in the state had the same level of security.
Once all of the inmates were on the yard the deadly action took 15 minutes to orchestrate. From each gun tower from each building, and from the main gun tower overlooking the entire yard all the inmates looked the same. They were dressed in beanies’ covering heads, blue denim state jackets buttoned down tight, blue denim state pants in scatters of 2 prisoners each in clusters all over the yard, all normal. Then, the clusters of 2 started forming into clusters of 4, then 5, then underneath the main tower right in the middle of the workout bars it started.
The main tower guard didn’t notice who started it but below, 100 feet away, 5 Mexicans were stabbing 2 Blacks. The deputies responded with the sirens and all the speakers blared, “GET DOWN! EVERYONE DOWN! GET DOWN!”
The main tower guard’s peripheral vision perceived and realized the incident below wasn’t isolated, across the yard the clusters attacked as one. Blue denim arms in packs of 5 Mexicans were attacking Black inmates in packs of 2 in over 20 different places on the yard. Upon closer look, all the Mexicans had ice picks or other prison made weapons in each hand!
The main tower guard fired his block gun at the skirmish below and yelled into the microphone over and over, “GET DOWN!! GET DOWN!!”
Upon Release From Prison Page 10
